Serendipity

I think I’ve written this post at least 364 times in the last year. Once every day for every day that Emma has been here in my life.

Emma.

My VBAC baby.

I remember asking Doc T during my consultation with him when I transferred to his practice if he was able to look at my medical records and confirm that what had happened wasn’t my fault. That I hadn’t failed.

He told me that anything he said would be speculation at best based on whatever the providers had chosen to include in my records. I felt like that was professional and respected his answer.

And then after I had her, after she came so quickly and amazingly into this world, he patted me on the knee, leg still in the stirrups, and said “and they called you a failure to progress at 7 or 8?” and just kind of chuffed a little with his breath.

And that was my answer.

Finding out I was pregnant with her was such a mind game. I hadn’t planned on her. Not then at least. I was toying around with the idea of only ever having Joshua. Of being “one and done.”

And then suddenly there they were, two pink lines. I was confused and scared. All of the feelings of brokenness and fear nearly swallowed me. I fought against those who thought I was crazy for attempting to VBAC her, whether their judgments were spoken out loud or just written on their faces.

I fought myself.

And I doubted. I doubted so much.

But then I think I didn’t really doubt any of it at all.

I think in my secret heart I always knew that her birth would be what I needed it to be. That it would restore my faith in myself and my body.

I think I always knew I would VBAC her.

(The med free and stitches thing I didn’t foresee. But I would do it all over again. Except maybe I’d skip the stitches.)

Every time I think about Emma’s birth, read her birth story, relive the day in my head, any of it, I cry. Happy tears well up in my eyes and burn my nose and then spill down my cheeks. Tears that say “Look! You did this! You aren’t broken! You were never broken!”

Because the truth is that I was never broken.

I was hurt, though, and Emma’s birth healed my very hurt places. Pieces of my heart that were sort of hanging on with Elmer’s glue and Scotch tape feel put back together.

My heart feels whole.

My body feels whole.

And it’s because of Emma.

My little piece of serendipity.