Pregnant with purpose, being delivered into my destiny. Pt.11

Hey Fam! Did y’all miss me? I missed you too! Before we jump in I need to be H.O.T. (Honest, Open, and Transparent- shout out to Pastor Michael Todd, Transformation Church, Tim Ross and the Basement Dwellers). It gets more and more challenging to get these posts out. To put it differently, delivering this baby is a labor of love. Let me give you an example, if you look a the date on this post it says February 18, 2024 and I’m just posting this on March 2. Life has been happening!!! At times I want to quit. I get overwhelmed emotionally, distracted professionally, and tired physically… BUT I made a commitment to you, to myself and more importantly to God. So come what may, I am going to complete this. We are gonna see this through to the end!

Can we address the elephant in the room? I’ve shared how four of my five children got here. There is one missing. Who is this child? When was he born? …Who is his father? These are all excellent questions; I will get into those in this post. I want to say how I see myself even as I write this. Life is funny in that as we get older and wiser, we wish to go back and do things again. I wish I could go back and talk with my younger version. That is why I write. I’m offering my experiences to you so that you can draw from it and do better, go further… Evolve! My prayer is that something in these posts will touch you. That something would jump off the page, embrace you, and push you toward better for yourself. God’s love can do that; I pray you accept it and do better for yourself.

In no way am I perfect, but I am evolving! I am in a much better place now. I know who I am, and I know whose I am. And it is through this filter of “knowing” that all major decisions and choices get filtered. This keeps me from doing the same thing over and over again….now. This is where growth happens! So, are you ready to jump in with me? Let’s do it!

Life was looking up for me. I was working again and slaying. Tyree was off to Valley Forge Military School and loved it. Zyon was a rockstar at St. Paul’s school. Zari was a happy, sweet, creative child. Jaaziel was still blowing the minds of the medical community. Things were going my way. But I still had my head in the sand in one area… Oh, you guessed it? Yup! I was still in a situationship with Anesthetist. So, let me be clear. Our situationship was not the lovey dovey, are you my soulmate thing we started as. It was a hard, familiar, war-torn, traumatic thing.

We had endured catastrophic, devastating medical situations. So, in that respect, we were war buddies. On the other hand, my war buddy planted his Ka-bar military-issued knife in my back multiple times while he was supposed to be watching my six. So, there was no trust, just routine. I figured he was the devil I knew. This settling and normalizing of traumatic events was my norm. On one occasion, the Anesthetist asked me to help him prepare his taxes. I agreed reluctantly. I agreed because I still wanted the best for him. I didn’t want to do it because even hearing his street address, the home he shared with the wife he didn’t claim, made me nauseous, literally. I decided to help him, thinking that if things were better financially for him, that would directly impact the care of Jaaziel. I thought he would contribute more, or at least partially, especially since he knew I had the added responsibility of paying tuition for Tyree, too. I swallowed my pride and any sense of dignity and settled into my seat at the computer. I started the program and began to ask him questions. Now, the Anesthetist was still holding on to the lie that he was separated at this time. So, when I asked for the address, and he rattled off their home address, I lost it! But remained silent. All the voices in my head started screaming!! “But you said that is NOT where you live! Monique, what are you doing? Why are you doing this for him? Why is he asking you to do this when he knows it hurts you?” I took a deep breath and moved on. I asked how he would be filing, and suddenly, he needed to call someone. The call to “the someone” could not be made in the house. He needed to go to his car to make the call. “Does he think I’m stupid? Am I stupid? I must be stupid for allowing him to make me feel this pain! No, you didn’t allow him to hurt you; you volunteered for the pain, Smarticus! Where are you right now? Are you sitting at this computer preparing his taxes to benefit his family? Do you really think that he will help you and your family? Oh, I see you don’t understand that there is his family and your family. Oh, you think there is a family you share. Wake up, sis!” 

Wake up, I did not. I stayed asleep… More like a Zombie walking through my own life. I thought, “You should be your life's leading lady.” I knew I wasn’t. I wasn’t even a supporting actress. I was more like the small, unattended plant on the windowsill, just barely in the frame of the leading actors. I felt crushed. I felt low. I felt used and manipulated. I felt insignificant. But I had desires. I desired love. I desired intimacy. I hungered for connection. I desired to be seen. While the Anesthetist could not provide me with many of these, he could give me superficial connection. He offered me sex. He knew how to navigate me physically and emotionally. I decided to succumb and have sex with him. I knew this decision was akin to me deciding to consume the crumbs from the floor rather than wait and dine at a table with my respect and self-worth intact. This was a purely physical act. There was literally no emotional connection at all. I wanted emotional connectivity, but I was wise enough to know that he could not offer and/or deliver that to me. I started to pay attention to how I felt before and after having sex with him. I realized that I wasn’t desiring to be one with him. I just needed stimuli. My body was numb to him. Our sexual encounters were reduced to physical acts as routine as scratching the back of your hand. I was disconnected mentally. I had to be to partake in the act. What we had in the beginning felt like intimacy. It was an intimate space that he and I shared. Now I knew for sure that his wife was in this space, too. I also knew that there were other people in this space as well. How do I know? Well, he started to get sloppy. I would find hotel room keys in his car with a woman's name on them. I would find small pieces of paper with a woman’s name and address on them as well. I didn’t need to be Sherlock Holmes to know something was afoot. And before you ask… No, I’m not the type of person that would try to see him in the act or chase him through the streets! My motto is “No need to chase down trouble, it will find you right where you are. Monique Moment: If this is where you are or what you are doing, stop!

I knew and did nothing. I didn’t question him. What would be the point in that? He had proven that it was possible to look me in the eye and lie, or share his version of the truth, which deviated from reality. His behavior showed that he was not just concerned with having or building something with me. He was looking out for himself, which meant he was free to do him however he saw fit. Here is the scary part. Why didn’t I require him to use a condom when we had sex? Knowing that I was a single mother to whom God entrusted four innocent, beautiful souls, why didn’t I insist that he use a condom? I would be dishonest if I said that it wasn’t something I thought about regularly. In fact, I would often think about the possibility of getting a disease while I was having sex with him and still would not speak up. I can’t say if I thought unprotected sex made us closer or if there was some deep-seeded psychological reason for my behavior. What I can say is that, in hindsight, it was stupid. Interesting word choice, right? I’ve decided to use kind words when discussing my younger self, but I like to be honest, too. That was ’bout the stupidest thing this side of creation! I mean HHHEEELLLLLOOOOOO! Do you wanna die? Who is gonna take care of all these babies like you do? Who is gonna love them? Who will ensure they aren’t making the same stupid mistakes you are making? Then there is the other OBVIOUS reason to make him strap up! You are so very fertile. Let’s be honest. You sit on a snowy field, and grass sprouts!! What are you doing? Do you think he is gonna raise a finger to help you with another child or assist in paying for the expenses associated with another child? Heck, naw! But did any of these thoughts stop me from laying down and playing Russian Roulette with mine and the kids’ lives. No, it did not. I can only say that God truly does watch out for babies and fools! I was not a child, but this was simply stupid behavior. But guess what? It made sense to me because I had no accountability. It was me and my unchecked behavior. There was no village I trusted. There was no church to check in on me. There was no sister-friend so close that could see that I needed someone to intervene. Monique Moment: I know I sound like a broken record at this point, and for good reason, too. You need people. Genesis 2:18 says, God said “It’s not good for the Man to be alone; I’ll make him a helper, a companion.” I know all the super technical people will say, “Cool, Monique. I’ve got a husband… I don’t need anyone else.” To them, I say. Jesus had 12 homies He was out in these streets with. If He needed 12, what makes you think you can do life on your own? I’m not saying you need 12. When times got tough, Jesus pulled the sho-nuff Riders to hold him down. Don’t believe me, check out Matthew 26: 36-38.

It was the week before parents' weekend at Valley Forge Military School. I had not seen Tyree in what seemed like forever, although it was only six weeks. The kids and I were so excited to finally see him. I was looking in the mirror, trying to figure out if I had enough energy to do something cute with my hair when I noticed it… My lips are blue. Wait, what? Why are my lips blue? Hmmm.. what did I eat? Did I eat something blue? Oh no, am I dying? Is my heart failing? Do I need to go to the hospital? What is going on with me? Okay, let me step through this. I’m completely exhausted. My cute jeans are a little snug in the hips. That’s normal around my time of the month…. Wait!!! Dag nabit! When was my last cycle… Okay, calm down. You’re still nursing a little at night. You are fine. As I sat on the bed and did the quick day count and the mental inventory of sexual acts I had with the Anesthetist. The gravity of my predicament settled in as I closed my eyes. “I’m pregnant by the Anesthetist, again?” The very first thought in my mind was, “You can’t afford to do this.” My life was hard. Hard is an understatement. Like my life was bone-crushingly difficult on a good day. My sanity was being held intact by tape and lace. I have huge tuition expenses and am raising this family independently. Let me be clear. I am working, taking children to extracurricular activities, and trying to be engaged and present in their education. I’m trying to do all the things…alone. The natural thought is… God, I can’t do this. Not by myself… not again. I was telling myself what wasn’t possible because I was looking at my current situation. I saw God’s hand. I knew God was watching over me, but I was putting my “human skin” and limitations on God while looking at my current situation.  

True to form, I reached out to hear what others had to say about my situation. Looking for answers. I called a close friend who also had quite a few children through a blended marriage. She is also a woman of God, although if I’m honest I wasn’t looking for what was right spirtually, I was emotional. She quickly spoke the truth in honesty. “Girl, at this point, adding one more is easy. Once you have more than three, they add on quickly.” Then she followed up with, “You don’t even believe in having abortions, so what are you saying?” She was right. Having the abortion felt foreign and vile. It also felt like a possibility because my natural life was hard, and I questioned my ability or desire to walk this out…again. After she and I spoke, I called the Anesthetist. I shared that I was expecting. I also shared my doubt that I should keep the pregnancy. I expressed that I loved the baby, but I didn’t know if I could handle another child in this situationship. He listened but did not respond to the fact that I was indicating that parenting alone was difficult. He said “You don’t believe in abortions, but whatever you want to do I support. But you don’t believe in abortions.” “I said I don’t, but I just don’t know how I will do this.” Then it dawned on me, “God will make a way!” I’m not saying that the road I was on or the choices I made for myself were perfect, but I was covered by grace and mercy. I’d seen first-hand that God could take my mess and make miracles. This pregnancy would be no different. I ended the call with the Anesthetist and talked to God. I whispered a simple prayer: “God, help me. You know what I have on my plate. You know how afraid I am that this baby will also have Spina Bifida, and I won’t be able to care for it on my own. Father God, you know my heart.” I decided in that moment that if God blessed me with a baby, I would carry it…no matter what fear I had, situations that may arise, or what others may think.

Sharing this information with my children was easy. The acceptance I received; the lack of opposition is what I needed from them. I can’t recall my parents' reaction. I think the conversation I had when I shared, I was pregnant with Jaaziel jarred me so much that I formed the proverbial callus over my ears/heart when it came to my parents understanding and supporting me during my pregnancies. I understood they wanted the best for me, and in their eyes my having children hindered me. They were parenting me based on what culture might think of me…they were parenting me based on what people would think about them. At this point, I was a full-grown woman living in her own space with a family. Why would I be disturbed by what my parents thought about my pregnancy? Well, it was my trauma. I was grown in age, but emotionally stunted, and my trauma made me become the 14-year-old who still craved the acceptance and approval of my parents. I desired to be seen and validated; because I didn’t receive this, I walked through life a fractured adult. An adult who if given the correct set of circumstances regressed to a 14-year-old girl.

My pregnancy was very easy…THANK YOU, JESUS!

 Monique Moment: God knows exactly how much you can take. God knew that I was only holding it together with tape and lace. I like to think my DNA is identical to a superhero's, but it’s not. God blessed me with an easy pregnancy. I do not take it for granted; it was a gift. I never found out what was causing the blue lips. It was there for about two days, then was gone. I didn’t try to figure it out. I prayed ALL the time and threw myself into the care of the doctors. I’d learned that the doctors practiced medicine, but I was directly connected to the Creator, who had me! Every time I had an appointment, fear crept in. I noticed my breath became shallow. I’d start to panic as I started my drive to the hospital for checkups. In fact, most days, I was in tears by the time I was in the parking lot. I’d manage to pull myself together before getting out of the car and walking to the doctor’s office.

Words can’t describe the relief felt once the doctor’s appointment ended and I’d heard the good news. It was as if I’d been anticipating the negative report from the doctor, and I guess, on some level, I was. I’d become conditioned to expect an unfavorable report. This is trauma. I didn’t realize it at the time, nor did I realize the impact it was having on my mental or physical state. I called it just living. I welcomed each and every excellent report I received from my care team during this time. The gratitude and thankfulness I felt after a healthy report was unfathomable…and strengthened me. As I gained my strength, my mental state got a little better. As my mental state improved, I sought opportunities to smile and be joyful. This pregnancy was going to be easy. I could be relaxed as I carried my son…. Yes, another boy! I then found the theme song for this time in my life. Enter Happy, by Pharrell Williams. This song is exactly what I needed. We would have impromptu dance parties to this song, played on repeat, as we dressed for the day. I’d play it on the way to work. I’d play it as I did my housework. Let’s say I played it all the time. I needed this song. In so many ways, this song became the basis of my faith. You see, I couldn’t see the end. I was hoping for a healthy baby. I didn’t know if I was going to struggle financially. I didn’t know what role the Anesthetist would play going forward. I didn’t know anything. But I did have this little thing called hope. It wasn’t as bold as faith…but I had hope. A verse that is widely referenced for faith is:

Hebrews 11:1 - Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.

What I was doing was living another verse:

Romans 12:12 -Be joyful in hope, patient in affliction, faithful in prayer.

I didn’t make the conscious decision to be hopeful. It grew organically from the good report from the doctor. Once I had that small seed of a good health report, I could water it by considering the possibility of a healthy pregnancy. Once I received the small seed and watered it by considering the possibility of a healthy pregnancy, my mind could cultivate that by creating a mental environment to hope for a healthy pregnancy. What you start off hoping for can quickly become faith. There is only one connector. Expectancy. This expectancy takes courage, and the courage comes from a history of good things happening. The shifting of my perspective was the spark needed to guide me out of my depression toward God’s redemptive love.

The relationship between me the Anesthetist stayed drama filled. It took on this ugly normalcy that we both became accustomed to. I walked away from any thought pointing to our future together. I made the conscious decision to exist in this space. I started to believe that there was nothing good for me in the world. I believed this was as good as it gets for a woman like me. I lost trust in men, which lead me to lose my desire to want a man that could give me more. I thought an honest, true man of God who would partner with me, build with me…just love me didn’t exist. At lease they didn’t exist and want me. I relaxed my expectations and assumed more responsibility myself. I made decisions that would prioritize myself and my family over what the Anesthetist wanted. I knew that my family could not continue to survive and thrive if I took a traditional maternity leave. I decided to take two weeks maternity instead… I know, I know. Yes, it was crazy! But I was remote…. And honestly, what wasn’t crazy about my life at this time? I decided to take charge of my life, destiny, and future. I decided to stop following a man with no clear vision for himself, let alone for me and my family. I decided it was okay to be alone. Monique Moment: God will allow you to sit and sink in the storm until you make the decision to do something about it. So many of us have subscribed to that princess theology. You know, waiting for someone to rescue us. Okay, y’all know how I do. So, I’m fully prepared for some of y’all to want to fuss me out over this following comment. “Us” church folk struggle with the exact same thing, but with our faith. I’ll prove it to you. How many times have you prayed some version of this prayer: “Lord, help me. I just need you to help fix this. I’m going to claim it in Jesus’ name. Amen”…… Uh-huh, point proven. You see there is nothing wrong with the prayer, but where is your part. Where is the part where you make a decision and actually do the work to move you toward a goal? Many of us either treat God like a genie in a bottle, hoping and wishing, or we wait to be rescued and call it waiting on a miracle. That is NOT biblical! That doesn’t even make sense, family! The Bible is clear here:

James 2:14-26 - 

Faith and Deeds

14 What good is it, my brothers and sisters, if someone claims to have faith but has no deeds? Can such faith save them? 15 Suppose a brother or a sister is without clothes and daily food. 16 If one of you says to them, “Go in peace; keep warm and well fed,” but does nothing about their physical needs, what good is it? 17 In the same way, faith by itself, if it is not accompanied by action, is dead.

18 But someone will say, “You have faith; I have deeds.”

Show me your faith without deeds, and I will show you my faith by my deeds. 19 You believe that there is one God. Good! Even the demons believe that—and shudder.

20 You foolish person, do you want evidence that faith without deeds is useless[a]? 21 Was not our father Abraham considered righteous for what he did when he offered his son Isaac on the altar? 22 You see that his faith and his actions were working together, and his faith was made complete by what he did. 23 And the scripture was fulfilled that says, “Abraham believed God, and it was credited to him as righteousness,”[b] and he was called God’s friend. 24 You see that a person is considered righteous by what they do and not by faith alone.

25 In the same way, was not even Rahab the prostitute considered righteous for what she did when she gave lodging to the spies and sent them off in a different direction? 26 As the body without the spirit is dead, so faith without deeds is dead.

I decided to have the faith and do the work too. I’ll be the first to admit that the action to start the process to change/start feels nearly impossible. Before you can actually move, you have to have a mindset shift. You have to decide. Let’s look at the definition of the word decide. The Merriam Websters Dictionary defines the word decided as:

1. To make a final choice or judgement about

2. To select as a course of action

3. To induce to come to a choice

We don’t make decisions. We think and grapple with thoughts and say it is a decision. We build escapes and exits into our choices that allow us to go back to our norms, our comfortable space. I knew all too well that my comfortable space was not a healthy mental/physical space and was not where I wanted to live and raise my family. So, I decided. I made the final choice that I would be a different version of myself. I spent time considering the consequences of my actions on myself and my family. I spent time thinking and seeing what my life could look like. And I made decisions based on what I wanted my life to look like. I wanted to be able to send Jaaziel and my new son to a fantastic daycare. I wanted to be able to send my boys to good schools. I wanted my children to be able to participate in extracurricular activities. Those things take money. I could have just prayed and said, “God make a way, but I knew something different had to occur. I prayed and decided the two-week maternity leave was essential to ensure there was money/resources to change my path. This was my "works". This was me holding up my part of the deal with God. I asked God to cover me and give me strength and decided. 

I decided not to rely on the Anesthetist as my only transportation to the hospital. I had a neighbor who was so kind and had so much joy that it radiated through her smile and laugh. She lived just a few doors down from me and had a front seat to much of my drama during this time. She was there. She did not judge but was always ready to listen and encourage. She encouraged me and often pointed me back to logic and sense. She was so close to my situationship that there was no need to have the uncomfortable conversation about driving me to the hospital. She knew what I needed. She had proven herself to be more than a friend; she was more than family. She was my ride-or-die sista. 

I decided to organize and clean my house. Yes, I wanted/needed more space. I decided to be the leading lady in my own home and create the environment I saw in my mind in that physical space. What does that mean? I organized the closet and drawers. I donated unused items. I washed walls and baseboards. I touched up the paint. I cooked healthy meals. I did these things while working full-time and raising my family. The way I saw it, I was in training. I knew I would be responsible for doing these things and caring for my baby, so I’d better be disciplined. I even moved the furniture and cleaned the carpets. And it is this act that started my labor for baby number five.

It was a sunny June day, and all the kids were hanging out in the house. I had gotten up early to start my day at work remotely. Jaaziel was up and moving around with me. The boys all woke up and came down the steps, heading into the kitchen to grab breakfast before finding their spots in the living room to hang out. I was checking my laptop and had started cleaning the dining room carpets. I noticed it as I finished the dining room and moved into the last area in the living room. Contractions. I called the Anesthetist to notify him. He told me he was still far out at work but would head back to the area. I knew what the situation was with my transportation to the hospital. My strategy proved to be valuable. But I realized it was early. I continued checking my laptop, responding to work, and cleaning my carpets. Of course, as I continued to move, my contractions intensified. I asked Tyree to please notify my sista-neighbor, and he did. I kept on doing…what I was doing…working and cleaning. I decided it was time to email my job and let them know I was in labor when I stopped being able to talk through my contractions. As I finished cleaning my carpets, I decided to reduce some of the pain I felt. I made my way up the steps, stopping to breathe through the contractions and grounding myself. Once up the stairs, I made my way to the shower. Yes, the shower. I relaxed as the hot water relieved my stress, tension, and pain. As I stood in the shower, I was a bit sad that I was not able to experience a water birth. I always wanted to have a water birth, but the option was never available. I could still feel the contractions, but they were much more manageable in the shower. The water was just the right temperature, and I felt at peace. I prayed for an uneventful labor. I thanked God for providing me with the energy to prepare my home. I could have stayed in that shower forever. Delivering in that shower seemed like a perfect idea. That is until my sista-neighbor came into the bathroom and said “ You are not about to have that baby in the shower. How long are you planning on being in there?” I knew this was my clue to leave and head to the hospital. I ended my shower, gathered my things, kissed my kids and we headed to the hospital. Monique Moment: If you don’t have a friend that feels comfortable enough to come into your bathroom and snatch you back to reality…GET SOME or at least one!

Asking this particular sista-friend to help me at this most vulnerable moment was the BEST decision. Let’s call this sista-friend Joy. The ride to the hospital to deliver a baby can be stressful in itself. Our ride was the total opposite. We laughed as we turned off our block until we entered the room. Please understand that 83 traffic in Baltimore was REAL that afternoon, but it wasn’t enough to kill the mood. The sobering reality of how complicated my life was becoming raising my family alone wasn’t enough to kill the mood. The fact that I was having another baby by the Anesthetist, who was still denying the fact that he was legally married, living in the same house with his wife, and that every day he went home, he DECIDED to be there was not enough to the kill the mood. My overwhelming feelings of rejection, unworthiness and shame was not enough to kill the mood…. Joy was present!!! What did we laugh about, you ask? We laughed because I had a documented plan to eat until I birthed my baby. Let me be clear: this was not a thought. It was a plan. I took time to map out how and what I would eat until I delivered my baby. I planned to have a natural birth like I had with my other children. I was a pro at delivering babies at this point. My experience taught me that I needed my energy to push this baby that was expected to be at least 8 lbs. out. Some weeks earlier, as I packed my hospital bag, I intentionally packed a Sam’s Club-sized box of granola bars and a six-pack of Gatorade. Yup, I had more food than clothes in the bag! I had discussed my plan to consume that food with or without the hospital's consent unless there was a medical issue. This made my sista-friend crack up and she has an awesome laugh. You know the kind of laugh that makes you giggle. So, we giggled all the way into my room. As I was wheeled into my room with my bag-o-treats in my lap, my giggles stopped….I started executing my plan. I went into the bathroom to change my clothes. I asked Joy to hand me a Gatorade and a granola bar. She laughed as she handed them to me and said, “You were serious?” To which I responded. “Yes!” To say we were operating as a well-oiled machine is an understatement. She handed me drinks and snacks in such a way that was undetectable to my care team. I had to ensure I had no evidence on my mouth or clothes when they came in. We were a great team!

I told Joy that I thought it was time to push. She went out to locate a nurse or doctor to check on me. The doctor came into the room and began the examination. To my surprise, he said that I was only 3 cm dilated. I said, “That’s wrong!” He insisted he was right. I argued he was not. After a few rounds, I asked for another doctor to examine me. I was thrilled when a doctor from my practice showed it. I explained to her that I KNEW that I was ready to push. She agreed to recheck me and said… “You are 10 centimeters, let’s get you ready.” My care team needed to move me to another room, so Joy began to gather my things. As I was being wheeled across the hall, the Anesthetist walked in. I was pleased that he would be present at our son's birth. Even when I was pregnant with Jaaziel, I wondered what support he provided. Was he a caring father who calmed the women that birthed his children? Was he an excited father who wanted to see his children enter the world? Was he the encouraging father who told the mother that she could do this, and he held her hand? When he arrived, Joy stayed in the room. She moved to the back a little to allow the Anesthetist to take his place. I could see how uncomfortable he was as he approached the right side of my bed. I was confused. I asked him if he was okay, and he said he was. He positioned his body so that he could see me, but not the baby being born. Then I asked, “What are you doing?” I said, “Don’t you want to see?” He replied, “No, I don’t.” The care team finished connecting me to all the monitors and preparing the equipment for my new baby’s arrival. Then they looked at me. It seemed that my imminent delivery had come to a screeching halt… All eyes were on me. Oddly enough, I felt I needed to break the silence to explain what was happening, although I had no idea. “Hmm. Looks like this one doesn’t want to come out now. I guess he's making us all wait in his grand entrance.” My doctor laughed and said “It’s okay we are all here waiting on him now. When you feel the next contraction, you can start to push.” As soon as she finished that statement, I could feel the contraction start at the top of my stomach and start to work its way down. I told them that I could feel it. I repositioned myself in the bed. The Anesthetist, still facing away from the birth, leaned over and grabbed me. I think he was aiming to have his hand on my shoulder. But his arm was around my neck, and his hand was rubbing the top of my head. It was different, it was funny, but it was good too. I inhaled, asked God to help me, and I pushed! “Almost there”, I heard the team say. “You’re doing a good job. We see him coming.” I took another deep breath and pushed again. And out came my thick, happy baby boy, Gabriel! Instantly, I was in love again. My heart felt all the emotions at once. I wanted everything for him, just like my other children. I thanked God for the beautiful end to my childbearing story. Gabriel, just like all the others, was simply perfect and a living and breathing representation of my love. When he was put in my arms, I noticed something. His mouth… What was he doing with his mouth? Gabriel was smacking his lips as if to say FEED ME. My baby was HUNGRY! He was alert, he was content, but he was hungry. I held him close, memorized his hair's smell, and studied his face. He squirmed. I took in every part of him, looking lovingly at his hands and feet. He squirmed some more and smacked his lips. I laid him in the center of my chest for some skin-to-skin snuggle time. And he squirmed and wiggled his way until he was perfectly positioned to nurse. Gabriel was saying “We have a lifetime to snuggle and get to know one another but its dinner time now. Let’s get to it!” I happily complied and then noticed I was hungry, too. I asked the care team what was on the menu for dinner and if they could bring me something because it had been some time since I’d eaten. Joy and I locked eyes and smiled because we both knew it had only been about 30 minutes.

I’ll pick up with Part 12 soon!

Keep evolving toward excellence!!