Gwendolyn

The banner of my iPhone glowed a brilliant, "4:06 AM" as I pressed the home button. 44 more minutes until my alarm would go off. I rolled, quite literally, back onto the bed and tried to shut off all the sympathetic nerves that were beginning to fire. While I waited for the remaining minutes of my allotted time of sleep to tick by, my unsuccessful efforts to net any extra Z's evolved into earnest prayers for my baby girl. First, they started off along these lines.

"Please let her be healthy. Please let her be delivered with out any complications. Please give her a heart that seeks Truth. Call her to yourself. Please reveal Yourself to her through me instead of in spite of me."

Then they began to change to...

"Let your will be done today and give me the faith I need to trust that You are always good."

When standing on the precipice of something wonderful and beautiful, the thought of it not coming to fruition truly appears to be nothing short of evil.

Prior to this day, our baby girl had given us a run for our money. We had hoped and planned throughout the pregnancy to have a VBAC (Vaginal Birth After Caesarean) and it had appeared to be a reasonably attainable goal. As D day approached however, each prenatal visit with our midwives revealed that this little girl was not on board. She remained breech up until week 37, at which point my husband and I began to consider the fact that we may have to go through with another Caesarean after all. This would mean that we would have the limited involvement of our midwives as well as a longer recovery time at Mission hospital which was a 45 minute drive from our home. This was not favorable when compared to a better hospital (in our opinion) that was only a 5 minute drive away. The only down side was that, because of this alternative hospital's size, a NICU was not present and therefore, VBACs were not allowed.

We bided our time until finally, after confirming once again, at another prenatal appointment, that baby was breech, we opted to transfer to an alternative provider.

This took some doing since we were so close to my due date, and it was only because a former Army Colonel who never backed down from a challenge, took us under her wing and made room in her schedule for our first appointment.

Upon this introduction, I informed her of our past with this pregnancy and our reasons for transferring. She listened understandingly, then suggested that we do an ultrasound screening, just so she could get a better idea of baby's position before the surgery.

A squirt of cold gel and a couple swivels of the transducer was followed by, "Girlfriend. She's head down."

My mouth dropped. "Are you serious?" I asked, unable to believe that after all this time, and all of my efforts to make this girl turn, she finally decided to flip on my first appointment with my new Doctor. "So, what do you want to do? Do you want to go back to your midwives?"

Since this new hospital did not allow VBACs, I said, "Yes!" and thanked her profusely for being so incredibly patient and flexible with us. She graciously sent me on my way with well wishes and all of the luck in the world. I scheduled an appointment for two days later with my midwives and returned, with great enthusiasm, to putting together my birth plan for a natural delivery.

The day of my appointment arrives, and although the midwife said she believed my story, we did another ultrasound. Baby was breech again.

At this point I was feeling a little overwhelmed and very unsure about what was best for our family - particularly its newest member. The midwife assured me I didn't have to make a decision right then, so I went home to discuss things with Hunter. In the end, we opted to return to the other care provider and stick to our plan for a c-section. Since our due date was drawing near, getting one scheduled would become increasingly unlikely the longer we waited. I felt confident in our decision and, although I was disappointed, I was thankful to have a plan in place.

My second appointment with our new doctor arrives and once again, they perform an ultrasound to check baby's positioning. And, once again, she had decided to show off her flexibility, and flip herself head down into the vertex position - ready for a vaginal delivery. I felt a tear slip down my cheek in frustration after seeing her little noggin nestled snugly in my pelvis. This just didn't seem fair. I so wanted a natural birth, but felt obligated to stick to my guns with our decision to have a c-section.

After the ultrasound, my new doctor sat down with me to pique my brain about how I was feeling in regards to the birth. To summarize our conversation, she gave me all the grace in the world and in so many words said, "You have a choice and the option to change your mind up until the moment that we are walking back for the surgery." She suggested I call my midwives and ask if they would be willing to accept me back under their care and immediately go in for an induction. This seemed like the only viable option for my hopes of having this child naturally to remain alive, and since my new doctor essentially left the ball in my court, I thought, why not shoot one last shot?

I made a phone call, and hoisted up my hopes again. The conversation was somewhat brief, but its end dictated the way that my baby girl would be brought forth into our world. The midwives collectively felt that I should not and could not continue to change my mind regarding the delivery of our baby and so, despite her return to the vertex position, they would not accept me back under their care.

Although I understood and respected their reasons, I cried a good bit that afternoon. In many ways, I think my emotions were evoked less by the fact that I would not be having the natural birth I'd craved and more by the feeling of being left with no other option. Hormones more than less likely contributed as well.

Our c-section was scheduled for Monday, November 18th at 7:30am and we were to arrive two hours early, at 5:30am. So there I lay, waiting for the clock to wind down.

When the time came, Hunter and I crawled out of bed and loaded our car with a formerly packed hospital bag and tons of snacks. We drove to the hospital, parked the car, and gave each other high fives before walking through its entrance.

Having a C-section is weird. This was my second, and so in a lot of ways I knew what to expect. If you've never had one, or if you're a guy, I'll take you on the journey with me by sharing a little bit about what it's like.

It all starts with the gown. You know, the one that covers everything excepting your back side. Then you get the sticky socks that don't have a top or bottom to them, and a shower cap that wouldn't keep water off your hair if it got wet. You will walk back to the delivery room, which will be icebox temperature, and then be asked to sit down on the operating table and arch your back so you look like a shrimp that's about to take a shower with its pjs on. You'll get the sensation that a yellow jacket or five landed on your back, stung you, and then poured hot soup on top of the location of their stings. The hot soup will spread until you can't feel anything from the chest down. During all of this, you will be laid down by three different people who all have some sort of job regarding your proper positioning. What they are, I do not know because of the soup. People will hover over your head, asking how your feeling, and during this particular procedure, I became nauseous. Let me just say, the only thing worse than dry heaving, is dry heaving while laying on your back with no feeling or ability to move in your lower extremities.

I got the feeling that comes when you've shoved your feet into shoes that are way too small for you and they go numb. Then you desperately need to wiggle and stretch your toes but you can't. Only this was over my entire body. Do you know the feeling I'm describing? It was miserable. A giant, sea foam sheet was hung directly in front of my face to keep me from seeing scalpels cutting into my abdomen, so when compounded with the rest of these feelings, I felt very claustrophobic and restless. I couldn't stop sliding my arms around and trying, with everything in my power, to flex my feet. Anxiety started to pump into my system until I felt Hunter's hand on my head and saw his hazel eyes smiling at me. He smiles with his eyes (I also couldn't see his mouth since he too was wearing a worthless shower cap and face mask).

When you are giving birth, despite how the baby is coming into the world, the one sound your ears are straining to hear is the first cry of your baby. I could be totally wrong, but I feel as if being blinded by a sheet and having no idea of literally what's going on "down there" makes the anticipation of hearing your baby even more intense. I kept watching Hunter's face as he watched our baby being born, looking for some sort of indication that she was ok... or... not ok. Suddenly I heard the Doctor say, "Oh. Shoot." and felt my lower half being pressed down on heavily and shook back and forth. Hunter must have felt my eyes staring lasers into his soul because he looked down at me and smiled with his eyes again. "She's ok." he said reassuringly. I sighed with relief, but didn't understand why I still hadn't heard her cry. Minutes passed and it became clear to me that everything was not going as smoothly as my last caesarean with Judah had gone.

My anesthesiologist leaned over my head and tried to smile reassuringly. "They're having a tough time getting her to breathe on her own. She's okay though." I kept waiting and finally, although I still had not heard a single peep out of her, she was brought to me and laid on my chest.

"She was in the breech position with her legs criss-cross apple sauce with the cord wrapped twice around her neck. We were having a tough time getting her head out. I have no idea how she was able to flip around the way she did." I heard my Doctor's voice explaining the events of the past several minutes and wondered to myself how much more dangerous an attempt at a VBAC would have been for this little girl.

Today is our second day home. Our little girl looks just like her brother and although she didn't announce her entrance into this world quite as vocally, she's already made an enormous impact with her presence in our lives.

Grace is one of those never-changing steadfast things that nevertheless remains an evolving concept to me. I have yet to feel as if I can finally wrap my mind around all it is able to do. Maybe this is because Hunter and I have been using our free time at home these past few days to binge watch Star Wars, but it reminds me of the Force. It connects us and pulses within our universe. Unseen but unfathomably powerful. It is unbiased and the heartbeat of the cycle of life. Where there is death, there is life. Where there is darkness, there is light. I cannot know what would have happened to Gwen if we were to have attempted a VBAC but this circumstance in which I unknowingly fell into Grace, I'm sure, is not the last of its kind during my time of parenting this little girl.

In the end, Grace is how we receive, grow, know, love, and experience our children. I've experienced Grace in more ways through my role as a mother than I have in any other relationship... and usually, I'm the one on the receiving end. I love that both my babes were born around the Holidays as it already serves as a reminder of how much Grace we received so many years ago, through the birth of one small baby. So Grace be with you, Peace on earth, and goodwill to all parents.

Jordan Nichole Photography