One year ago today, it seemed like any other day. I was about 20 weeks along in my pregnancy with Isaiah, feeling pretty good and looking forward to seeing the doctor (moreso, the ultrasound) for a checkup. Things had been going well so far and I was anxious to get another look at the little one that was jumping around inside me. But this would be no normal checkup. By 7:00pm, I was laying in the freezing surgery prep room at the hospital, Jon holding my hand, both of us praying that this baby would be ok. Please, God, keep this baby safe.
That was the first day I really felt that we might lose this baby, too. I remembered all of the e-mails I've received from women who have lost two, three, four or more babies. I didn't want to think that that could be me. I didn't want to live that pain all over again. Please, God, keep this baby safe.
The surgery went fine, no problems. I spent the next three months laying on my back, feet up on two big pillows, fighting against gravity. Anything we could do to keep this baby inside was fine by me. I was literally nesting, giving the baby a chance to grow. Please, God, keep this baby safe.
After surgery, months of bedrest, a few scary trips to the hospital, delivery 8 weeks early and a month spent in NICU, we had Isaiah at home. He was small but very strong. He had made it, our little astronaut. Thank you, God, for this amazing gift.Thanks for listening.