Five years ago I had been in labor for twenty-four hours, some ten of it in transition and approximately six hours at a nine and a half. I was bleeding. (Not a lot of blood...it was a lot of amniotic fluid tinged with a little blood which made it look like a lot to me. I tell you that so you don't think my mid-wife was irresponsible, because she isn't.)I thought the baby was bleeding and that they were lying to me to just so I wouldn't give up and die. I was sure I was going to die and the only thing that kept me going was a strong little heartbeat in my abdomen that the midwife insisted was there. I kept chanting "anything for the baby, anything for the baby" interspersed with "Jesus, Help me!!!" and "I WANT TO PUSH!!!" (Which was my problem to begin with...pushing too soon. My fault, not the midwife's.)
About an hour later my sister knelt beside me and whispered in my ear that she'd just had a call from her husband (who'd been praying), that everything was going to be fine, he'd be surprised if it wasn't a girl and that the name given was Anne Marie (which means Grace and Bitterness).
I didn't mention that I expected a boy.
Well, I hollered, "I want to push!" one more time before my midwife said, "Okay." Seriously? She hadn't let me push for hours but I didn't make her tell me twice (well, actually I did).
I delivered a baby at the foot of my bed. My midwife said, "You have a baby."
"What kind of baby?" I asked.
"Don't tell her." I heard my sister say.
Meanwhile I am crawling up onto the bed where there are pillows waiting. I try to lift the baby to see the gender, but have no energy left to lift the little eight pound body. Finally someone helped me. "Oh! It's a Princess!"
"A what?" I heard my mom ask.
"A girl, mom, her name is Princess," answered my sister.
A girl. I was in awe for more than a week. Some days I'm still in awe. My God saw to it to miraculously save my daughter from miscarriage AND He gave me a girl.
Princess girl, you are truly a miracle child. I love you, Your Cuteness.