Tomorrow she'll celebrate four whole weeks of life on the outside. I can hardly believe it, really. It seems like just yesterday I was propped up in a hospital bed, holding her while she slept, talking to kind friends who stopped by to welcome her. (Brave ones, too, if you ask me. Funny things can be spoken when I am woozy. I still remember the time I told Jobie's first hospital visitor, an elder from our church, that it was like the parting of the Red Sea when my water broke. I have absolutely no! idea! why I would've given that (inaccurate) information at that time and to that person other than the fact that I was heavily medicated from surgery. Goodness.)
I'm going to be very honest and tell you that a third cesarean delivery is not for the faint of heart. I knew, going into the process, that the road would not be easy. In this case, the third time was not a charm. It was grueling. I sobbed in pain, as a somewhat loud-mouthed and demanding nurse required that I cough into a tube to prevent pneumonia forming in my lungs. Nearly five days later, I would stoop in pain from just a small cough or laugh, but imagine the pain, fresh from surgery a mere six hours earlier. (My doctor also informed me on the operating table that she needed to sew some of my stretched-out stomach muscles back together and I imagine that the extra pain I felt this third time around stemmed from that as well.)
But she's here. And we're whole. I have two cesarean delivery scars low across my abdomen that remind me of God's sovereignty and goodness and that modern medicine is a miracle, and if that weren't enough, three beautiful babies to tell me again and again that such things are indeed true.
I can't say that I entered Wren's delivery without a great amount of fear. A third time for a major surgery intimidated me. I called my siblings the day before and made sure to say I loved them. Just in case. I told my husband to play this song, by my friend's husband, as they opened up my body and pulled out our beautiful daughter. And, I asked him to play this song while we held her for the first time, all piled on the small operating table, tears pooling and rolling down our cheeks.
They pulled her out and I heard someone say how little and cute she was, another commented on her hair. But then I saw her, I heard my husband's voice crack as he called out to her moments before I caught my own first glimpse of her, and she was perfect.
And here we are, four weeks later. Each day, growing more and more in love with her. All of us. But, I'm sure you probably gathered that from these photographs. Happy four weeks to our beautiful Wrennie-Wrennie, as her brothers love to call her. We want you to know, little one, that we are indeed the lucky ones, with very grateful hearts to the One who knows you, made you, and brought you safely to us.
p.s. I want to say that I wouldn't have made it without my sister, my husband, and especially my mom. I love you and am so thankful for you, mom!