I can't do it anymore. 

I just can't not say something. Not say anything. 

Take it or leave it...here it is. 

Lately we have all seen the news about New York declaring their "victory for women's' rights"... making it legal to terminate a pregnancy up until the child is actually born.

They have declared that the 40 week old "fetus" is not actually a human life. It has been declared that those babies are not a human soul, and that there is no worth in those lives although they have been moving, kicking, thinking, growing, and living. 

I tend to stay quiet when politics are concerned. I despise major conflict. Honestly, I feel It is not my place to convince or coerce someone/anyone into any type of belief regarding politics, and that is not what I am trying to do.  I have friends and people around me who are from many different backgrounds and many different paths in their lives... and I respect each of you, and I am glad that you have had a chance in your life to form an opinion. You deserve that.  I have met people from all over the world through my story with my pregnancy, birth,and burial of my precious son. If you know me at all, you know (although I may never speak of my political views) you know my feelings and beliefs about this situation.

But let me just say right now.. If I lose "friends" over my belief about this, then that's fine. If this post steps on your toes or offends you, please know that I love you anyway, no matter what you have gone through in your rough journey .. But at least you got the chance to live your life. You have the chance, the opportunity to form an opinion on this subject matter. As you should be free to do. 

This decision by the state of New York is ground breaking. It is not only a ground breaking decision, but it is an earth shattering, heart breaking, gut wrenching decision that involves sweet, precious babies as well as "adults."

This hits me in 2 completely different ways. Somehow I have been on each end of this life altering decision. 

Before I was born my birth mother was just a few days late to the office to have an abortion. She was young. She was scared. It wasn't her choice to be there. She did her best to protect me.  She hid her pregnancy and covered me up and protected me as long as she could; kept me a secret so that no one could end my life.  She chose to give me the chance at life by placing me for adoption.

I spoke with my birth mother several times about this very topic, about this very same idea, although neither of us had any clue that this would ever be an actual REAL thing people actually do, killing their babies.


I know.  I hear you. 
What? I talked to my birth mother? I know who she is? Yes, y'all. Yes.  (I can hear the questions screaming towards the  computer/phone screen now... ) And yes, we found one another, spoke with one another, wrote letters, and talked on the phone. We never met in person, but we knew the intimate details one another's lives.   We bonded over a few years, and before her young life ended, I got to hear her explain to me what she went through... Her intense, desperate hold on me as I grew inside her stomach. 

I was not planned.  I was not created in an atmosphere of love, a place from a man and a woman's desire to raise a child in this world.

When my birth mother was 15 she experienced something that I hope and wish others will never have to go through.  When I was inside her belly she saw sonograms, pictures, and videos of me. She told me about seeing me, naming me, dreaming of my future, picturing me as an adult trying to make the world a better place.  Why did she do that? Because I was a life growing inside her.  I was a human being being formed by the grace of God inside of her pregnant belly.

She imagined how beautiful my life could be if she gave me to people who were desperately trying to love and raise a child. She told me about the options she faced... Giving me  chance at life and giving me away, I literally can not imagine how incredibly strong a girl must be to literally hand her child off to strangers to let them raise it.  I probably couldn't do it.  But she was strong.  She, somehow, was selfless.  She gave me that chance.  She gave me the chance.

Fast forward to 2015 and I'm now a mother with a choice.  I'm pregnant with my first child and I am told that because he has a birth defect, I can "terminate my pregnancy " because it was detected so early. .

I had the choice right then and there, along with my phenomenal husband, to terminate a life. That was not our decision to make. There was no question that we were going to give our child a chance at life. 

As you know by now, we experienced over a year of a very high risk pregnancy, early labor, months on bed rest, multiple stays in the hospital, an early delivery, NICU, bringing our son home, then dealing with his passing, funeral, burial, and the devastatingly terrible days, months, years, to follow. 

Bear with me y'all, I'm getting to it. 

Many of y'all have not dealt with child bearing, life threatening pregnancies, NICU, abnormalities, and so on... and God bless you.  May you never have to.  

But I've been there.  My imperfect son was born months earlier than he was supposed to. We went through the weeks and months of heart break and devastation of his imperfections in NICU. We sat with him for hours each day, willing him and praying to the Lord that he would grow big and strong enough for him to not only come home, but for him, frankly,  to make it. 

My son grew in my stomach for almost 9 months. I gave birth to him. I held him. I saw every part of him.  That precious baby was grown in my stomach by not my strength, but His. He had 10 fingers, 10 toes, a nose just like his momma's, and hair just like his daddy's. He had dirty diapers, he needed baths.  He longed to hear mommy and daddy's voices, and cuddled close to both of us. He developed that desire and need for closeness long before he came into this word, and it grew deeper each day.  He knew both of our voices clearly when we were around.  He literally clung to our clothes as we held him. He held on to us with a fierce passion. 

Even being born way before he was "full term," baby Ben was a human.  He was functioning.  He was intellectual, he was present, he was responsive. He was a functioning human. 

He. Was. A. Human.

Knowing what we knew about his imperfections, there was no shadow of a doubt that we would give him a chance at life.  We gave him everything we could, and I'd do it all over again.

To those of you who decide that life is not important...

If you think you are in the position to negate that young life.. I dare you to live a day in the life of my husband and myself.  I dare you to go through watching your child, with your surgeon and special care team doctors declare TOD (time of death), although I performed  CPR and did every life saving move I possibly could on my frail son,  (**I have never uttered those letters because they make me physically sick ..)  I dare you to hold that baby in your arms as they convince you to put a heat pack around your child so you don't feel the chill of death.. and then say that child was not a human... I dare you to challenge me on that.  Because I have freaking experienced it. I know what it feels like. And it is awful. 

Ladies, girls, who are not ready to parent, but find themselves in the predicament of choosing to give life or end it, I know that you have come up with so many reasons to end it and walk away.  You were raped, you don't have enough money to raise a child, you accidentally got knocked up, you weren't planning for it. There are so many reasons you can come up with to kill your child inside your body.  Yes, I know there are over 400 thousand children in America waiting to be adopted.. But there are twice that many adults who are desperate to adopt or foster those babies. Give those children a freaking chance.

There are those of us who want those children, those babies, and are willing to do whatever it takes to give them a chance at life. I just can't understand how women march and "fight" for rights as women, yet take the right of life away from future women. You are literally a walking contradiction. So many women are crying every day, every night, because they are unable to bring a beautiful soul into the world. Spending thousands of dollars each year to just attempt to bring a gorgeous soul into this world.  Yet some of you are tossing that away.  If you met some of us, heard our stories, listened to women and men who have tried for years and years to  bring a child into this world... there is just no legitimate reason that you'd readily choose to kill your child.

Add 1 more kid to those 400 thousand children in America needing to be adopted.  Add 1 more beautiful soul, because frankly, it is ridiculous that you have the opportunity to decide whether you choose life or you choose death for an innocent child.  They deserve to be heard.  They deserve a voice.  

Thousands, millions, tons, of people go through their life every day desperately desiring to bring life into this world.  There are many reasons some can't do just that.  Yet we are ready and willing to take your child into our homes and love them with the love of the Lord.  We crave that opportunity.  Why throw that away?

I'm sure giving your child up for adoption, giving it away to strangers is hard.  But I'm telling you it has to be easier than experiencing their death.  I can't imagine how difficult it would be for me to hand my child that grew inside me for so many months to some strangers... but I guarantee you it is easier than putting that precious body in the ground.  It is easier than living with that pain every single day.

As New York lights up their sky scrapers in pink for a celebration of "women's rights," I pray that your soul would light up with love and you would choose to give that little life a chance to speak for its own. Those children, those humans can't speak for themselves, so let me be their voice.  They want, need, and desire to not only live their lives, but to be able to have  chance to speak for themselves.

Someone else's life should not be your decision to end.  Let them grow up to speak up.  That voice that people are using to speak, yell their beliefs on this very subject matter.. Let those little ones grow up to use their own.  But until then, I, along with many other women and men, will be their voice. 

Life is precious, beautiful, hard, and fragile.  Appreciate those days you are blessed with.  We all deserve the chance to live. 



Thanks for bearing with me through this post, it has been 2 years since I have written and it has been hard.  I pray that somehow these discombobulated stinging of words helps at least 1 person. 


choose joy,
allison

'Tis the Season to be Jolly?

It's winter! It's Christmas time! It's time to be excited, happy, jolly! Right?! We have our Christmas lists, our gifts for others wrapped tight for our family and friends. It's such a happy, beautiful season... But is it really that great for every woman?

No. It's hard. It causes anxiety. It hurts. It's painful.

I see you, sweet mom whose number one wish and prayer is to have a baby.
I see you, precious woman, who just like me, took that Christmas pregnancy test and it was negative. I see you, I've cried with you, I feel your devastating pain.
I hear you, sweet girl, when you realize you can't give that positive pregnancy test to your husband for the very best Christmas gift.

Sometimes our Christmas wishes don't come true.  Sometimes our prayers aren't answered right away. Sometimes what we pray for is answered in a completely different way than we want.

I'm going to be completely honest and straightforward with you... I hate Christmas. I hate the gatherings, the meals, the talks. It breaks my heart.  I hate it because my baby should be there.  We should be celebrating his first birthday. We should be cutting his first birthday cake. He should be grabbing his "smash cake" and putting it all over his face. He should be enjoying his first visit from Santa and receiving gifts from his grandparents and cousins.

As I decorated for Christmas this year I remembered the year before... My Mom and Dad were here. Mom helped me decorate and my Dad graciously went to CVS 3 times to get more lights and extension cords.

 I desperately wish that this year they could watch Baby Ben open Christmas gifts from them... but that's not the case. He's not here.

I can dwell on the sadness, the heartache, the sorrow, the fact that the pregnancy test, yet again, was negative. I can tell you a million reasons to be sad this season. I could write a freaking book of reasons to be depressed this season! But really... there are so many reasons to rejoice. Yes, Ben and I will be the only ones in my family without a child. Yes, it's hard to watch the other kids open their gifts. Yes, it breaks my heart that we don't have a blue cake at our Christmas dinner to celebrate. Yes, it hurts that I've tossed countless negative pregnancy tests into the trash cans in tears. Yes, I am dreading Christmas day because that's the day of my child's birth. Yes, I am broken. But God is bigger than this.

I'm terrified that Baby Ben was my one chance. I'm scared that we can't have another precious baby. I'm fearful that I had my one opportunity, but I have to believe.  The Christmas story is so powerful.
It's so amazing, it's so mighty!  Our God is strong.  He is so much more than me. I want what I want, but I have to trust that He is stronger than me. He's bigger than me. He's better than me. He is perfect.

Women out there who feel defeated, women who cry when you take that pregnancy test and it's not what you want; that woman who didn't get the adoption papers or foster papers, that woman  who feels empty... I feel you. I understand. I hurt with you... but please know that our God is bigger. He feels your pain.  He feels your emptiness.  He feels your ache.

He is so much more.  He was born to give us hope, to give us a purpose, and so much more.
Yes. I absolutely feel your pain.  Yes, I  know how bad it hurts.  I know how hard it is to tell your husband that yet again, this month I failed. I understand that the adoption papers didn't work out. But, moms, we have to believe.  I call you moms because you are moms. You may not have children yet, or you may not have as many children as you wanted yet.... Either way, our God is powerful.

This is the season to spread joy to one another.  Whether that be you giving your friend an extra gift, spending more money on your boss than you planned, spending more money on your students than you anticipated... It is so worth it.

Make the choice to choose joy.  Make the choice to be positive.   Make a choice to be happy.  Make the choice to make someone's life better.

Precious mom, sweet woman, believe that He hears you.  Its's not always the answer you want to hear.  It's probably the opposite of what you want to hear, but He knows better.

Take this journey with me.  Take this journey of trusting Him, above all.  It's hard, it's tough, but let's do it together... You can do it, precious woman.  Your time will come. I'm proud of you or being so strong. I know it's hard.  I know it's arduous.  I know it's difficult.  But you can do it.  You can make it through this Christmas season.  You can do this.  I believe in you.

Love Always,
Allison

a letter to our son

A letter to my son-

Ben, there are some things I want to say. 

First,I want you to know that I loved being your mommy. I loved every single second I spent with you in NICU, even when it shattered my heart. I cherished helping the nurses, and even teaching some of them, how to care for your omphalocele. I loved rocking you for hours. I even loved staring at your monitor and making sure all of your numbers were okay. I loved walking through the doors, checking in and practically running to your "crib." I loved learning to feed you there, I loved scooping you up and holding you for hours on end. I loved how the nurses loved you and thought (knew) you were so super adorable and such a good baby.

Even more,I loved every moment we had with you at home. God certainly blessed us by being able to be together in our home. I loved snuggling with you on the couch, I loved waking up to feed you, and I even loved your cry... It was so pitiful! I loved watching you on the monitor. I loved watching your daddy hold you and love on you, y'all were so much alike. I loved rocking you in your nursery and listening to your little snore (another way you and daddy are alike!)

You absolutely changed our lives(and many more). You taught me what selfless love really is. God used you in your short time to minister to me and help me. You taught me how to be a mommy. You taught me how to change stinky diapers without gagging :) You taught me to change my life to better your life. You taught me to rely on God more, you taught me more than I could ever even list. You were the absolute best son I could ever have asked for. 

I talk about you all the time. Your daddy and I talk about the precious times we spent together with you and I am now even able to talk to others about you without sobbing!

I miss seeing your daddy hold you. You were so incredibly tiny compared to him! It always made me giggle when I would do laundry and your clothes were so much tinier than his! I miss seeing your daddy bottle feed you and love on you. Although he had never even held a baby before, he was such a natural with you! I miss seeing you sleep, you literally slept exactly like your daddy. I miss seeing you hold on to his finger, you loved to hold on to his big finger so much! It melted my heart each time you reached for it. 

 I miss hearing your handsome daddy singing to you. He sang to you ALL the time. It was the only thing that made you stop crying! He is an amazing dad, as you know. 

Every now and then, I will catch your daddy signing your dirty diaper/omphalocele chaging song:

                "Close your eyes and I'll kiss you

Tomorrow I'll miss you, 

Remember I'll always be true

And then while I'm away

I'll write home every day

And I'll send all my loving to you

I'll pretend that I'm kissing

The lips I am missing

And hope that my dreams will come true

And then while I'm away

I'll write home every day

And I'll send all my loving to you"

You would be so proud of him. He is working so hard to provide for his little family and choose joy each day. You changed his life too, sweet baby boy. You made him an even better man. 

Next, I want you to know that you are not forgotten. You wouldn't believe the amount of people, who almost 8 months later, are still thinking about you. People are still donating to NICU, ministering to us during this hard time, and doing many things to raise money for NICU, your home for the first part of your precious life. People are continuing to be changed by your life. I have been told that you have helped others choose joy, learn to pray more, and be more appreciative of their own children. You blessed so many people. You will never be forgotten. 

Sweet baby boy I want you to know that we are doing our best. We are trying 

 so hard to trust in the Lord and choose joy each day. Your daddy and I think about you constantly. My heart aches to hold you, to love on you, to feed you and help you grow. I long for more moments, but I am relying on God to help me understand that this is all in His plan. 

If we are ever blessed with more children I promise to tell them all about you. You will always be my first son, my first beautiful baby. Future children will always know that they have an older brother who now lives with Jesus. 

I also want you to know that I'm kind of jealous of you! I can't imagine the glory of Heaven that you are experiencing. I know that in the short time I taught you about our Lord. We read about Him and sang about Him, and now you are praising Him at His feet every second of the day! I wish you could tell me all about it! 

Ben, even though I tried... words can't even express what all I want to tell you, say to you. You were the most amazing person I know. I wish I could say that I have touched as many lives in my almost 30 years as you did during your short time. You are truly an inspiration and I admire you. 

I love you always. I love you forever. You will always be my baby. I will always be your mommy. You are so loved. I will see you one day again, and I will scoop you up and hold you forever. We can praise Jesus beside one another for eternity. 

I love you. 

- Mommy

52 days

Our journey has had so many ups and downs. So many trials, so many successes. Our journey is still continuing, and we are still experiencing those ups and downs and heart breaking trials. It will probably never be over.

52 days.

52 days is how long I had with my sweet baby Ben. He spent most of that in NICU, but we had some beautiful, precious times at home as a family. The Lord was faithful, and He gave us that time together. My husband, Ben, is an amazing father. He knew exactly what to do when I questioned my ability. We grew as a close-knit family, including our fur baby, Heidi, who absolutely adored her baby brother.

But 52 days. That's not long enough. That's not enough days at all. We just didn't, in my small opinion, have enough time. However, I will cherish each second of those 52 days for the rest of my life.

But let me explain something to you...

In baby Ben's 52 days, he reached people. He reached their hearts, and he touched their lives. Think about your past 52 days... What have you done to make a difference? I'll be super honest... The past 52 days I have cried, I have shouted prayers to my Lord, I have written in my journal, I have hidden from the world, and I have been incredibly broken.

Yes, I have my days where I get up and decide to choose joy and I accomplish things, small victories, but mostly I have just been here, just existing. And I can't help that.

My husband and I have been seeing an amazing counselor to help us through this tragic grieving process. I have seen doctors and I have been closely watched. I have depression, whether that be post partum depression or "regular" depression. I have ignored it for quite some time, but I am finally on the path that I need to be on for healing. For almost a year I cried out in my raspy, shaky voice, for Jehovah Rapha to heal my son. Now I am doing the same thing, but I'm asking Him to heal me.

I don't feel like myself, I'm not myself. I want to be, I try to be, but I just can't be. I'm praying that the medical professionals can help me fix it, but let's be real, I'm mostly relying on Jehovah Rapha to heal me.

I have to believe with all of my heart that I'm experiencing this for a reason. Our resurrected King has a plan for me, for my family. I have to believe that we are not forgotten. Yes, the funeral month passed. Yes, people lifted us in their prayers, people got down on their knees for us, and I am eternally grateful for that. But please understand that we still desperately need and covet your prayers.

I wish I could say that in the past 52 days I did as much good as my baby did, but I cant, and I haven't. And that is eye opening. I have decided to do the very best I can to encourage people and help others just as my sweet baby boy did. I know that Ben would be proud of us if we would be strong, faithful believers. That we cling to that Anchor and we change lives.

Hope has a name. Joy has a name. And that name is Jesus Christ. If you, in whatever your situation may be, are claiming hope or searching for happiness, and you are trying to do it alone, then God bless you. I don't know how you do it.

As I've written before: He is the one that picks me up when I'm sobbing on the floor. He's the one that somehow brings a spark of joy to my heart when I am utterly depressed. He has that incredible power to comfort us, care for us, and heal us. Only He can provide that. He's the one that walks with us through the toughest times and hears our hearts.

I believe that baby Ben understood this, somehow, in his tiny baby brain. I know that he reached more people in his 52 days than I have in my 28 years. But I'm ready now. I'm ready to continue the legacy Benjamin Michael started. I'm ready to start changing lives. Are you?

So I am proposing a challenge to you, friends. For the next 52 days, make the choice to make a difference. Make the choice to reach people. Make the choice to trust Him in your darkest moments. Make the choice to choose joy. And make the choice to celebrate those victories, no matter how small. Let's do it together. Let's celebrate together the difference that we are making. It can be anything from "Today I put on pants" to the greatest feat you can imagine. Each and every single victory should be celebrated. Let's encourage one another, in honor of my baby Ben, to make a difference in this world.

Comment on the blog, comment on facebook, use the hashtag, share how you're choosing to make a difference. Let's celebrate together each other's victories. Let's encourage one another. Let's band together as people, as believers, and let's do this.

52 days. Just shy of 2 months. See what you can do in 52 small days. 52 days brings us to  July 17th. How big of an impact can you make, how can you change the world by then? Let's do this together. I know you can do it. I know WE can do it.  I know you can make a difference. Let's make a difference together.

#babyben52daychallenge

We can do this. I believe in you.

"So be truly glad. There is wonderful JOY ahead, even though you must endure many trials for a little while." 1 Peter 1:6

Choose Joy,
Allison

Share your victories on my facebook here
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Share your victories by commenting on this blog post
use the hash tag #babyben52daychallenge

to the women that saved my baby's life... every day

We didn't have good NICU/SCN nurses. We didn't even have great nurses. We had phenomenal nurses.

These women are incredible. They're special. They're called. They're dedicated. They're amazing They're so many things... But to me, mostly, they're heroes.

You have no idea how much your little choices in your life impacted mine.  You chose to get up every morning (or evening). You chose to drive to work. You chose to go to shift change and learn about my baby. You chose to save my son's life... every day.

When I was creating my birth plan I never thought of you.You never crossed my mind. I had never seen a NICU, I had never even imagined that you existed. I had no idea that for the first month of my son's life you would be the one caring for him. Most people have no idea what you do, they've never thought about it, much like myself before I was faced with the situation. Except now I know.

I know that behind those 2 sections of alarmed doors, behind the video doorbell security system, behind the parent scrub in station, and behind the check in counter, you pour your heart out into tiny little lives day after day.

I had no idea that you would be the one to change by baby's diaper. I had no idea that you would be the one to feed him his little bottles or rock him when he cries when I wasn't there. I never imagined that you would be the one to sit me down a week after he was born and hand him to me for the very first time. I didn't know that you would be the one to know his facial expression for when he was hungry or when he needed his diaper changed.  I didn't know you would be the one to talk to him in a soft voice when he started to get upset. I didn't know you were going to be the one.

 I was so jealous of you.

I was jealous that if you wanted to know how he was doing, you could simply look over at him. I had to call the hospital, give my 4 digit secret code, and ask you.

I was jealous that when he cried at night you were the one to comfort him.

I was jealous that you were the one to give him his first bath, give him his first feeding, and change his first dirty diaper.

In a very odd way I was even jealous that he peed on you when you changed his diaper rather than me.

Except I couldn't dislike you. Yes, I was envious... but I loved you.

Every single time I think about my little miracle's life, his story, I think about you.

I think about how you didn't just save my baby's life. In a way you saved mine too.

You taught me so much.

You taught me what it meant when Ben made a certain face, you had seen it for 12 hours day after day. You taught me how to breastfeed, even when it got hard. You taught me how to change his dressing on his omphalocele, and you did it calmly, knowing it broke my heart to have to learn that. You taught me how to feed him, how to burp him, how to hold him. You taught me his feeding schedule, you were perfect at it from your weeks with him. You taught me how to read his monitors... What a normal heart rate, pulse, and respiratory number should be. You also taught me not to obsess and stare at his monitors, but to read my baby. You taught me how do that.

You heard me.

You heard me cry over my son. You heard me pray for endless hours over him. You heard me sing to him, in my tired and raspy voice. You heard me read the same books in my same mommy voice day after day. You heard me struggle, you heard me rejoice.

You sat with me. You held my hand. You hugged me. You even cried with me. After the doctors left and I was in shock and had no idea what they were saying, you sat down beside me, looked me in the eyes, held my hand, and calmly explained everything, in words that I understood. You let me ask the same question over and over. You patiently answered the phone every hour and reassured me he was okay throughout the night.

Most people don't know what you do. They don't know you. But I do. I know that you save lives constantly. You think your job is just to save the tiny lives, but you save the grown up lives too. You helped me when no one else could.

You helped me during the darkest of days. When no one understood, when no one knew, you did. Most times you knew even better than I did.

You give your everything everyday to families in crisis. You spend 12 hours straight with 1 or 2 babies, watching over them and rushing to help them. When you're not at work you think about our babies. I've even heard you call and ask about the status of one of them while you were at home "relaxing."

I'm blown away by you.

What I'm trying to say is "thank you." Stupid words on a computer screen will never be adequate. I'll never ever be able to give back to you what you gave to me.

Thank you for teaching me, thank you for sitting with me, thank you for hearing me, thank you for listening to me. Thank you for holding my hand. Thank you for acting like it was perfectly normal for me get excited because he was finally able to be fed again or the fact that he pooped. Thank you for acting like it was normal for me to sob with you. Thank you for sending me home when you saw the dark circles under my eyes and my inability to keep my eyes open. Thank you for texting me pictures of him, even if maybe you weren't really supposed to. Thank you for choosing to do what you do. Thank you for deciding, every day, to save lives.

Most people have no idea what you do. They don't know how important you are or how crucial your role is. They have no clue that you play an incredible part in people's lives, but I do.

I know how truly amazing you are. I will never be able to tell the story of our journey without talking about you. You are a part of our miracle story. You are irreplaceable. You are giving and kind. You are selfless. You are impeccable. You are appreciated. You are so freaking appreciated. I am a better person for knowing you.

Choose joy,
Allison

Empty Womb, Empty Room

I have written many pages in my journal about this. Through my tears, my vision blurred, I have written, but it has been very hard to type this post out.  It has taken me longer than normal to finish this post because it breaks my heart to write the words. I apologize for the delay.


Please don't read this and think that I am constantly a mess. I am a very proud momma, I love my time with my sweet baby. I am enjoying life not pregnant! I even got to go on a DATE with my handsome husband! There are many positives.

This is post is about my first days at home after leaving my baby for the first time. And those days were hard. Those days were dark.
.....

I was finally being discharged from the hospital. I had been excited about this day for quite some time. Although I had done my best to make that hospital room our "home," it just wasn't. It was time to go home, to my real home. For the first time in a while.

Everyone knows the rules, new mommas have to be rolled out in wheel chairs.

There I was, sitting in a wheel chair. Ben was walking in front of me, pushing a cart full of our bags and gifts from our families. My wheelchair was being pushed by our sweet nurse, and ordinarily, this sounds perfectly normal.

We got into the elevator, and with each level the elevator went down, my heart sank a little bit more. As we reached the ground level, I'm pretty sure my heart reached rock bottom.

My nurse rolled me out of the elevator and on towards the exit. And I couldn't help but to notice... to compare.  Most momma's get rolled out of the hospital in a wheel chair too, that we had in common. In that fashion I was normal. However in other momma's laps there were carriers that held babies.
Their new, fresh-smelling, perfect babies.

In my lap I held nothing.

My lap was empty.

My heart was empty.

The nurse handed me a bouquet of flowers, and then I held something. I smelled it, but it didn't smell like a new born baby.  I felt it, but I felt pricks from thorns, not the smooth skin of my beautiful, soft baby.

On the ride home I tried to come up with things to occupy my mind, my heart, but it didn't work.

We reached home just a short 15 minutes later, and somehow although I was holding flowers, bags, and pillows... my heart and my lap felt even more empty than it did before.

As I walked into my house for the first time in 2 weeks, I thought I would feel joy.  I missed the smell of my home.  I missed the excitement of my puppy Heidi, I missed the blue and white stairs that led me upstairs to my comfy bedroom, to my son's nursery we worked so hard on.  I missed the candles on the coffee table.  I missed my cast iron skillet on my stove. I missed it all. This now, even with the anticipation built, meant nothing. It all meant nothing... Because my heart, my lap, and my arms were empty.

I realized for the first time ever that I was home without my son.  And my heart shattered.

When we toured this house I was pregnant with my son. When we moved in, my son was in my belly listening to me unpack those boxes.  He was here when we decided on the paint color for his nursery. He was there for my months of bed rest.  He was here as I spent hours in his unfinished room, crying out to God to help me.

My son was there as my husband picked me up of the floor and ushered me to the shower. He had been here for everything.  But now, he wasn't here. Instead, he was lying in a diaper, under a heater and blankets, hooked to his machines, on the 8th floor of a hospital, and I was at our home.

I did my best to get used to life at home without my son. I saw my "choose joy" items, and now I had to work hard to choose that joy. I had to work hard to find it at home.

I tried to set up my home in a way that would make me choose joy-- I set up my pumping station in Ben's nursery. I was on a strict 3 hour pumping schedule, like my son was there and hungry, every hour he would eat- I would pump.  I set up a pumping parts cleaning station in his bathroom. All of this was so that I would associate Ben's areas of the house with something positive... Something MUSC's counselor's told me I should do.

But choosing joy at this point was hard.  Choosing joy, in those moments, was just impossible. Sometimes I think those counselors get paid to feed me bull crap. I'm just being honest. I did everything they told me, and I still felt empty.

My womb, for the first time in almost a year, was empty.  My son's room, was empty. My arms and lap were empty. My heart and my soul were empty. My eyes, after many hours, were empty.

I began to cry out, with almost dry eyes and a raspy voice, again to my Savior.  My prayers of healing my son were now more real. My prayers were from the heart of a broken momma, desperate for healing for her helpless son.

I pray for him constantly, with almost every conscious thought. I pray as I shower, as I pump. I pray as I walk from the entrance of MUSC and I make my way to his bed...I make those turns... I could do it in my sleep.... right, left, right, left, elevator....... right, left, ring the intercom, enter, left, turn in my cooler of breast milk, scrub in, right, right, right.... The whole way, I pray.

My prayers now are from the bottom of my heart. They are the most honest and the most real prayers I have every prayed before.  I praise Him for each tiny milestone we hit. I beg Him to protect my son, to hold him in His strong hands. I beg Him to heal my little baby. That is my heart's cry.

But I know He hears me. He hears this momma's heart, this momma's soul.  He hears this desperate momma's tears as I leave my son every night.  He hears this momma's loud sobs and tears at night as I sit in the nursery, pumping, not breast feeding as I so desire to do. He hears me. He sees me.

I'm getting used to my new life now. My life in the nicu.  I sit with him for hours now, I read to him, I talk to him, and I sing to him... I sing "Jesus Loves Me." I still can't make it through the whole song... Maybe only once or twice I have been able to.  The line "They are weak, but He is strong" gets me every time. I just weep.

I'm clinging to that simple children's song. Because just as it applies to my tiny, helpless son, it applies to me.  I am weak.  I am broken. I am needy. I am absolutely at my weakest, but He is strong. He's going to help me through this.  He's wrapping His strong arms around me, and He is comforting me.  He picks me up. He carries me. He walks with me through this journey. He's helping me find the joy in this. He's helping me celebrate each tiny victory. He's showing me, yet again, that He is faithful. He is the Ultimate Healer, and our story is far from over. Our story, our journey is just beginning.

Each day is a little better,. Each day I see that He is even more faithful. Each day brings hope.

Each day I become stronger. Each day, I am the best nicu momma I can be. Each day I can't wait to get my hands on my sweet little ducky, and I cherish those hours holding him, talking to him, reading to him, singing to him.

 Every single day, my Ultimate Healer heals my heart just a little bit more.



Choose Joy,
Allison

The Best Christmas Gift

It was quite a different Christmas season all together. I missed my Christmas Eve traditions- shopping at the mall with my mom (not because we needed anything, but because we are crazy), getting out in the hustle bustle, buying Christmas PJ's for Ben, Christmas Eve service at First North, spending time with my family eating our usual Christmas Eve dinner of oyster stew. I just missed the tradition!

I decorated our little hospital room, "home" as we had come to call it, with a small Christmas tree from Ben's nursery, paper chains that I made, and Baby Ben's stocking. I filled the air with my favorite holiday blend of essential oils, I did everything I could to make it feel "Christmassy."

Christmas Day we ate a "holiday feast" from the cafeteria downstairs. I have to say, I wasn't mad at that meal! It was pretty yummy, considering. I passed out small gift bags to the nurses, I wore my snowman shirt that I made, emphasizing my large pregnant belly, and everyone here got quite a kick out of it. I said "Merry Christmas" to anyone who would look my way. I was trying... hard... to make this a joyful Christmas, even though we were "stuck" here.

Katie and Bryan, some sweet, selfless friends, came to visit, along with some family members! We opened some gifts and that brightened our day. We all love gifts, right?!

Throughout the whole day (and day before) I was definitely uncomfortable, but I didn't think much of it. I've been uncomfortable since October 15th, the day we were first admitted to antepartum at MUSC. So I just kept on, determined to celebrate Jesus' birthday the best I could.

Meanwhile, Baby Ben had his own plans. That boy is determined, I tell ya! I was having contractions pretty consistently, but again, I didn't think much of it. As the day passed and evening fell I realized this wasn't normal. I called the doctor in, and I heard what I already knew he was going to say... "We are really shooting for Tuesday!" At that point, to say I did not like that doctor was an incredible understatement... I was in some serious pain.

I'm a pretty calm person, my voice level has been perfected due to years of teaching, I can remain calm in just about any situation. When I envisioned being in labor I totally thought I'd be calm, quietly enduring each one. HA!!!! Nope. Not me! I shouted, I cried, I said mean things, I apologized, etc... Yeah, definitely not what I envisioned, but hey, mommas out there-- you know where I'm coming from!

As the hours passed and the contractions became excruciating, he finally believed me that we were having our baby that night. I had been in active labor for  many hours, and I was dilated to a 5, all without any medication. My poor husband's hands were various shades from white to purple due to me squeezing them with every ounce of strength I had. He listened intently as I explained my not- so- nice feelings about this doctor, and he did his very best to encourage me through every contraction, keeping tabs on how frequent they were. When I thought I couldn't handle it anymore, he was so supportive. I desperately needed him, and he was amazing. Thanks babe, and sorry I yelled so much!

I was relieved that that silly doctor finally believed me. I didn't hate him quite as much. (Doc, if you're reading this, you know we're cool now, but I'm pretty sure you knew how I felt about you in those hormonal, painful hours!)

I was feeling so many different emotions... fear, excitement, panic, joy, elation, sadness, you name an emotion on that crazy spectrum and I bet you I was experiencing it. It was a crazy feeling.

I was finally rolled into the OR in Labor and Delivery at 11:04 pm (5 hours after my active labor began) where I was prepped and finally received that much needed pain medication in my back. Ben was dressed in his "dad scrubs," and he finally joined me in the room around 11:20. I have never been so excited to see that man, as funny as he looked in his blue booties, scrub pants and top, mask, and funny hair net. I needed his comfort and support!

They began the c-section, and I just constantly prayed. I had confidence in the doctors, they're the best in the world. I really wasn't worried about the baby being ready or being born too early. For some reason, that wasn't really a fear anymore at all. My biggest fear was that the membrane on his omphalocele ("o") was going to rupture. There was a super thin membrane holding all of his little organs in, and if that ruptured we were going to be facing some devastating situations. I prayed every second of that c-section... Every second.

At 11:48 pm on Christmas Night my amazing son (oh heavens, I can hardly read what I'm typing through the tears!) was born. My Benjamin Michael Peters was born! They lifted him for 1 second, and I could only see the top of his head. Then he was gone.

They rushed him out of the room with hushed voices and wide- eyed looks at one another. Only their eyes were showing, their masks and hair nets covered the rest, but it was obvious. I could see it all in their eyes, they just hadn't said what was wrong yet. But as they were flying out of the OR with my brand new baby boy that I could not see, I heard it. I heard the most gorgeous, beautiful, fulfilling noise I have ever heard. I heard my son cry. And I wept.

As they were finishing up with me, my husband got to go see Ben get cleaned up and prepped for NICU. As I'm lying on the table, they said they had some information for me. My heart sank. "Great, here it comes..." I thought to myself.

They told me that his membrane had been "nicked" during the birth, but it did not rupture. There was a small hole in the membrane. If it's kind of hard to imagine what I'm talking about, imagine blowing bubbles with a child. That bubble is about how thin the membrane is, somehow holding in his intestine, bowels, liver, and some of his stomach. They worked quickly to repair the small hole, and somehow, they did it.

Yes it had a small hole, but the membrane did not rupture!! Add that to the list of miracles that God has performed throughout this journey.

A little while later, I was in recovery, and my husband joined me. I have never seen my husband look like this. I have never seen him stand as tall as he was, I have never seen that sparkle in his eyes, I have never seen his face glowing quite like it was just then. This man was proud. He was a proud daddy, and it was such a precious sight. He melted my heart and I fell even more in love with that man than ever.

They finally let Baby Ben come in the room before they took him to NICU. We had about 3-4 minutes. He was laying in an incubator on his side, facing me. I have never felt so much love in my life. His eyes were wide, and we connected our eyes for just a second. I got to touch his foot, and I just wept.

There, in front of my eyes, was my miracle baby. The child that God had sustained for 2 months and 10 days in my incompetent womb was finally here. The child that so many people had been praying for was here. The child that I have felt kicking and turning in my belly for months was here. My son, my baby, my everything, was here.

God is writing the most beautiful story though Benjamin Michael. He has used my son in so many ways already while inside my tummy, and I can't imagine how He's going to use him here in this world. I am overwhelmed with gratitude and thanks to my God, who has had His hand on my son from day 1 of this long, rough journey. I am so excited to be able to be a part of Ben's love story that our Father is writing.



Father,
Thank You, thank You, thank You! Thank you for caring for Ben. Thank You for sustaining him in my incompetent tummy for so long. Thank You for working miracles. Thank You for protecting him, for protecting that bubble- thin membrane. Ben is Your child before he is mine. Please continue to write his story, it is already so beautiful. You have made Yourself so evident, so real, so obvious throughout this journey, and even more so now, as this miracle baby breathes on his own in this world. I pray that with every breath from his little lungs that You would be glorified. When people see my baby, may they see Your face, Your handy-work, Your power, Your miracles. Thank You, Jesus. I love you.

...
Our journey is far from over. In some ways, it's just beginning. Our next chapter is life in the NICU, and I have already learned that no matter how hard I attempted to prepare myself for this, it is impossible.

Thank you to those of you that have dedicated time to spend in prayer for Ben. Thank you for helping this miracle baby enter the world. As we see, the power of prayer is undeniable. Please continue to cover my little family in prayer. As we move to the next chapter of our journey, please cry out our names to our Lord, to our Jehovah Rapha.

Merry Christmas, friends! I hope you all had a wonderful Christmas. I certainly received the most amazing Christmas gift I could ever imagine!

Choose Joy,
Allison (Mommy)

BMP loves his pacie!

The day Ben can wear this shirt we will throw a HUGE party! 

He is truly our miracle baby!