When I woke up early in the morning on November 3rd feeling the pains of labor, it was yet one more reminder to me that none of "this" is in our hands. I was prepared for a new baby on the 4th, and here it was the 3rd. I love that he chose his birthday. It was a beautiful day, sunny and clear.
Hearing his lusty cry for the first time in the OR was such a departure from the last time I'd been there. Adler and Cameron's cries were tiny, wane, weak, and Boe's silence echoed more loudly than either of his brother's cries. This time everyone joked about my boy's pipes. Rather than being whisked off to the NICU for immediate care, Brody was examined by a neonatologist in the OR, Adam was allowed to cut his cord. People in the room were joyful and congratulatory, not somber and sad.
During the first moments that I held Brody, I would be lying if I said that my thoughts did not drift to Boe. Nearly 18 months before, I had been in that recovery room holding 2 lb 13 oz Boe in my arms. He had been warm and sweet, but painfully still and silent. Now, I sat holding a big, pink, squirming baby boy. I held him close, and I prayed.
I prayed that he would grow up knowing that even though he was not planned, he is wanted and dearly loved. I prayed that he will know he is not a replacement or an attempt to recreate "what should have been". He is his own person, cherished unconditionally, as is. I prayed that Boe knows that even though we have this new little life, it will never diminish his place in our hearts. I prayed for the strength to cherish and love all my children both heavenly and of this earth. I opened my heart to God for the first time in a long time, and I prayed...
