Dear Andrew,
Welcome to the world, my son! You are our precious firstborn and we love you even when you were in the womb. Speaking of womb, let me tell you how you were brought into the world…
You, my sweet boy, had a difficult time getting out of Mom. Different nurses came and went. They had to ask me to try four or so different positions to get you to move down some but to no avail. Giving birth on hands and knees while my jello legs fight the epidural? Hard to imagine. I was exhausted to the point of stealing quick naps in between contractions and all I had left was sheer willpower.
I had pushed for almost four hours when the doctor called for a vacuum-assisted delivery. I reached the time limit for pushing, and due to extreme fatigue, I was no longer pushing efficiently. As the doctor explained the situation and the risks of using a vacuum, I was terrified. Groggy, I thought I would undergo a C-section because something was wrong with you. When I briefly came to my senses and realized we were going to attempt a different method—with the vacuum—I consented, convinced it was a bargain deal.
Son, you were born with a cone head. The natural contortion from going through the narrow birth canal combined with the pull of the vacuum elongated your malleable skull. Your father, who was next to me throughout labor, saw you come out and was stricken with deep fear. He told me he was scared brain abnormalities would come about. On the other hand, I was unable to see you from my vantage point. But I heard your first cry. And reminiscing hearing it makes me cry. I was relieved and joyful—the baby I carried in my womb for nine months was finally out in the world.
In what seemed like a blur, everything settled down except for the bodily consequences of prolonged labor. The long and forceful pushing burst blood vessels on my face, big and small. When I first looked at myself in the mirror, I thought I looked like I had just gone out of the boxing ring against Manny Pacquiao. My eyes had streaks of blood, and my eye bags were purple and swollen. Red dots freckled my entire face. I also found out later that I had a third-degree tear and a hemorrhoid.
As I write this, I still have not looked like my normal self. I struggle to walk straight and feel discomfort when sitting down. Going to the bathroom is always agony. Even just the thought of it is.
Now, I have not gone to the breastfeeding part yet. So far, nothing about breastfeeding has come naturally for either of us. Day three of breastfeeding and I am very sore, enduring the pain with blisters and all. You, on the other hand, have been spitting up quite a bit. I worry you’re not getting enough milk in.
Before you were born, I watched a couple of induced labor videos on YouTube. Twice, your father caught me crying over some birth videos. Hearing the babies’ first cries made their mothers cry, and made me cry. The same gush of emotions actually happened to me as you came out and when I held you on my chest for the first time.
YouTube tried to outsmart me by suggesting more birth videos, many of them headlined with titles in the tune of “Positive Labor Experience.” I was wise enough not to watch any of them. They would have etched false expectations of labor and delivery into my head.
As I described above, my labor experience was anything but “positive.” It was ugly and messy, terrifying and dicey.
But make no mistake, it will come down as a truly positive memory that I will cherish for the rest of my life.
Because out of that experience came a precious human being—you.
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In life, what seems bad can be good if a truly good outcome emerges from it. My delivery was definitely not smooth, but I had a truly positive birth story because what came out of it was your existence.
Sufferings may look bad from the outside, but suffering endured and offered up to something greater is glorious. It is called redemptive suffering—why motherhood is blessed, why martyrs are holy, and why Jesus Christ crucified saves.
Suffering is part of the human condition. It cannot be avoided, but it can be overcome. When you must suffer, take it wholeheartedly, for in suffering we can choose to reveal the glory of our souls.
