The album 'Sigh No More' by Mumford and Sons is, in a word, superb. I'm lovin' it. I don't like country music, but I like blue grass. I'm not sure what M&S is considered to be, not country I'm sure. There is a lot of great banjo pickin', and for some reason I'm really into that lately. I've also been listening to Nickel Creek. Good stuff.
Christmas music made it's way into our house the day after Thanksgiving, but I'm being very careful to limit how much I listen to it. I don't want to get sick of it too soon!
My baby will be six months old tomorrow. That's right. I can't believe it either. It feels like just yesterday that God helped me push him into this world. He came out wriggling, gurgling, covered in goo, and crying. I never felt relief like I did when I heard that he was healthy, when I saw that he had all of his fingers and toes, and when he looked up at me from my chest and stopped crying for a second as I looked into his eyes. I don't remember much else, but I remember that. Relief, and my baby's dark eyes. His little head had a raised portion on it that was dark purple. (not surprising, I mean, it took me two hours to push him out. My head would be weirdly shaped if I was, well, being squeezed down there for that long.)
The rest of the details are blurry. I remember my good friend Kari being there. I remember Andrew's parents and sister coming in and taking pictures of themselves with Isaac. I remember being sewn up for a long time. Being more tired than I had ever felt in my entire life, and finally understanding the true meaning of the word exhausted. The nurse who helped me through the first few hours with no epidural, Di Anna. She might have been an angel sent straight from heaven just for me. The nurse who helped me later, I think her name was Sally. Sally? I think. Anyway, she was like a nice drill sargent (oxymoron?) - spouting commands that I needed, in a firm, but gentle manner. She kept telling me "you're wasting your energy, save it for pushing."
Back to the baby.
He was squishy, warm, soft, good-smelling, wrinkly, snuggly. He snorted like a piglet every now and then. He barfed up a lot of amniotic fluid and scared me half to death (for those who don't know, the first time a baby barfs is a traumatizing experience for his mother. It really seemed like he was choking!). He was starving, but neither of us knew how get him food; breastfeeding is rough for a first time mom, at least it was for me.
It took me a few minutes, but when it hit me, it was intense. It didn't happen immediately like I thought it would, but it did happen. I think it was always within me, but it was buried deeply, and took awhile to find it's way to the surface. I'm talking about love. A different love than any I've felt before.
Now when I hear songs about Jesus and what he did for us, it makes me cry. It always meant a lot to me, and I've been known to get choked up about it here and there. Something is different now. I can relate - to a small degree. I have a son. I can't imagine giving him up to suffer the way Christ did. How did God do it? The very thought puts a frog in my throat.
Thank you God. Thank you. Thank you for giving up your son to die for me. Thank you for giving me a son. Thank you that you've kept him alive and thriving for 6 months. May I never be selfish with him. Bless him, and make him into a man who follows after you with his whole heart.