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One year ago my baby was one day old. My man and I were still in shock from his early, crazy traumatic arrival, trying to get Gramz across the country to take care of our boys. My legs were barely starting to function again as I learned what an emergency c-section felt like, traveling a road I had never expected but always feared. Amidst the fog of doctors, nurses, pain meds and hormones, we snapped iphone pictures that don’t do his newborn beauty justice, but that capture those first surreal hours.
An hour after he was pulled from me breathless and I lay bleeding, just one hour and I was reassembled, nursing my baby. Flat on my back so I wouldn’t pass out, still able to nourish him, supported, encouraged by kind women. My man holding my hand, keeping watch over us.
Light years away it seemed from my first sons’ smooth, natural births. Pure miracle it was, less than a year after losing our Joshua. No matter the way precious Jeremiah arrived, the joy and relief, the overwhelming love was just the same. His birthday was beauty through and through, moments that can’t be touched except in that day of heaven sent magic. Moments that took hold of me, changed and informed every step of my life from then on.
One year later, I hold a healthy baby man whose smile lights up our world. Once more I am taught what it means to be mom, and I am so. very. grateful.
Grateful for this year with him, praying for the ones to come . . . Thankful for beauty from ashes, for good gifts from above, a baby asleep on my chest, a silly little man climbing on my lap!
Always there is that tension, I don’t want the time to slip away, but I wouldn’t go back. I want to see him grow, but I always want to hold my baby. My man and I rage and crumble from all that has battered us these past two years. Still he tells me he wouldn’t change a thing, and I can agree because I hold my Jeremiah Asher.
One year from today I hope to have lived better, loved truer, praised God more, forgiven faster, holding tight the hands of my boys, in the arms of my man.
