At the start of 2020, I decided to tell each of my children's birth story in the month of his or her birth. Here we are in December, the last month and the last birth story, for our firstborn child, Luke. He was born in Walla Walla, Washington, about an hour's drive from the small town of Hermiston, Oregon where we lived. It was freezing cold, and the Christmas season had just begun. What a glorious time to have a baby and to become a mother!
Beforehand, however, I had no clue how glorious it would be. I was scared and felt woefully unprepared. We'd been married just a bit over a year, and I'd recently graduated from college and moved to Hermiston for my first teaching position. My plan was to spend the next three years teaching and working on my master's degree; God had a different plan, a much better one. I quit teaching. I still got my master's, but it took a full seven years, rather than the typical two to three.
I didn't mind in the least. From the second they placed him in my arms, I was overcome with the realization of my destiny, what I was born to do, above and beyond anything else in my life. Motherhood was that destiny, and I knew immediately that, over time, I wanted several children.
...but back to the actual birth story...
Back then I didn't realize that all my babies would take their own sweet time coming to Earth, that due dates meant nothing to them, and that they would chill in Heaven just as long as possible. We were expecting Luke around Thanksgiving, but he didn't show up until Dec. 4th, a full week later. I remember feeling pretty sure I was in active labor because my contractions were much stronger than the Braxton Hicks I'd been experiencing for weeks, but how sure can you really be sure when it's your first child? Gerald drove fast to the hospital. If you know him, you understand just how incredible this is, since he rarely reaches the speed limit. (He's gonna object to and deny this comment, but trust me. And if you don't, just ask any one of our kids.)
We arrived, checked in, and were thrilled to hear they would keep me. This was it: Labor! What we didn't realize and what was not quite so thrilling was that it would be another 18 long hours before Luke was born. The hospital in Walla Walla didn't offer the option of an epidural, so unmedicated childbirth it would be! It was the hardest thing I had ever done or ever would do, up to this very day. In the 80s, ultrasonography was not routine and reserved for high-risk pregnancies, so no one, not even my doctor, had any idea Luke would be 9 lbs. 12 ozs. Such a big boy for a fairly small mommy. As I said, hardest thing I've ever done.
But worth every second. I held him in my arms, and all was right with the universe. Time stood still. My heart could barely handle the love that poured forth for this not-so-little guy. He developed infant jaundice, a fairly common issue with newborns, but I was devastated. They kept coming in to poke his poor little heel to get blood to check his bilirubin levels, and I cried harder and longer each time than he ever did. One nurse told me not to worry: "We've never lost a baby checking bilirubin levels and only a couple of mothers."
Finally, we got to take him home to our apartment, where Christmas decor welcomed both him and the Savior, simultaneously.
Our best Christmas gift ever.
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