It was snowing a glittery kind of snow on a chilly February 16th. It was forecasted to have 6-10 inches by morning. I woke up to pee every two hours, struggling to roll my hugeness out of bed as punishment for the future nursing I would be doing at the same intervals. I peeked out the window each time, heart racing, hope wavering that my scheduled c-section would not occur as planned.
My other birth stories were full of drama and crying and pain. This one, this one not so much more then a quiet anticipation.
It was six in the morning and that seemed like a good enough time to get up shower, shave and exhale for the last time as a mother of three. It was quiet in the house. Somehow the next time I would be showering here my heart and home would be fuller. It was all surreal that I would be just walking into the hospital, they would cut me open and my sweet girl would be here. Surreal.
So I did just that. I kissed each of my three sweet boys goodbye with this bittersweet tenderness in my heart. This feeling of deep love for them, for our family, for the change they would undergo.
My sweet parents drove through icy roads to come watch my boys and Paul and I drove to the hospital. We drove on a quiet cloud of snow and mystery and surreal joy of what was happening that day.
We walked into labor and delivery, filled out the paperwork, I got hooked up and a few hours later I was in the operating room. My back hunched over getting the spinal, the lights so bright, the air so cool and I could almost hear her crying in my mind. We were so close.
I kept repeating, "The peace of God" in my mind to stay focused, to stay centered, to feel His presence in the room. I knew He was there. He couldn't wait to see my face when I saw her, this little gift He had given us. He couldn't wait to help her draw her first breath.
And then she came into this world, my little gift of grace, crying from the moment she could catch her breath. I saw her for a moment, she was cleaned off and placed on my chest. We were home. She instantly stopped crying. I kissed her head and felt a deep sense of exhale.
Karis May Bowman has a defined plan for her life designed by God. Her very name is the Biblical Greek word (charis) for grace. For the unmerited favor, the blessing God has given me and our family through her and her brothers. Her middle name, May, is after my sweet grandmother Marjorie May whom taught me how to cook and how to love family.
Welcome to this loud, messy house where legos are everywhere and dinners are daunting.
Where we live for pizza/movie nights and mommy/daddy dates.
Your brothers are over the moon in love with you. They check on you every moment. They kiss you, rub your head and talk to you every chance they get.
Your daddy is the best snuggler, was the first to hold you and changed every diaper in the hospital. Me, well I am obsessed with taking your picture and feel an overwhelming thankfulness for you and the family God has given me. I feel a sense of trying to muddle through becoming a better woman so I can show you when you get there too.
Here are some pics of your first few days.
Mommy, Daddy, Jude, Levi & Ethan