And then there were seven....

Isaac 

He laugheth. The child of promise, and the heir of the promises.

You came on Sunday.

While the leaves were falling and Autumn was threatening to turn to winter.

We finally got the call to go to the hospital at around 12:00pm. Such a strange feeling to walk into a place knowing that when you walk out, you will never be the same person. It still felt surreal. Was this really happening? Were we really going home with a baby?

I got all hooked up and we started contractions at around 1:00pm. Also strange. A strange way to being labor, but I had such a sure feeling that this was how it should be. My health was deteriorating. You were vital and strong within me so far. I loved hearing your strong little heart beat and to feel your arms and legs stretch and bounce within me. 

Galloping horses. That's what your tiny little heart sounded like, all through out the day.

Labor progressed slowly. I was quite pleased with how well I handled the contractions, unmedicated. That would change.

Around 6:30pm they broke my water.  Images of oceans, raging rivers and, surprisingly, baptisms came to me amidst the very uncomfortable feeling.

I knew you would come quickly now. 

So did everyone else.

The very kind nurses suggested this would be the time to call the anesthesiologist. I looked over at Jeremy and then back at the nurses and timidly said I would hold off. One of the nurses, with pity in her voice, said that I could ring for them if I changed my mind. 

Your daddy. He is a wonderful wonderful man. He knew I wanted to go unmedicated. But that was before everything. The unwanted diagnosis, the pictocin, the scheduled birth. 

Minutes. Maybe just one and a half. That's all it took for the wild and completely core shaking contractions to take over. I looked over at Jeremy again and asked, "Why? Why the heck am I doing this without medicine??" 

He responded with, "Well, remember, you wanted to recover quickly, to feel your legs and to feel Isaac coming. Remember that it will be over soon."

That argument did not hold up one bit in my mind and I rang for the the nurse to call the anesthesiologist. 

I looked back over at your daddy and asked if he was disappointed. He said no, he loved me.

That was exactly what I needed to hear.

The anesthesiologist came with in a few minutes (that seemed like hours of writhing in that hospital bed). He came with his big, square, black glasses and surgical cap. He very calmly talked me through every step of the epidural process. Which, to me, who could barely breath  between periods of the most intense pain I have ever felt in my life, seemed totally contradictory. 


As the process began, I doubted my choice. It seemed more painful to take the pain away! As I was rolled up in a ball, thinking I might die, I heard the sound of a horse galloping. It gave me strength. YOU gave me strength and all I wanted was to see you here safely and hold you in my arms. I focused on the galloping heart beat. 


The next hour and a half is a blur in my mind. I'm not even sure how to describe it. Everything happened so fast. I went from being 4 cm dilated to pushing in that time. It was crazy intense. The epidural didn't really have a chance to take effect. All of a sudden I felt you descend. I'll never forget that feeling. The nurses jumped into motion so fast when I told them I felt pressure. The doctor was paged and within minutes you were born.


You were born. Of me and your dad. Of pain and elation. Of water and blood. Of joy.




I was overcome with emotion. Instant replay of the births of your siblings was running through my mind. I quietly thanked my Heavenly Father for your safe arrival and marveled at your beautiful body. 
Your robust, high pitched cry. Your long fingers and toes. Your perfectly round, bald little head. Your cleft chin, just like daddy, Sam, Elise, Claire and Anna. You are one of us.




We that were six are now seven and feel more complete than ever. 
 

Isaac Thomas
November 20, 2011
6 lbs 15 oz
20 1/2 inches