My son’s life is a miracle.
My pregnancy with him was not a typical pregnancy. We got pregnant after 13 months of trying. My husband and I had already been through two miscarriages. In total we had been trying to have kids for about three and a half years.
When I got pregnant with baby number three, it was easy for me to fall into worry and apprehension. Keeping my fears at bay was a moment-by-moment task. I would think, “If we lose this one, somehow we’ll get through it, with God’s help. But right now, there is life, and we should rejoice about that.” I did not even buy any baby things until more than halfway through my pregnancy. We had a baby shower just a few weeks before I was due, and I was glad it was so late.
But everything went well.
I had recently found a new primary doctor, and he referred me to Women’s Health Specialists of New Mexico, where I received wonderful care throughout my pregnancy. He also ordered an early ultrasound for me. That took place on Christmas Eve, and though we could not see very much, everything looked good. At this time, my sister-in-law was three months pregnant with their first child, so it was even more special, being pregnant at the same time as her. That was a very happy Christmas.
When the New Year rolled around, the morning sickness hit me hard.
Being nauseous all the time is not fun, but I think only someone who has gone through loss can understand the relief I felt. Research shows that women who have morning sickness are less likely to miscarry. So every day that I spent puking into the toilet, unable to endure the smell of cooking, or just feeling miserable, made me very happy.
We had a scare at twelve weeks, when they couldn’t find his heartbeat on the doppler. I found out later that this is common; but at the time, it was hard. I had an ultrasound the next day, and I cried when I heard that strong, steady heartbeat. Baby was doing wonderfully.
I thought I was going to have to work after the baby was born. Though I had always hoped to stay home with my children, mostly I was just happy about the baby. But midway through my pregnancy my husband got a raise at his job, with benefits. So I quit my job at twenty weeks; at twenty-one weeks we had an ultrasound and found out we were having a boy. It was around that time, too, that I started to feel the baby move. I couldn’t get enough of those wonderful little flutters.
I was due August 19.
On August 11, I started having contractions. They continued at regular intervals throughout the day, but when we went into the hospital, they sent us home. The contractions continued through the evening, and then we went to bed. When I woke up in the morning, the contractions had stopped. My due date came and went. I was huge. I was having terrible acid reflux which caused me to throw up almost every night. Also, I was experiencing insomnia, fatigue, and general discomfort. But I still hoped to go into labor naturally, and I knew the longer the baby stayed in there, the better.
However, as more days went by I began to feel concerned about the baby’s size, and we finally made the decision to induce.
I was four days past my due date when I was admitted to the hospital. What followed was a long, weary 19-hour saga. (I wrote about it in more detail here.) It turned out the baby’s head was so large I had trouble pushing. He took two hours for him to appear, and in all that time his heartbeat continued strong and steady. It never dropped. The doctor was amazed. Multiple times throughout my pregnancy I had felt like God was whispering to me, “This baby is a fighter.” That proved true over and over again, and I was so thankful.
At 1:24 p.m. on August 23, 2014, David Roger Frederick Holland finally emerged – 8 pounds 10 ounces – long and lean, healthy and alert. When I heard his cry and knew he was alive and healthy, and then when I held him in my arms the first time, the feelings of euphoria that washed over me are indescribable. All of the exhaustion, pain and weariness no longer mattered; it was a rare, precious moment where heaven met earth.
Today, our miracle is three and a half years old. David is still a fighter. He is cute, smart, sweet, and stubborn. He has gone through all of the normal highs and lows of toddlerhood. It is not always easy. But so often, when I look at him, I remember all of this. It goes through my mind in a flash, and I thank God once again for him and his life. It is humbling to have such a tangible reminder every day that this busy, active little boy is a living, breathing miracle.
Originally published May 2018.
