Nine months of joy, fear, wonder, and worry culminated in Liam’s birth on Tuesday, October 21, 2003. I happily sailed through my first two trimesters, traversing the newness of pregnancy, enthralled by the mystery of who our child would be. My final three months were not so great – I began to feel cumbersome, tired and unable to navigate my large form into any state that remotely resembled relief. My feet were so swollen, they only fit into a well-stretched pair of flip flops.

During an appointment the week of October 12, for the first time in nine months my midwife seemed very concerned. She said, “Your blood pressure is slightly elevated. If you don’t go into labor on your own, we need to induce you later next week.” I was excited at the prospect of the baby’s birth, of finally seeing him or her. I didn’t dwell too much on the elevated blood pressure. After all, it was only slightly raised, and this was the end of my pregnancy – maybe it was normal? The midwife added, “We’ll make an appointment for Monday, so if you don’t go into labor over the weekend, we can plan for induction.”

That Monday, October 20, I arrived for my afternoon appointment. My blood pressure was even higher than before, and now there was protein in my urine. Trying to remember now, I cannot recall if she explained what these symptoms meant, but she must have. She must have mentioned the term “pre-eclampsia.” But I was caught up with the anticipation of induction. I looked forward to meeting our child the next day. The midwife wanted me to go straight to the hospital. “Do you need to go home first for any reason?”

“Yes – I need to get my bags and take care of the dog.” I truly wanted time to get Karim – I didn’t want to enter the hospital alone.

The midwife went over hospital check in procedures and told me what to expect. I raced to the parking lot and called Karim. “You need to head home. They want to admit me tonight.”

“I need to head home now?” I heard the excited reaction of his co-workers in the background, their words distorted by the cell phone’s reception.

I repeated what the midwife told me. At some point, I called our friend Nathalie who agreed to watch our dog, Duncan. How strange that, though I prepared for nine months, I felt so surprised.

When I arrived home, Karim was already there, and our suitcases were out in the living room. Several hours later, we arrived at Northside Hospital and were admitted into a labor and delivery room. I was hooked up to all sorts of machines; blood pressure, contraction, and fetal heartbeat monitors beeped and pulsed. A nurse checked my swelling and surprise crossed her face. “You’re very swollen. Do you have any dizziness or lightheadedness?”

“No.”

“Any upper-GI pain?”

“No.”

“Well, that’s good, though I’m surprised with how high your blood pressure is and the amount of swelling you have.”

I was so focused on getting through labor that I didn’t completely grasp what she was telling me. Drugs to start my contractions as well as morphine to alleviate pain were administered to me. Once the morphine took effect, I entered a fog that enveloped me and weighed down my memory for the next few days. Even now, my recollections of our time in the hospital come to me as incomplete flashes.

During pregnancy Liam was so active in the womb that the midwives and ultrasound technicians never failed to point out how much he moved. I felt almost constant wriggling and kicking. But overnight, in the hospital, the baby became completely still. This clearly indicated distress, so the nurse gave me oxygen to try and get a response from the baby. Still no movement. And there were no signs of labor from my body, despite the induction drugs.

In the early morning hours, one of the midwives and a doctor from my practice come in the room to explain that, because of the combined events, they needed to perform a Caesarian.

An epidural was administered to me. It felt like I floated from bed to gurney as they transported us into the operating room. The anesthesiologist was so kind and he stood by my head talking me through the procedure. There was a blue screen blocking my view, but Karim was watching and videotaping. I felt pressure and was told to take a deep breath.

“Lots of meconium,” I hear the midwife say. I know that means you’re in distress. Did someone mention the baby swallowing some, or was I told this later?

Liam cried out. Thank God you’re crying. I thought to myself. I was terrified that something was wrong and the baby would not cry.

“Oh my God! It’s a boy!” Karim said.

“It’s a boy,” is now shouted by various people in the room. Liam was placed on a table out of my line of sight, and his wailing filled the room.

“That’s a big baby!” people began to exclaim. They all estimated Liam’s weight to be in the nine pound range, but it turned out he was eight pounds, nine ounces and twenty-and-a-half inches long.

“Does he have hair?” I asked.

“Yes, he has hair,” Karim answered.

Before they took him to the nursery, they briefly held Liam up to me and I saw his profile. “Hi, Liam,” I said, and his eyes followed my voice – it’s the voice he heard for forty weeks.

Two hours later. Groggy, foggy, they handed him to me. So this is Liam – the one who moved below my hands for nine months. Karim and I held him and stared at him (I will stare at him endlessly from this point on). I marveled at the miracle of Liam, a brand new life wrapped in an eight pound body, a whole person waiting to unfold.

The C-section meant we were in the hospital for five days. Karim, being the remarkable man that he is, bore the care-taking brunt for both me and Liam. I was heavily drugged and not very mobile. I was reminded what a wonderful blessing our marriage was, and how fortunate we were to have a healthy, vigorous son join our family. I snuck Liam into bed at night to have him close to me. There was nothing as comforting as having his small form next to mine while we slept. This is where Liam would sleep for a long time to come.

Weeks, even months, pass before I fully processed how scared I was – afraid that Liam wouldn’t be okay . . . that I wouldn’t be okay. Had I done something wrong while pregnant? I felt like I failed in some way. I envisioned Liam’s arrival differently: crying and wet from birth Liam is placed on my stomach, he recognizes my scent and I get to finally see him. In reality, I couldn’t hold him until two hours after his birth. I couldn’t breast feed him because of all the drugs and other factors. The drugs left me with more of a snap-shot memory of Liam’s birth with many details not fully remembered. But this was the birth of my first child, and I wanted those details.

Even so, in the months following Liam’s birth, a deep, spiritual shift happened for me. Through the role of parent, so common and mundane-seeming, the most incredible, life-altering love grew. This opened for me a much deeper understanding of divine love. I realized parental love must echo, in part, the depth of God’s love for us. In this time I was called to serve another, I not only reflected God’s love, but was able to more fully understand that love. Parenting was, largely, taking care of another’s basic, human needs. How strange that this miracle required no realignment of the stars, no thunderous voice of God. The most extraordinary was, in fact, in the ordinary.

Jesus washes the disciples feet (John 13: 12-14). When he had finished washing their feet, he put on his clothes and returned to his place. "Do you understand what I have done for you?" he asked them. "You call me 'Teacher' and 'Lord,' and rightly so, for that is what I am. Now that I, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also should wash one another's feet.