It starts out so simple. We woke up after a restless night. (I mean, who can really sleep when they know they're going to meet THEIR BABY the next day? It's like waiting for Christmas morning.) We stopped at Muncher's to buy donuts. We went through the emergency room where a woman was standing there inquiring about her husband who was brought in in an ambulance. I gave her a donut because her day was starting out so terribly and mine was only going to get exponentially better.
The room was freezing. My nurse held me tight while they numbed my legs because I could not deal. She hummed quietly to the song playing in the background. The whole room began placing wages on whether I was about to have a girl or a boy. It was evenly split. Your dad came in and squeezed my hand twice. It was familiar; he had done the same exact motion two times before. It was his code for "Let's do this."
None of this was supposed to happen. We had talked about another baby but, because we're planners, we wouldn't bother with any of that until at LEAST October of 2014. Because that would give us a child in the late summer and we would be back in Omaha by then and life would be inexpensive enough that I could stay home again and...(see, I told you there was a plan.)
And then that July the world blew up and I remember thinking that night as I cried myself to sleep that THAT was out the window. Not that I was really in the mood to even speak with Justin, let alone let him impregnate me. I just had add it to the list of future plans shattered. Then one week later the ominous second line of the pregnancy test openly mocked me with my own words. Never, you say? Well here you go. That's one doodle that can't be undid.
I laughed; I sat down on the edge of the tub and just laughed. Really, God? This is how we're going to play? My life is literally crumbling in front of me and you want to throw another child my way?
The doctor said, "Justin, you ready to call it?" He peered over the curtain, and said, "Oh..." And then the world's longest delay as the whole room, who already knew what I didn't, was waiting for him to spit it out. Finally he said with a sheepish smile on his face, "Well, you got it your way, it's a girl!" The room exploded in cheers.
I was a pile of smiles, listening to you screaming, getting pats on the shoulder from the anesthesiologists behind me, telling me I did great. Uh, ok. All I did was lay here but sure! I was still staring at the ceiling when your dad said, "Hey honey, look over here." And there you were. Getting a good rub down from a team of nurses who were talking in baby voices. "She's got hair!" Of all the things to say, that's what I said first. What can I say, I'm not always great at first impressions. I remember just staring at this baby. My baby Ziggy, who only minutes earlier was nestled in my abdomen, was here. You were small, but loud. And I loved you.
Then, my eye caught your dad, who was strategically off to the side between you and me so that my view was unobstructed, beaming. My focus shifted back and forth between the two of you. The talking and scuttling of the surgical team faded into white noise. It was Elysian. And that's when it the tears began to FLOW. I was full on sobbing. The doctor behind me was wiping my tears that were steadily pooling in my eyes.
Suddenly it was just us three in that room. He was here. He wasn't supposed to be. We were supposed to be ruined, torn apart by the weight and magnitude of all that happened. You were here. This baby that wasn't in the plan. None of this was in the plan. These two people, who a short nine months earlier I never expected to be spending the day with, were here. With me.
My marriage, my best friend.
And this child. YOU, Wallis Vey.
I make no claims that you saved us. I don't think that's the case at all. You are just a divine reminder of the redemption at play.
You are my springtime. I am absolutely crazy about you.
Happy birthday, Wally-Babe.