If you’re here because of you know who’s Instagram post about how horrible I am, welcome! Thanks for the blog traffic and I’m happy to share an alternative side of the story with you.

If you’re here because you genuinely would like to read Part 2 of my sweet boy’s birth story, hang tight. I need to deal with someone’s bullshit real quick. In the meantime, please enjoy the story below. The guy who’s mad about it can go deal with it.

xo

Writing part two Jack’s birth story required some time. And some permissions. And a lot of deep breathing because what happens during this part is a little traumatic, honestly.

I’m going to be honest and say, this part really isn’t about Jack at all. But it’s a huge part of Jack’s story. 

We hoped and prayed that Jack would wait until after Thanksgiving to come, but before Christmas. For two main reasons – one, because I wanted to be home on Christmas with my babies, and two, because we had met our insurance deductible and out of pocket and that meant we were basically having a baby for free, so long as it happened this year.

After months of prodromal labor, and knowing that we were in no way going to make it until January 2nd, like my doctor predicted, we were overjoyed when I went into labor the night of December 7th.

Preceding this day, was lots of turmoil. 

My OB was not very supportive of my decisions to not really go on bed rest, and I was adamant that I was in fact much further along than he said I was, and that I refused to get a bunch of the ridiculous tests they make you get, along with refusing the Tdap and Flu shots. Needless to say, he was not my favorite person in the world, nor was I his. And after FINALLY deciding we would have hospital birth instead of the home birth I really wanted (but knew was not the right choice), I knew that switching doctors at this stage of the game was pointless. So that’s turmoil number one.

Turmoil two is that I was extremely uncomfortable. Like, more than I like to admit and definitely more than I was letting on. Needless to say, for good reason. I was about 4 weeks further along than anyone thought I was, and baby was actually trying to make an arrival on time, not just making my life miserable. But that was the least of it – being this uncomfortable for this long wreaks havoc on your emotional well being. And mine was at its wit’s end. Since I had gotten pregnant, something had been brewing (amidst this stupid pandemic situation) that had my emotional well being a wreck, whether I had been pregnant or not. Which leads me to turmoil three. 

Tasha. Tasha is my turmoil three. Actually, Tasha’s ex husband is my turmoil three. 

Hence, why I needed permissions and time and some brain space to write Part Two of Jack’s birth story.

At this point, I’m assuming that most of my beloved reader tribe knows Tasha. But just in case you don’t, you can find her all over my Instagram feed. She’s my best friend and confidant. My go-to in all situations and her and I are thing one and thing two of our “four thing” mom tribe. Amy and Kasey included. Between the four of us, we now have nine babies and have mostly all witnessed at least one of the others actually birth said babies. I was lucky enough to be there when Sawyer, Tasha’s second, was born, and was feeling a little sad that she would not be there when my third was born, ah-hem, Covid. 

Anyway, that’s who Tasha is and if nothing else, you can read about my adoration for her HERE, in a blog that translates my very soul.

If you happen to peruse that blog post, you’ll also see James. Her now ex husband. Or soon to be. And this story, honestly, is kind of about him. 

Tasha and James are going through a really nasty divorce. 

Ok, I said it. And now it’s public and out for thousands of people to read and it makes me wildly uncomfortable but Tasha said it’s ok and now I’m rambling because I’m so scared to continue.

Anyway. Now that that’s out of the way.

On the night in question here, December 7th, Tasha called me and asked if Adam and I could come over and help fix her Christmas lights. A friend of hers had put them up for her and she wanted to take them down and put up new ones. Long story. So Adam and I loaded up with some extra Christmas lights we happened to have. The kids were at my Mom’s, a Monday night per usual. We traveled to town and Adam drank beer from Tasha’s fridge, put up her Christmas lights, and did a few other chores she needed done. Inside, Tasha, me and Amy visited and watched TV and helped Tasha make dinner for her kids and bathe them and get them ready for bed. 

When I looked over to see Tasha’s face go pale. 

James had texted and wanted to come over to get some things out of the house. He claimed he needed them immediately, and was coming whether it was ok with Tasha or not.

You guys, disclaimer. This is not a good story. It’s ugly. And I won’t go into detail. But what happened that night is not ok on any level. We are abundantly grateful that Adam, Amy and I were there, and that things only escalated as far as they did. Because even that was enough to literally put me into labor.

As I sat on the couch with Madi, her head on my lap, my other daughter, the little girl I love so deeply it makes me weep, I knew I would have this baby tonight. I was silent. I stroked Madi’s hair, listened to the whispering in the other room, talked to Madi when I heard things begin to be discussed that Madi didn’t need to hear. I tried, to whatever extent I was capable, to shield her. To hold her. Show her she is loved so so dearly, even if her life is in current shambles. 

I put Madi to bed shortly after things calmed down, and Tasha had caught her breath and Sawyer had stopped crying. 

It took me at least an hour to feel comfortable leaving Tasha after everything went down. In fact, I didn’t really want to leave at all. But I was REALLY uncomfortable and her kids were asleep and her doors were locked and she was ok. I made her dinner, kissed her big and told her I would be over first thing in the morning to help out with kids and anything else she needed.

As Adam and I drove home, I cried. Adam was pretty quiet. Astounded and disgusted by what had just happened and both of us held hands, worried sick for Tasha and forever grateful for each other. 

I mentioned to Adam that I was having a contraction, which was not news. I had been having contractions for weeks. 

And then I had another, five minutes later.

And then another.

I was going to bring a baby into this world tonight after a night of intense stress. No rest. And the first night in years I questioned whether or not humans were worthy of anything. 

Some human traits are really, really ugly. 

I realize the polarization of Part Two of Jack’s birth story as compared to Part One. Jack was coming into this world because we believe in populating the next generation with GOOD humans. And here I was. About to bring another human into this extremely ugly world. 

A world that houses humans like I witnessed that night. Ugly deceptiveness that makes my lips quiver and brain swirl with anger. Hate and disgrace and contempt and disrespect floods some parts of the world right now. As it always does, but it was so so prevalent that night. The devil was sitting on the stoop. Knocking at the door. Tempting each person inside, and out, to take the bait. Eat the fruit. I saw him. I talked to him. I looked him in the eye and then looked away as if he was an old acquaintance I didn’t want to talk to. And here I was. In labor.

Humans do really sinful things. We are sinners. Self control, self awareness and self discipline are fleeting, especially in stressful situations. Sin floods us. He died for us because He knew this. Knows this. Forgives us. 

But we are human. And I am human enough to know that forgiveness does not mean we forget. And that love is conditional. And childhood is innocent until it’s not. 

And all I could do now was pray through each contraction that the human about to greet us will know that their sins are forgiven, and will strive to be more like Jesus than any of us have. And that this baby will teach me, somehow, some way, that we can be fearfully and wonderfully made, without contempt, and deeply rooted in forgiveness.

Jack has taught me so much since he’s been here. I know that he has more to do here on this earth, that his purpose is yet to be wholefully known. But in the meantime, I will pray over him each night that he sees his righteousness and will know how to use it for good and not evil.

Because this baby was not brought into this world on a night of hate. He was prompted here by a house FILLED with love. Fighting for each other.