The Mess and the Glory

Once upon a time, I gave birth to a baby girl on Good Friday and it felt like a miracle.

We were in the midst of a long season that had been hard in every way imaginable. I was exhausted in every way imaginable.

I was scheduled to be induced on Easter Monday, at 38 weeks and 3 days. My son’s Philadelphia oncologist needed to see him on my due date for Very Important Follow-Up. But Philadelphia is far from home, and both parents have to be present, so we split the difference: I would be induced a little early, and the follow-up would be a little late. Not perfect, but good enough.

But then my husband broke his foot. I called my obstetrician and begged him to move up my induction so I could get to the wondrous land of call buttons and around-the-clock care as soon as possible. He said he’d induce at 38 weeks and not a minute before.

So on Good Friday, we arrived at the hospital bright and early. Once upon a time, I had been adamantly opposed to inductions, but I needed to do what I thought was best for my babies–the one at home and the one in my womb.

The nurse started my pitocin drip, my husband propped up his casted foot, and we settled in for a long day. I was praying for a baby by dinnertime.

Not much was happening when my doctor decided he needed to break my water to do an internal monitor. When my water broke, my contractions started.

20 minutes later, our baby girl was born.

You can chalk it up to hormones if you want, but I have never felt mercy wash over me more powerfully than it did that morning.

I called friend after friend, saying “She’s here!” and always hearing, on the other end, “Already??” Childbirth is hard, but mine was so easy. I thought I’d come out of it exhausted; but that night I was practically skipping down the hospital corridors, wearing real clothes and trying to scrounge up a diet coke and some ice cream.

Good Friday is a day of sadness, yet it’s tightly bound to hope and love and new life. And mercy. So much mercy.

We brought our baby girl home from the hospital bright and early Easter Sunday: New Life to a home that had contained the very real fear of death not long before.

We were still in the midst of our hard season; it wouldn’t be letting up for a while yet.

But we were going to make it.

Today, and every Easter, we remember.

photo credit

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