(Read 'A Birth Story: Paul Harrison Roberts Part I' here.)
After nodding off only a handful of times between staring at the glowing pictures of my son on my charging phone and savoring cold ice chips, my husband and mom woke just as the first visitors of the day arrived. It was so odd, to have visitors coming to see my son, when I had only seen him for a moment myself. After bringing me fruits and coffees and baked goods, they would say their hellos to me and disappear to see Paul, coming back with bright smiles and new photos for me to see. I could only crave to see him more.
With my doctor's orders to take me off my magnesium drip and with regaining feeling in my legs, I took my first step out of bed since laying down in the OR. I was told that if I could walk, eat and clean up, I was allowed to see Paul. Talk about motivation. I not only ate an entire meal and showered, but I made sure that my hair, make up and outfit were perfect. I needed to feel like myself. I needed to be myself. I was going to see my son for what felt like the actual first time. As if I was going on a date for the first time, I was so nervously excited and ready beyond all belief to hold what I knew for nine months.
My husband wheeled me slowly down to the NICU, acting as if picking up the phone, speaking NICU language to get in, scrubbing fingertip to elbow and getting visitor passes were something he had done a thousand times already. After wheeling through two rooms full of babies and nurses and doctors and parents, he slowly wheeled me to an incubator, will the smallest little boy laying nearly naked, hooked up to oxygen, IVs and monitors. I couldn't help but tear up and ask, "Is this him? This is really him?" He already looked so different than when I kissed him in the OR. He already looked so different than the photos I stared at for hours.
I slowly stood up and grabbed the nearest nurse to my arm. "Can I hold him?" How odd, asking permission to hold my son, the one I held for nine months inside of me. Without any hesitation, she opened the incubator, and placed my small, warm, beautiful son in my arms. I wept.
After soaking in perfect moments with my son, I retired to my room to rest. Forcing myself to sleep felt like the hardest thing I had ever done. I wanted to be with him. I wanted him with me. I wanted him next to me. After waking from a few hours of rest, I was transferred from the L&D room to a postpartum recovery room.
I stayed in recovery for two more nights. One with Paul in the NICU and one with Paul joining us in our room. That night was perfection, in the best way that it could be. The three of us, my husband, son and I were all finally together. My husband and I shared my bed, with our son by our side.
On Sunday, April 19, Paul was transferred from our room to the nursery due to continuing respiratory issues. After much back and forth between doctors and nurses and nursery visits, Matt and I received one of the best calls of our life: Paul was officially cleared for discharge and coming back to our room. I still cannot recall a moment before then that I have seen my husband's face with a bigger smile or look of relief. We were finally on the home stretch of this long four day journey. Within moments, our son arrived in our room and we packed our bags to head home.
I will never forget our drive home. For weeks, I would look back in my rear view mirror at the empty car seat, wondering what our little babe would look like, sound like, be like. Here I was, sitting next to my son, soaking in his perfect face, with my amazing husband looking in the mirror back at us, smiling. Our little family of three was finally together, finally home.
The road to postpartum recovery has not been easy. Due to my diagnosis with preeclampsia, I have had continued high blood pressure for nearly five weeks now. With many, many doctor visits, ER visits, medications, bed rest, house arrest, complications and scares, I am finally on the mend and getting on the high road to a full recovery from high blood pressure, surgery and overall postpartum recovery. The road to motherhood was not what I envisioned it would be, but I would relive the past month in a heartbeat if it leads me to my son. I have a "mommy mark" on my stomach to remind me of Paul's amazing birth story and give God all of the glory and praise for giving us these memories and moments that have led me to where I am at this very moment: snuggled up on the couch with my endearing husband and cooing baby boy. God is good, all the time.
