“A miracle is a phenomenon not explained by known laws of nature, or an act by some supernatural entity or unknown, outside force.”
If you’ve been following the blog and our journey, you know I don’t ask for miracles. It’s not that I don’t believe, it’s that I need to believe. I could never hit my knees and beg for a miracle because if I didn’t get it, I’d be mad at God and that’s something I can’t live with. So instead, I ask for strength. I ask to make everything okay. I ask for signs.
When Joe and I first found out we were having a baby our hearts were so full we could hardly stop smiling. It was just a week later we were smacked with the news that Joe’s cancer had returned. It was the greatest heartache we have ever known. Why? Why now? What about the baby.
This has been a long 9 months, (really 10 but no one seems to tell you that). There have been times I’ve cried so hard I worried the baby could hear me. And what kind of tone was I setting for her life? Other times we took all of our energy and put it into her arrival. Joe spent chemo days painting in her room and I’d pass the time at doctor’s visits looking at our registry.
When surgery came, you could see people’s eyes look our way as we walked the hospital halls. Joe deep in recovery, and me waddling next to him as our due date crept closer.
We didn’t know where we would deliver. We didn’t know if Joe would be strong enough to be there. We didn’t know why our happy time was being taunted by the dark cloud overhead constantly trying to rain on our parade.
December 19th: The hospital stay we’d been waiting for.
We checked in late the night before as the signs started our little girl was ready to make her entrance into the world.
I had been so worried about Joe feeling strong enough to do it all, but there’s something about the anticipation of seeing her sweet face that had him buzzing around the room. Our families waited with us to see just when she would arrive.
24 hours of labor later, and our little girl decided she wanted to take a different path. Doctors were worried about her heart rate as we were starting to push and they decided a C-section was our best option. I guess all of Joe and I’s practice in the medical world had prepared us to stay calm and move forward so that’s what we did.
Next thing I knew I was laying on a table as surgeons and nurses worked the room like a pit crew, and I was the car up for services.
This was all knew, me being the patient. It’s a different kind of nervous and focus then sitting next to Joe and to tell you the truth I was pretty scared.
But in moments, I hooked up and Joe was in scrubs by my side. Then a few deep breaths later, a cry I’ll never forget pierced my ears. I couldn’t see much but heard Joe say over and over again, “There she is, there she is!”
Tears flowed down my face as I heard this cry for the first time but felt I’d heard it thousands of times before.
An extra bonus, our parents were able to have a window opened and they could watch as the baby was carried to be cleaned off and Joe cut her umbilical cord.
Meanwhile, I’m still on the table waiting to see the fun happening behind me. (A mother’s sacrifices start early 🙂
When she was finally carried over to me and placed against my face, all I could say to her was , “There you are, we’ve been waiting for you.” Her crying stopped and her eyes got wide. She knew me. She knew us. It was unbelievable.
Mira Joey Clark (pronounced Meera) born at 12:49pm on December 19th. 7 lbs 10oz and 20 inches long. A head full of dark hair and her eyes wide and alert.
After months of heartache and worry, we had made it. We named her Mira to represent the Miracle we were given and worked so hard for. Our phenomenon.
I can hardly look at these pictures without a full down breakdown. Remember, as I write this I am only 5 days post partum so it doesn’t take much for a waterworks show.
We’ve made a lot of dramatic hospital exits but nothing like the one we made this past Monday. We were going home as a family.
There is always going to be uncertainty. We don’t know what the future holds, or how many memories we’ll get together. But who does? And no one can take away the day our Mira came to us. She’s worth it all.