His Name Is Victory

Sitting here on the eve of my third baby, Nico's, second birthday, I think I will finally write out his birth story. I didn't make my other kid's birth stories public in any way but I always felt that I needed to share Nico's. I meant to do it by his first birthday (laughter), now I am hoping to get it out by his second (more laughter-- because now I am editing almost 2 weeks after his 2nd birthday).

I want to preface this with the fact that I think every single birth is so incredibly special. Birth changes a woman permanently. Birth writes a story that will be remembered forever. Nico's birth story is not any better or worse or more special than anyone else's. I am not writing to compare. I am writing because I need to remember. I need to remember the lessons he taught me and the ways I was changed. Life has a way, doesn't it? A way of stealing our joy? A way of bogging us down so much that any glimmer of yesterday's goodness quickly becomes a blur. Forgotten.
In times like these, I like to remember the truth. I like to kick my emotions in the booty and encourage myself with the goodness I learned years ago, weeks ago and yesterday. So that is what this is for. It's for me- because sometimes (say it with me) life throws us lemons and we need to remember that lemons can always and will always be made into lemonade.

Nico Elliot was born on September 11, 2016. He is an incredible human being who loves saying no for yes, loves his dad and loves stealing bike helmets at the playground. He is perfect. He also loves keeping me on my toes and his birth was no exception.
When I was 5 months pregnant with Nicy, a friend of mine was killed in a car accident. There are no words for the grief we felt, the way our church family pulled together in support of her husband and son and there are no words for the questions all of our hearts were screaming.
As we prepared for the memorial service, my job was to collect photos and to collect written memories from her friends and family from all over. As I sat and read these stories, I was reminded of some of my own memories of her. One that stood out the most was a time right before we would travel to Haiti with our 15 month old daughter. We sat together on my couch and  she shared what the Lord was teaching her. She shared Exodus 33. In a nutshell, God tells Moses to go with the Israelites to the land He had promised to them and that He would send an angel but that He wouldn't go with them. Moses tells God that he will only go if the the Lord's presence goes with him. Ellynn was sharing with me that whenever she feels afraid she thinks of the worst (in her mind) thing that could happen and she reminds herself, that in even that, the Lord is with her. This truth dispels fear.

That has stuck with me. It's a truth I will never forget.

But then she passed away, tragically. Her death brought a myriad of emotions.

Life is short, hold your loved ones dearly.
Is God actually good?
Did she feel His presence even in death?
WHY?
Is God's goodness just His presence in all circumstances, even bad ones? Or can I actually trust that He will protect me?
Why didn't He protect her?
Nothing really matters.

After my first babe, I had wanted a home birth. It wasn't possible for the second baby for a few different reasons, so when I was pregnant with Nico (our last) I worked as hard as I could to save for a home birth. I wanted it so badly, but after Ellynn passed I felt so conflicted. I would bounce back and forth between this "life is short, do all the things, live it up!" mentality to "who really cares where my baby is born, it's such a petty desire." So I asked the Lord. I really wanted Him to tell me exactly what He wanted...

 and He didn't.

It was incredibly frustrating. I kept feeling like He was leaving the decision up to me. I even asked my doula if she would pray about it. Surely He would tell her! She called me one afternoon-- she said she was woken up at 3am and the Lord showed her a child playing on the floor with two sets of blocks asking her mother which she should play with. The mother of course, had no opinion on which set of blocks her child should play with. She simply said "You choose. Depending on your choice, your structures will look different but it's up to you which you choose to play with."

Blah. Answers like this make me crazy.

I continued to wrestle and for the first time the wonderful truth that my friend illuminated for me turned into confusion and actually, fear.

We decided to go along with the home birth but I just couldn't get out of my head that the block tower I was building might not be the best or safest or most predictable one, and that I needed to be ok with that as long as God was with me. I was feeling hopeless.

Even as I write this, I keep scribbling, backspace backspace backspace. "You should be totally and completely content with the Lord's presence!!! What more is there? What could be better than being side by side with your creator?"

Then I remember the whole truth.

39 weeks, 2 days. 3:30pm my water breaks as I am napping. This is a familiar story for me. If this birth were like my other two, contractions would start in about a half hour and I would have my baby in approx 3-5 hours.
I called my midwife and let her know. She said to keep her posted and also reminded me that I needed to make a decision about whether or not to do routine antibiotics as I was Group B positive.

We were all so excited. I immediately put on Motown music and we started dancing around, changing the sheets on the beds, Mike was vacuuming, we brought out the birth pool etc etc.

A few hours later and no contractions.

My midwife came over to start the IV and we chatted about a plan. I would have about 24 hours from the time of water breaking to be in good active labor (because of the Group B Strep) or most likely we would look at a hospital transfer around the 18 hour mark.

We had dinner and then I went back and forth between resting and trying to get the baby out. I had Steffany Gretzinger's album "Out of Hiding" on repeat. The lyric

"'cause I loved you before you knew it was love
And I saw it all, still I chose the cross
And you were the one that I was thinking of
When I rose from the grave

Now rid of the shackles, My victory's yours
I tore the veil for you to come close
There's no reason to stand at a distance anymore
You're not far from home."

stood out for me.

I did all the positions,  climbed the stairs for hours, rolled around on the yoga ball until the wee hours of the morning and still....nothing. I remember just weeping. How could I have worked this hard to have a home birth and I'll have to transfer to the hospital? God, I thought you said I could choose!

Eventually, I gave up and went to bed. When I woke up at 6:30am still pregnant I felt so defeated. I knew if things didn't get moving I would be on my way to the hospital by the early afternoon.
Gah. I am a doula. How am I not able to help myself?! I knew the problem. I could feel his position, he wasn't engaged. I tried to move him but I knew that he needed contractions to make his move. As a last ditch effort I took a hot shower and then walked myself to Walgreens down the street to buy some castor oil.
I must have appeared completely crazy. Crazy. I walked one foot on the curb and one foot off, doing what I could to jiggle my baby in position. Whilst curb walking, I was going back and forth between (audibly) thanking God for the home birth that He told me I could have and trying to be ok with a hospital transfer because I knew He would be with me either way. I went back and forth between trusting my body to birth this baby and knowing there is a time and a place for pitocin.

I finally cried out: "God! I know you made me to birth this baby. I just need time! Can you please just stop the clock?"

A few minutes later, I stomped into the house with no more contractions than when I had left. I went to the kitchen to fix a castor oil smoothie when my midwife called me into the living room.
Gulp.

She said she had just talked to one of the other midwives to gain a clear perspective and get some advice. She said she really didn't want to see me try castor oil (I didn't either) and potentially add a risk factor when I didn't have any at the moment. She said "Why don't we just STOP THE CLOCK?"

Jesus.

She went home. I had breakfast. Mike took the kids out and I napped. Peace.
In the peace, I remembered the one thing that I hadn't tried. The breast pump. After some rest and another round of medicine, I turned on the pump. Immediately I had a whopper of contraction right in my back. 10 contractions later and he had successfully flipped and engaged. Two hours later, I held him in my arms-- and I will never forget the lyrics he was born to. As I pushed, as I screamed, as I feared that he may be gigantic (ha!) I could hear in the background

"there is no fear in love."

His presence IS enough. His presence is life for goodness sakes!

But He promises us abundant life.

And what my sweet Nico has taught me is that it's OK to believe for the abundance, that it pleases him to give us the desires of our hearts and that His victory truly is ours.

Nico means "victory of the people" and he reminds me that Jesus tells us to ask for  more than we can possibly imagine, that the Father's will is heaven on earth and that His death and resurrection have made it all ours.

Phew. I needed that. Life... LIFE. It's rough out here sometimes. But the truth is-- His victory is ours. And to quote another lyric from the Out of Hiding album:

"What hindered love will only become part of the story."

And I love Nico's story-- every single part of it.

(I am also eternally grateful to my midwife for her sensitivity and thoughtfulness!!!!!!)