“Mom, let’s load up the car. I think it’s time to have a baby.”
She jumped up from my bed, running around my room frantically getting things ready to go. I worked through the pain long enough to walk out to the car, huffing and puffing through contractions as I buckled my seat belt. The pain was not letting up one bit. That is, until about fifteen minutes into the car ride.
“Oh no,” I said suddenly.
“What?” my mom exclaimed, momentarily taking her eyes off the road.
“Mom, don’t get us into a wreck!” I said. “It’s just my contractions—it feels like they’re slowing down.”
“Slowing down?” she asked.
“Yes, slowing down. Should we just turn around and go home? You know I’m worried about getting all the way there only to have to come right back….” My voice trailed off.
“I think we need to just keep going. Maybe you are just nervous. This has to be the real deal. I’m sure of it!” she said.
In the end we decided to keep going. A half hour later we reached the hospital. Slowly and painfully I walked the steps to the elevator. We reached the labor and delivery floor, which was quiet and calm. It seemed tonight would be the perfect night to have a baby.
I had preregistered so the intake process was swift. Before I knew it, I was in a back room waiting for a nurse to come in and check me. My labor was still dallying at that point.
Please, please, let me be in labor. Please don’t let me get sent home, I thought.
The nurse entered the room and asked me numerous questions about my contractions. Then it was time to be checked.
“It looks like you are at a…” She scrunched up her face. “A two.”
A two. All that work and I was simply at a two. I wanted to pull out my hair in sheer frustration.
“We will keep you hooked up to the monitors for an hour. But unless there’s a drastic change, I am afraid we will need to send you home,” she said.
She left the room, and my face fell. My mom tried to console me that maybe the contractions would speed up again. In my heart I knew this baby girl wasn’t coming tonight. My suspicions were confirmed when an hour later the nurse came in to remove the monitors and regretfully send us home.
I left the hospital one tired and frustrated mama. Thankfully I had an appointment with my doctor already scheduled for the next day.
He walked in the room, and I’m sure it was obvious that I had reached my breaking point.
“What happened?” he asked.
“I didn’t get a lot of sleep last night. I was at the hospital until late, and they turned me away,” I said.
“That’s never fun,” he responded. “Did they tell you what station you were?”
“Just a stupid two,” I said with exasperation.
“Let’s go ahead and check you.” He did. Still a two.
The frustration bubbled to the surface, and the word induction was finally uttered. In talking it over with my doctor, and given the concerns about my progression, we agreed this would be the best route to take. He put me on the books for four days later. The date was set, November 6. Soon, the pain and frustration would all be over and we would have our baby girl.
The days passed quickly as I was wrapping up lastminute preparations to welcome the newest member of our family. The evening before the induction finally had come. It still felt surreal that I was about to have our daughter. Milo and I began our bedtime ritual as normal—the routine always ending with a book. As usual I let him make the book selection. He climbed up in my lap as we dived right in, slowly rocking back and forth. Milo didn’t know it, but he’d picked the most poignant book we possessed to read on this most poignant night. The book spoke about new life coming into the world, how special it is, how everything changes in the most profound ways. It reinforced that each life is special, filled with purpose, and with each addition of a new little one, the world—our world—would never quite be the same.
Suddenly my mind was racing back to the very night Milo was born. The look of love in his father’s eyes as he held his son for the very first time. The feeling of joy as I laid eyes on my boy. The moment they placed him in my arms. The laughter and happy tears. The moment Joel kissed my head and told me how proud of me he was. That day was perfection.
My mind also went to other memories, of the last year, without Joel. We had gone from a family of three to a family of two. Milo had been my constant—my source of strength and inspiration. He gave me kisses during moments I needed them the most. The “I wuv you Mommys” were unending. He would hand me blankets when he thought I was cold and would run to protect me if he sensed I was hurt. We had made quite the little team, he and I. A lot of life had been lived in that year. Like many moms, I felt a tinge of guilt that someone else would be intruding on our sacred space. Would there be enough of me to go around? Would he resent me for bringing another person into our home? Would I be able to love as deeply as I loved this boy? I was told this was normal—to expect it. Still, the emotions of the moment were very real and very perplexing.
I returned to the task at hand, trying to get through the book without having a full-fledged Mommy breakdown moment.
Somehow I made it to the end and softly nuzzled my face to his cheek, still feeling the weight of the words I’d read.
“All done, sweet boy. Time to go to bed,” I told him.
He took the book from my hands and put it away. I began to rock him to sleep. The room was dark, so he couldn’t see the tears dripping down my face as I held his chubby hand and kissed his head. I closed my eyes and breathed in deeply, taking in his smell. I tried to commit every part of this moment to memory. The last moment it would ever be this way again. Milo and Mommy, quite the team we made.
It’s a strange feeling to wake up and know your life is going to change drastically by the day’s end. That’s exactly what happened as I awoke, before the sunrise, to gather my things and head to the hospital. I took one last shower so I would feel my best and grabbed my overnight bag.
On the way out I tiptoed to Milo’s room, where he was still sleeping. I looked in on my baby boy, for the last time seeing him as my only child. He was snuggled in his bed under a pile of blankets, but also with his stuffed shark, giraffe, monkey, and bear. He might have been a big boy, but I would always remember him as my little baby. I took one last glance and smiled once again at the thought of how proud of him I was. I could’ve stayed there forever, but it was time to leave. I turned and swallowed my emotions as I closed his door and walked away. Our babysitter arrived to spend the day caring for Milo, making me promise to call as soon as the baby had safely made her entrance into the world.
It was early, so the highways were clear as Mom and I made our way back to the hospital for the second time in six days. Luckily, this time it was for good. I walked back up to labor and delivery, where they took me to my room and instructed me to change into a hospital gown. An hour later I was hooked up to the meds and ready to get the show on the road.
The nurse started to ask me questions about my pain level, in typical hospital jargon. She kept looking around the room, and I could tell she was wondering if a father was going to be involved. As uncomfortable as it was to tell my life story to complete strangers, I knew in this instance she needed to know.
“Do you know what you’re having?” she asked.
“I do, a girl,” I replied.
She smiled. “Girls are wonderful.”
“I’m excited for a girl. I only have experience with my little boy,” I said.
She nodded her head in understanding, and I knew I had my in.
“There’s a very incredible story about how she came to be. Would you like to hear it?” I asked her.
“Of course,” she quickly said.
“Well, my husband and I had trouble conceiving, so we used IVF to get pregnant with my son. After he was born, my husband’s cancer returned, and he passed away last summer. The amazing thing is we still had these embr
yos left. I went ahead and decided to put them in and leave it up to the Lord. I ended up getting pregnant, with this very baby girl,” I said in a nutshell. The words sounded so simple as they left my mouth, though the reality had been anything but.
It was a huge bomb to drop on anyone, much less a nurse in these circumstances. Her jaw was nearly on the floor.
“That’s the most incredible thing I’ve ever heard,” she said, looking shocked.
“Her daddy won’t be here, but a piece of him is coming into the world today, and I’m so blessed I get to meet her,” I said emotionally.
She took my hand, and like many others, she told me she thought I was brave. Again, I thought not so, just blessed.
The medicine worked quickly. Within the first hour my contractions were already at two to three minutes apart. I asked for the epidural, only to be told the anesthesiologist was in another delivery and I would have to wait. By the time he arrived, two hours later, I was ready to rip someone’s head off. The contractions were so painful I could hardly sit still for him to do his job. Thankfully he worked fairly quickly. Around thirty minutes later, the drugs took effect and I started to relax.
The day wore on, as hour after hour they would come to check me. Each time I was progressing another centimeter, then another, then another. It was moving at a snail’s pace, but it was moving. By three o’clock that afternoon, it was time for another check. My doctor entered the room.
“Let’s see where things stand,” he said.
He started to check me and then got a serious look on his face.
“The good news is you’re at a ten. The bad news is the baby’s head is turned in the wrong position. We are going to have to wait to see if the baby’s head will turn so you can deliver.”
I was frustrated beyond belief. I was right where I needed to be, and feeling the urge to push, but I was told to wait. This felt like it would never end. To make matters worse, my doctor had a prior commitment that evening and would not be able to stay late to deliver my daughter. The on-call doctor, a man I had never met, would take over his duties. This baby was going to come on her own time, and apparently no one was going to rush her.
The nurse put me in different positions, moving me around to try to get the baby in the proper place. They kept checking me and telling me over and over I wasn’t ready to push. Two hours later, I knew the time had come. Whether they wanted me to or not, there was no holding back.
I hit the button for the nurse, and she came rushing in.
“I need you to check me again. I think I’m ready,” I said in sheer exhaustion.
She obliged and checked me.
“The baby’s head still isn’t in the right position,” she determined.
“I can’t hold back any longer. I have to push. I feel so much pressure. I have to,” I said desperately.
“Okay,” she said. “When the next contraction comes, I will tell you and we can do a few practice pushes.”
I nodded my head vigorously and closed my eyes, waiting for her instructions.
“All right, now push. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten. One more time! One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten!”
I paused to take a breath and get ready to go again.
“Wait!” she exclaimed. “Stop!”
I looked down at her to see what was going on.
“The baby’s head is almost out! I have to go get the doctor. Whatever you do, don’t push!” she cried.
She ran out the door to get the doctor. Within minutes the entire room was filled with medical personnel getting the room ready for delivery. The doctor appeared and told me to push. Everything was moving quickly. A mere two pushes in, the doctor was encouraging me: “One more push and you are going to be a mommy,” he said.
I stopped and took every bit of that moment in. I was about to meet her. My miracle baby. In my mind I whispered my thanks to the Lord. There was one more person I had words for as well.
JoJo, I love you. I love you, I thought.
“Okay, it’s time. Push!” the doctor yelled.
I took a deep breath in and did just that. Silence. Then wails. A cry. Her cry. A piece of our love had entered the world. Joel’s and my little girl.
“We will have a girl,” Joel had told me. “You know what to name her.”
I did. Ellis Claire Rodriguez. Her name means “a bright shining light, declaring Jehovah is God.”
“She’s here! You have a little baby girl!” the doctor said.
They cleaned her off and placed her on my chest, skin to skin. She was crying loudly, signaling her arrival to the world. I looked down at her mess of dark hair and big brown eyes. She was beautiful, just beautiful. She looked like her daddy. I’ve never seen a more adorable little lady. I was in love. Immediately my heart expanded in ways I never knew it could. Death had visited us and so cruelly ripped away a part of our family. Yet she brought life and beauty to our ashes. For our mourning, she was now our joy, a bright light to the world, showing the goodness of the Lord in the midst of despair.
I looked at her and cried as she continued to cry. I wrapped my arms around her, holding her close, pulling her in for comfort. The crying eventually stopped as she nestled in and breathed deeply. Then something incredible happened. She reached up with her tiny little hand and grabbed my favorite necklace—the one with her daddy’s and brother’s fingerprints. She held on to it tightly, as if she would never let go. That moment signified to me that we were a family of four. Joel, me, Milo, and Ellis. Only a few minutes old, she already seemed to grasp that fact. It was as if she was telling me she already knew and understood the significance—that she was there to add to our story, and in no way take away from my relationship with Milo. She might never meet Joel on this earth, but she knew he was a part of her, and that he loved her in every way. I reached up and held her hand, encircling mine around the necklace as well. Then I reached down and kissed the face of my gorgeous baby girl.
All who met her over the next few hours marveled at her beauty. There was no mistaking her physical beauty, yes, but even more the beauty of her story. As much as I loved showing her off, she still hadn’t met the most important person on the list: Milo.
She got her chance the following day. She hadn’t slept much the night before—and neither had I. She had cried off and on the entire evening until I finally held her in my arms, where she slept through the rest of the night peacefully. She might look like her daddy, but already I could tell she was strong and determined to have her way, much like her mama.
I sat on the bed with her, waiting for my family to arrive. I was a little worried about how this moment would play out. I’d had many conversations with Milo about Ellis. I had tried to ramp up the excitement level, to no avail. Most of our conversations went like this: “Milo, you will have a baby sister sooooooon! Are you excited?” I would ask in a high-pitched voice.
“No,” he would say. “I don’t want it.”
An it. Baby sister was an it. This wasn’t going well. A few weeks later, I would try again.
“What’s that?” Milo would ask, pointing to my rapidly growing belly.
“Buddy, that’s your baby sister. You get to meet her soon. Isn’t that fun!”
“No,” he would say once again. “I just don’t want it.”
That was his typical refrain the entire pregnancy. I was a little worried about what this meeting would hold for us. I would soon find out.
I heard a small knock on the door.
“Come in!” I yelled.
In walked Milo, dressed in an adorable sweater and jeans. He was holding a love offering for his new sister, a precious little furry white lamb. I looked at her, then him, hardly believing he had ever been this small. Overnight he looked as if he had become a little man. My heart both ached and soared.
“Milo, this is who I’ve been telling you about. This is your baby sister,” I said. “You are a big brother now!”
He walk
ed over to my bed and peered down at this new little person, taking it all in. There was a moment of nervous energy as everyone in the room waited to see what he would say.
Slowly, a huge smile crept across his face.
“Can I hold her?” he asked.
“Of course you can,” I responded in relief.
My mom lifted Ellis out of my arms and directed Milo to a chair. We placed a pillow under his arms for support. Then, ever so carefully, she placed Ellis in her brother’s arms. He looked down at her, studying every bit of her face.
“This is my baby sister?” he asked again in disbelief.
“Yes, it is,” I answered.
“Aw, she’s so cute! I love my baby sister,” he said enthusiastically.
Then, he reached down, and as soft as he could muster, he kissed her face. He looked up at me with a smile so big my heart could burst. Relief. He loved her. Already his heart had opened and welcomed her into his space. I looked at my children, two of them, and I couldn’t believe it. All the years of pain over my inability to conceive. All the moments of fears and questions. All the wondering, would I ever be a mom? Would my dream ever come true? For so long it had mocked me, and now it embraced me. Indeed, this life was mine.
CHAPTER 9
Don’t Let Her Go
I still can’t believe she’s here, I thought as I looked down at Ellis, all cozy and cuddled in her blanket, strapped into her car seat.
Her beauty still took my breath away—even days later. The first week home with a baby is like a fog. You are in pure survival mode. Keep the baby changed, fed, and happy. If you are lucky, you might be able to fit in a few hours of sleep for yourself. And showers? Well, those become a luxury. Everything takes a backseat to this tiny thing that just graced your world. The funny thing is you wouldn’t have it any other way.
From Depths We Rise Page 12