fisher eli turns 5

Sep 18, 2009

Today my little boy, my only boy, my “big boy” as he likes to remind me often, is turning 5. Five. FIVE years old! How did that happen I ask you? As I think back on his life I am filled with emotions of love and gratitude for his life.

His pregnancy was incredibly difficult. I wanted him so desperately. So achingly. So much. We had been through six miscarriages since Keziah’s birth and I wanted this baby to stay alive. I needed this baby to stay alive. And yet, I was struggling.

You see, I knew in my heart that this child growing inside me was a boy-child. I was terrified of having a boy. I did not want a boy. I did not want to raise a boy that might grow up and hurt others. I could not face that reality, for that is what I saw it as, a reality, not just a possibility. I wanted this boy so much and yet I was terrified of having a boy.

I made myself sick over this. I had an ear infection. Then a spleen infection. Then a liver infection. Then a kidney infection. I was making myself SICK because I didn’t know how to handle the fact that I was having a boy. After months of this nonsense, my Heavenly Father gave me the answer that I needed to have peace. Then all the fear was gone. All the craziness disappeared just. like. that. In an instant.

At 40 weeks pregnant, I was in a car accident which damaged my already very weakened pelvis. I was in a huge amount of pain, could not walk and did not know if this precious baby was okay or not. After determining that the baby was in fact okay and that I was in fact not okay, we decided to hold off on making any decisions about the birth for a few days. Since my babies are always born around 42 weeks we figured I had a couple of weeks before the birth. Then labor started – on the one day of the month of September that my doula could not be there and my mother could not be there. I immediately went into denial and said I was not in labor. In fact, I kept chanting those words during those early contractions, “I am not in labor, these will stop. I am not in labor, I am not in labor. I can’t be in labor.” I could hardly move because of the pelvic injuries and believed that my birth team would be missing two critical members. My doula rearranged her life and did come. My mother turned the manning of an entire volleyball tournament over to others and started on her way. Meanwhile, I was in the most gut-wrenching, bone-jarring pain of my life. I believed I might die from the pain. I couldn’t focus on the contractions at all as the pain in my pelvis felt earth shattering. I continued to labor trying to hold my pelvis together as best as I could. My yoke-mate, eternal companion, and best friend, Richard, pushed on my back for hours as I moaned and screamed in the water of the birth pool. He never left my side and believed in me the entire time. My doula looked in my eyes and told me I was strong. Her eyes were deep pools of strength that got me through each moment of that labor. My midwife nurtured me with her words, her touch, and her abiding faith in me, my baby, and birth. I was surrounded by strength and yet, I felt all alone. It is only now after all these years that I can look at it objectively and know that I was not alone. I was encompassed by these mighty women and their knowledge that I would make it through. At the time I had no faith of my own that I would survive.

Eventually, my waters burst out of me and this boy came swishing right out with it. In that moment, he was the most precious thing I had ever laid eyes on. He was here. In my arms. He had red fuzzy hair, just like my dream from years before of a little curly-haired, red-headed two year old running around kicking a ball. I was so happy that he was out! I was overjoyed that after years of waiting for him he had finally arrived.

I was still in a lot of pain. Overwhelming pain. The aftermath of his birth was difficult, painful, and seemed to be never ending. I was in a serious amount of pain for months. I was emotionally damaged. I was depressed. I was beaten down. I felt like a failure. And I was in love with this boy. Deeply. His spirit was full of gentleness, love, forgiveness, and faith. I talked to him about his pregnancy and birth. I apologized for all the conflicting emotions. I reassured him that none of it was his fault and that he was not responsible for any of my pain or heartache. I told him everyday, repeatedly how much I loved him. I held him, and nursed him, and sang to him, and carried him, and slept with him.

And now he is five.

I have made peace with his pregnancy and birth. I view it as a blessing now, for I learned much about God, about healing, about faith, and about myself. I learned the power of emotions to alter our body’s state of health or dis-ease. I learned that miracles happen. I learned that my husband is completely in love with me regardless of my body’s ability to function. I learned that little boys are a gift from God and that they are full of sweetness that can melt my heart in a different way than girls can. I learned that this shy little red-headed boy can bring me joy – and does so everyday of his life.

He loves airplanes, trains, tractors, fishing, Larry-boy, books, riding his bike, worms, a “tiss and a hug” (as he calls them), cars, tools, swimming, balls, “Annsey-goo-head,” his papa, and the color green. A few days ago I said “I love you Fisher Eli” and he said “I love you to the sun and back to the ground and to the moon and back to the ground and to the sky and back to the ground!”

That is a lot of love.

And that is a miracle. I thank my Father in Heaven for this precious boy whom I adore and who loves me more than I can even comprehend. He is my boy.

Enjoy some adorable pictures of my little red-headed wonder: