August 24th 2017
August 22, 2011 is when it all started.
It was the morning of my 20th Birthday, and I was a week overdue with you…
We were finally on our way to the Hospital to have our first baby. It was an hour drive from our home In LaGrange Wyoming, to the Hospital in Scottsbluff, Nebraska. So, we had a long time to think on our way. I remember being so excited and not being able to wait until your arrival, but at the same time terrified of my first birth experience. I was super nervous. We had to wake up crazy early in order to be to the hospital on time, and I’m not a morning person. To lighten the mood, Daddy started blasting some Relient K on the drive there. Their remake of “Manic Monday” came on, and it felt perfect. It was a Monday, and I think having your first baby on a Monday qualifies it as a “manic” one…
We got to the Delivery Room and got all prepped for me to be induced to have you. I was so scared. The nurse did an awful job with my i.v. so that was a great start. I cried and was scared of the pain I would soon be experiencing. I just kept telling myself it would be worth it to meet you, and so fun to share a Birthday. By the way, that part wasn’t planned- the Birthday sharing. My Birthday just happened to land exactly a week after your due date, and that’s when the Dr. recommended I be induced. So knowing nothing about the issues with being induced, we went for it, and thought we’d be meeting our little one in the next few hours.
Boy, were we wrong.
A couple hours went by and thing were starting to progress- very slowly. Daddy decided he would take a shower in the Hospital room while we waited, because nothing eventful was happening yet. He was gone less than 10 minutes. During that time I noticed some weird lines and sounds on the monitors, and suddenly a nurse rushed in, then another, and another, and another, and a Dr…. until there were about 10 nurses and Dr’s in the room surrounding me, stopping the meds, starting others, and no one saying a word to me. Just frantic, silent, unsettling rushing of people around me. At this time, Daddy was walking out of the bathroom from his short shower with a “WTH happened??” look on his face. I was scared, but I had still not been able to get out of anyone what was going on. Ty immediately asked what was going on and FINALLY someone piped up. Your heart rate had dropped due to the Pitocin. You were distressed and not handling it well. So they said we had to stop and try again the next day. I was scared, but relieved you were ok. I guess we aren’t sharing a Birthday after all.
The next day we woke up and started the pitocin bright and early. Things progressed. You were doing good this time. No distress. Nothing worrysome. I started feeling awful pain, and soon started having intense back labor. Up to this point I had not decided if I wanted to go “all natural” or to have an epidural, simply because I had never experienced birth pain before, and didn’t want to make that choice before I knew what my experience would be like. I remember trying to bear through the back pain, having Daddy massage it, because it seemed to help. I told him to massage my back so hard that I later had a huge bruise, because apparently that much pressure actually felt better at the time. Ouch. At that point it was time for an epidural. I could not stand the back labor.
After the epidural things still progressed at a steady rate. My Doctor seemed sure that you would be here by early evening, judging by how we were progressing. We were getting excited. “Not too much longer”, we thought.
Boy, were we wrong. Again.
I progressed well, dilated all the way to a 10, which is when mom usually pushes , and babies normally make their final entrance. But you wouldn’t. The Dr. said she could see you, but you weren’t making your way out the way you were supposed to. By this time it was way past “early evening”… it was closer to 11 or 12 p.m. We had been in the trenches of trying to push you out for over 2 hours. The Dr. came in and said the words I was terrified of hearing from the get-go. “C-Section”. During my pregnancy, I had been so terrified of that possible outcome, that I didn’t ever give it more than 2 seconds of thought. Every time it came to mind, I blocked it out. Not going there. Won’t happen to me. Kinda like a kid and the whole thought process of “If I close my eyes, you can’t see me!” If I block it out, it’s not a possibility, right?
She went on some shpeel about how if I want a “Football team” of children, a C’- section might make that harder, but that it was the best and safest option for you at this point. We went for it. We wanted our baby the safest way we could get him.
Next thing I knew I was being whisked into an operating room. At this point I was so beyond exhausted that I was just kinda going with it. I just wanted my baby. C-section? Whatever.
They gave me some good stuff, obviously, so I couldn’t feel them cutting me open. I was fully aware of what was going on, and despite my crazy fear of having a C-section, I was at complete peace with it in that moment. Maybe the drugs helped a little. But I wasn’t scared like I thought I would be. I thought about God’s goodness and knew that He had the situation handled. I felt a lot of tugging, uncomfortable & weird pulling and tugging, and then I was still. I think you were out. But there was no sound. No cry. I lay there wondering what was going on, still exhausted and a little confused. Then finally, a cry. I remember asking Daddy “is that our baby?” He laughed and said “yes”. I guess in the middle of all the crazy and going into the O.R. exhausted, I thought I wasn’t the only woman in there. I thought there were multiple women having babies at once, which is why I asked “is that our baby?” I know, weird.
1:04 a.m. on August 24th, you were born. 2 days later than planned. (Proverbs 16:9 “The heart of man plans his way, but the Lord establishes his steps.”)
I saw you, and got to kiss your forehead. Then you were taken to be weighed. & I couldn’t go due to just having a C-section. I was so sad. They stitched me up and kept me in the operating room, and then to my room. When I finally go there I was told that you were dealing with respiratory distress and had to be in the N.I.C.U. I still couldn’t see you. I didn’t get to meet my firstborn, until the next morning. Daddy was so sweet and brought me pictures of you and a video. It melted my heart. The next day I finally got to hold you. I fell in love with your long dark hair and big eyes. The nurses all said they had never seen a baby with such a full head of hair, and neither had I, until now. You were gorgeous.
We were at the hospital for 4 days before they cleared you to go home. We were so excited to bring you home.
Becoming a mom for the first time was tough. I felt like I was doing everything wrong since day 1. I remember waking up with you at night to feed and change you, and just crying. Crying from exhaustion, from feeling like I was doing it all wrong, and from feeling unworthy to be such an amazing little boy’s mommy. Sometimes I still feel that way.
In your first couple months you were not gaining weight. Most Mothers can relate to me when I say that when you weren’t gaining weight, I was sure it was ALL my fault. After all, I was breastfeeding and obviously my milk wasn’t good enough for you to thrive on. You were happy a lot, but other times you would have intense fits of screaming in pain. We just thought it was reflux, and so did the Dr.
At 4 months old we gave you rice cereal for your first solid food, because the Dr. told us to. That night, Daddy went to work (45 mins away), and I hung out at home with you, as usual. But this night was different. You were very quiet and very tired. You threw up a TON out of nowhere, and then fell back asleep. I gave you a bath to clean you up, and told myself it was probably just a bad case of spit-up. But while I bathed you, you threw up again, and then again, and again. I was getting worried. I didn’t know what to do. Keep in mind I was a new mom. I know kids throw up, but a 4 month throwing up this much, is this normal??? I had no idea. I called Daddy. He wasn’t sure either. You were still acting very tired, now more like lethargic, and very pale. I ran next door to ask our friends what they thought, we all knew something more was wrong. We ended up calling 911, and the ambulance rushed you and I to the nearest hospital (45 mins away). During the drive I remember being more scared than I ever had been in my whole life. I could tell that the Paramedics were concerned. Your oxygen levels were as low as 70% at times. Was I going to lose my baby? I prayed and prayed.
We got to the hospital, and Daddy was there to meet us. They rushed you in, and within 30 mins you were fine. Waking up, alert, happy, and the Dr’s had no idea what to tell us. I actually think the Dr’s thought we were all nuts, like nothing is wrong with this kid, why did you rush him here by ambulance? But if I went back and asked the EMT’s who worked that day, they would tell you something was definitely wrong. We later found out this was your first FPIES food allergy reaction- and that is a whole other story.
After & during the whole process of you being diagnosed with FPIES, I grew to trusting the Lord in a way I never had before. It’s a bit different when you say “I believe in God” and not even think about it. But now I had to. I had to ponder if I really trusted that God is good, and that He would take care of you as He best saw fit. You were allergic to so many things, with no way to test for it, other than trial & error at home. So if you tried a new food, mom and dad had to be prepped with some Pedialyte and ready to run to the hospital if need be. We learned to lean on God and trust Him. We learned to get creative with your food so that it was “safe” for you. Praise God that you finally outgrew that awful allergy at 3 years old.
I share many of these stories to highlight many of the moments that we had to endure as we became new parents. As a parent it is easy to become proud and think “we’ve got this down”, but if you are hit with medical issues, it’s not exactly in your power to fix such things. You just have to trust and hope for the best.
Kilo, you made me a mommy for the first time. It was probably one of the hardest things I have ever done, but by far one of my most favorite things. You showed me that life is not all about me. I have grown and had to lay aside a lot of my selfish desires, because you are worth it. You showed me that we can make all kinds of plans, but things will not always go as planned, and that’s ok. You take those moments and you thank God for the opportunity to learn, even though it’s tough.
I have watched you grow, and I think you’re doing it a little too quickly. You were crawling by 5-6 months, and walking at 9 months. You were jumping off of the couch and countless other heights since you were 11 months old, along with scaling baby gates. You have always been our adventurous “go getter”. Always climbing things, doing flips on the trampoline, diving in headfirst to anything we allow you to do.
Today we went to go get ice cream for your 6th Birthday. We were listening to 21 Pilots (your favorite) on the way home, and when we got home you said “Mom, wanna know what’s one of my favorite things ever?” I said, “what?” and you answered “listening to music. It’s the best and my favorite.” & that made me happy. You have always loved music. I remember you crying when you were super tiny. Non-stop crying. I finally decided to turn on some music on our stereo (I still remember it was Owl City that I put on!) and you instantly calmed down. It was crazy. When you were 9-10 months old we have a video of you dancing and tapping your foot to “Some Nights” at Grandma’s house, and you already knew how to keep the beat! Today you love to play Daddy’s drums. You are actually getting pretty good at that! You are working on piano and ukelele here and there.
You are a funny guy like your dad, and you love to mess with me and prank me ant chance you get. Sometimes yo have this hilarious dry humor that is so weird but always makes us laugh.
You have always had the most sensitive little heart. You care deeply about things that most people wouldn’t even care to think twice about. I’m praying that the Lord will use that to soften your heart to be compassionate toward people, and to point them to Him. You love God and have always enjoyed hearing God’s Word. You are sensitive to sin and you pray for people who are struggling. I love that you care about others, and not only yourself.
You have been amazing and caring Big Bro to your 2 younger brothers. They both adore you and think you’re hilarious. You are good to watch out for them and make sure they’re being careful. I’m thankful that they have you to look up to as they grow up.
You will start 1st grade next week, and I think back to the day that you turned 1 month old, and I cried because my baby was “growing up.” Yeah, hormones right? haha. You really are getting bigger now. & maybe one day when you’re 26 I’ll look back and laugh that I cried about you turning 6, too. I just don’t know how it all goes so fast.
We love you little man.
I am so thankful that God allowed me to be the Mother of a sweet, crazy, dark haired, hazel-eyed, whirlwind little boy named Kilo. I hope and pray He will teach me to be more sensitive and loving as I attempt to be an example and raise you up into a Man after His own heart.
Thanks for being my little whirlwhind, and keeping me on my feet. You make life more fun, and give me more reasons to thank God. He is amazing and gracious.
Happy Birthday to my favorite 6 year old.