After six grueling months, he’s finally here. Just a month ago, I was at my lowest point, praying for an escape from the agony. I felt like my life was being drained from me. But now, as I sit here gazing at him sleeping peacefully, only hours after his arrival, I am overwhelmed with a sense of calm and awe. It feels like a rebirth—not just as a mother but as a person.
My pregnancy was far from easy. Early on, I was diagnosed with placenta previa, which was terrifying on its own. But the difficulties were compounded by having a partner who failed to provide the reassurance and support I desperately needed. The complications kept piling up. At six months, the baby engaged prematurely, and I was placed on strict bed rest to prevent early labor. By seven months, the pain was unbearable—walking became nearly impossible. My blood pressure plummeted; I could barely breathe. The baby kept dropping lower, and at 32 weeks, an ultrasound revealed the placenta was still partially covering the cervix. It was also abnormally large, and the umbilical cord was too short, restricting the baby's movement. By this point, I physically couldn’t walk because his head was already pressing low into my pelvis. The fear and dread were all-consuming—I wasn’t sure if I would make it, let alone if he would survive.
At 36 weeks, I was faced with a decision: a c-section or attempting a vaginal delivery. The placenta was only 1.8 cm from the cervical opening, and with a posterior placenta, the ideal clearance is 2.5 cm. It was a tough call, but I decided to move forward with a natural birth.
What followed was a harrowing nine days of labor—and yes, I mean nine days. For over a week, I endured contractions five minutes apart while being stuck at 5 cm dilation. I survived on ice chips and frozen berries until, finally, the midwife agreed to break my water. The moment she did, my little man entered the world with a single push. As it turned out, my body would have stayed in labor indefinitely because the baby's positioning prevented my water from breaking naturally. Had I pushed harder on my own, it could have led to even more complications. But now, holding him in my arms, the struggle feels worth it. He’s here, and we made it.
And then, there he was—in my arms, looking up at me. Sure, I knew he couldn’t technically see me, but I could see him. In that moment, I knew my life had changed forever. His tiny heartbeat altered everything: my perspective on the future, my thoughts on life and death, and my entire existence. For the past 20 years, I’ve been a mom, and I wouldn’t trade a single moment of it. I’m ready to embrace the next eighteen years with an open heart and no regrets.
My oldest son helped raise me as much as I raised him. Together, we learned, we grew, and I became a better person because of him. Now, as I step into motherhood again, I do so with more wisdom—though I still claim to be a work in progress. This time, I’m determined to raise a man. A man grounded in morals, strength, compassion, and independence. A man capable of loving and valuing a strong, fiercely independent woman. A man who is fearless, who knows his worth, and who believes he can move mountains.
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