Gus

Around this time last year, I found out that I was pregnant. The morning I found out, I called in sick for my clinic shift and went back to bed, filled with a great and overwhelming fear. I expected the bleeding to start any moment, and I dreaded the look in Turner's eyes when I would have to tell him it was over. I didn't know how I would handle another loss, yet I knew that the worst could happen, and that the greatest tragedy of experiencing unimaginable pain is the reality that one just continues to live through it. The thought of doing so again made me sick. I didn't feel brave. I didn't feel strong. I felt small, and weak, and weary.

But the baby stuck. And stuck. And stuck.

We found out very early that he was a boy. We were shocked, although somewhere in the back of my mind, I think I knew. I had two dreams about boys, one before I knew I was pregnant, and one after. It made sense. It was who he was. We chose his name the day we found out he was a he: Augusto John-Francis. Baby Gus.

I felt him move pretty early into the second trimester. My doctors coddled me and watched me and the baby very closely. From time to time, I would see my own fear reflected back in their eyes, which honestly reassured me somewhat. They knew it could happen again, and they didn't want to live through it either. But his little heart kept beating, and he kept on growing, kicking into the mattress as I lay in bed, twisting and sliding around, contorting my belly into alien-like shapes.

My doctors gave us the option of inducing at the same point in my pregnancy at which I had delivered Nina-Lou, and after a lot of discussion and worry, we decided to take them up on it. On Feb 10th, at 37.5 weeks pregnant, we packed a hospital bag and walked through the same doors we had entered while I was in labor with Nina-Lou.

They started my induction slowly, but once labor started, it progressed pretty quickly. After about 9 hours of hard contractions, asking for an epidural and then changing my mind, and then asking for one again, my midwife checked me and told me I was at 9 centimeters. Then I felt my water break, and I felt his head drop, and I knew it was time to push him out. I laid on my side and yelled, "I have to push!"

And the midwife said, "So, push."

After about 5 contractions, I pushed as hard as I could, and I felt him come out (ow, ow, ow), and I heard the funniest little squawk. I remember everyone around me bursting into tears, and expecting to cry myself, but all I could do was laugh. They plopped him on my chest, and he was so sticky, and warm, and squirmy, and CUTE. My god. What an incredible feeling, to look at his face and feel his warm skin on mine. Turner and I just looked and looked and looked at him. There he was. He was alive.

"Hi, baby," I said.

Baby Gus at 1 week old

He's 4 months old now, and it's strange, but it feels like he's always been here. The happiness and satisfaction I feel when I spend time with him is something I can't quite describe. It is so fulfilling to be his mom.

He is funny. He is gentle. He is joyful. He is wild. He loves to dance, to bounce, to watch other people move. He loves to hear all different kinds of music. He is experimenting with his voice, and he moans, and yells, and squeals. I recently heard him laugh for the first time, and aside from that squawk he made when he first busted outta me, it was the raddest sound I've ever heard. He sometimes looks like me and sometimes like Turner, depending on his expression. He is a voracious eater. He surveys the world with calm, curious eyes. He grabs toys with is fat little hands and shoves them into his mouth. He sleeps on his back with his arms and legs splayed out wide. If we do something he finds particularly amusing, he lifts his shoulders up to his ears, crinkles his nose and squints his eyes, open-mouth-smiles and wiggles his body around. We call it the happy dance.

The Happy Dance

Parenting is a challenge. There is a lot of worry. Is he nursing enough? Is he meeting his developmental milestones? Is he napping enough? Should he be sleeping through the night yet? The questions go on and on, and each phase comes and goes quicker than we can acclimate to it. But, man, it is awesome. It's even more awesome than I could have imagined. Even when I'm steeped in worry, sleep deprived, barely fitting into my jeans, covered in spit up (sooooo much spit up), with a baby attached to my boob and my phone just out of reach, I can say with utmost certainty that this is the best thing that I've ever done. The absolute best.

I love him. He is such an incredible tiny little person. He's going to grow up and have likes, flaws, desires, loves, triumphs, mistakes, and tragedies of his own. And through all of it, I get to be his mama.

I'm so lucky. I'm so grateful. I'm so happy he's here.