It’s been one whole year since our transfer, our last chance at parenthood. We transferred two tiny, microscopic embryos and we now have one vibrant, friendly baby girl.
I went back and forth between writing something to post today or simply acknowledging the day at home. The reality is, I’m just really stinking impressed of what my body did for me over the past year, and I want to give thanks and celebrate that and the life of our beautiful child.
Dear Baby Glennie,
One year ago today, your dad and I gathered up all the perseverance that we could and walked into that fertility clinic with equal parts strength and vulnerability. We lost your sister in the months before, something I still grapple with, and I had mostly given up hope. Yet something pushed us forward.
Was it you?
We were hopeful for twins by transferring our two remaining embryos. But when we found out that you stuck, we were overjoyed and a bit relieved, if I may be honest. Naturally, I was sad that our “embryo bank” was empty but I was grateful beyond measure that you stuck around. Our little embryo that could, such a little fighter. You are everything we dreamed of, and more.
You joined us on August 27, at 12:30 pm, at 42 weeks exactly. I delayed induction for as long as possible, you might say until the last possible minute. For five nights prior, you kept me up all night with contractions, each morning leaving us wondering “Is today the day?” We went in on Wednesday night, the evening before 42 weeks. They placed induction medicine next to my cervix at 10pm and told me they’d have to come back every 4 hours to give me more. Our midwife told me that it can be a long process and to expect to start Pitocin in the morning. I didn’t want Pitocin, so this scared me. At that time, I was dilated to 1 cm. They gave me morphine and a sleep aid and told me to sleep for 8 hours to conserve my energy for delivery. You had other plans!
By 1am I was at 5 cm and we were off to the races! With contractions coming 1 minute apart for 2 hours, I opted for an epidural because I hadn’t slept for 6 days. When it kicked in, I was finally able to sleep. My body was shaking and every 20 minutes I’d have to roll to the other side because your heart rate was dropping. By 10am, I was at 10 cm. Tanya, our midwife, came in and told me that at 11am I’d be able to start pushing. Moments before pushing, the tears started flowing. The lovely nurse that was with us asked if I was okay. I told her that I was, it’s just that I’d waited a long ass time for this moment, and couldn’t believe it’s here. You were born at 12:30pm at 7 pounds, 11 ounces and 20.5 inches long.
The first moments of your life are shadowed by them squirting meconium from your mouth onto my face and chest, but hey, welcome to motherhood. We’d never seen a more beautiful being! The nurses and midwife commented on your length and your beautiful coloring. I asked the team if they were ready to hear your name and asked your dad to announce it, but he was crying and couldn’t speak it out loud. For the first time with you Earth side, I announced your name and it felt so right. I cried. Our little Glennie Grae was real!
During our first night home with you, we sat in your nursery and read “You Belong Here” and wept together. Here’s an excerpt from the book, peak weep:
And you are a dream that the world once dreamt
And now you are part of its song.
That’s why you are here, in the place where you’re meant,
For this is right where you belong.
I’ll never forget the feeling of completeness that I felt at that moment. We were (and still are) utterly in awe of your presence, and I am thankful for my strong body for all that it endured to bring you here.
Almost three months later, I sit here and take in the smooth contours of your face. Your chubby cheeks and button nose. Your deep set, dark blue eyes. Your smell. Your coos, babbles, and (the latest development) squeals with delight. This is Heaven. You’re SO happy to be here! Content, happy, and brilliant. You are a constant reminder of the fragility of life, the importance of trusting that all will be well as we are embark on unknown territory this year with so many uncertainties.
Covid has taken a lot away from us. We won’t have the big family gatherings for your “firsts”. We can’t see the joy on our friends and family’s faces as they interact and get to know you during your first year of life. But Covid has also given us the chance to be together as a family every day of the week. We’ve created a deliciously warm bubble of love at home for the 4 of us. We can’t control what’s happening around us, but we can control the joy in our home. There is a lot of laughter, love, spirited facial expressions while engaging with you, and intimacy. You are very social and friendly and my hope is that when the world opens back up, you can see smiles from strangers and that people can look at your beautiful face and feel the warmth that radiates from you.
My absolute greatest blessing in life is that right now I get to spend every day with you, watching you grow and teaching you things. In a new mom group that I’m part of, one of the moms asked, “What do you notice in yourself now that you’re a mom? What’s new? How is parenthood affecting you?” I cried then. Because sometimes your dad and I just look at each other and ask, “How did we get here?” We’re here! We are finally here. It’s surreal. We’re finally living the dream that we longed for. We believe that you are as content as you are because you’re grateful for all that we did to get you here, and we’re finally together. I’ll be sure to remind you of that in your teen years.
I wouldn’t change a single part of our journey to you. Because of the heartache and the longing, I feel we cherish you on an immensely deep level. Your presence is divinely timed, you are our Earth angel. It is our greatest honor that you chose us.
So, Happy Transfer-iversary, Little One. We love you.