I still remember, Lauren, when I first looked at your beautiful face, and held you in my arms. Dad says that he doesn't know when he has ever seen me so happy, as in that moment. The early pregnancy ultrasound had been inconclusive, so we didn't know what you would be. As expectant parents sincerely opine, "we don't care if its a boy or girl; we just pray that it's healthy," we too, would have joyfully embraced either one. But in my secret heart, I longed for a daughter.
The evening before your due date, labor started in earnest. We tucked your two year old brother, Christopher, into bed in our little rented house in Birmingham, Alabama, knowing that the next time we saw him, we'd have a sibling to present to him. I still hadn't quite figured out how my heart could grow to love another child as much as I loved that first one, but I trusted the collective wisdom from other parents of multiple children, that it would magically expand. A sweet friend from church, Don Wendorf, came over to spend the night with Christopher and we were off to the hospital, to finally meet you.
Your brother was born in rapid fashion, without the assistance of analgesic medicine, so we assumed that your birth would happen quickly as well. Perhaps a more truthful statement is that with that first birth, I labored at home for several days, and by the time we finally went to the hospital, there wasn't time for anything except birthing a baby.
We settled into the hospital birthing room, with its adjoining little nursery, so that we would never have to be apart. It was a slow night in the labor and delivery ward; I got a nurse all to myself. She just happened to be a Lamaze Instructor as well. I looked her in the eye and said that I had done this once before without meds or an epidural. I promised her that I would follow every instruction she gave if she would help me get through this naturally again. I don't know why it was so important for me to feel every contraction and experience each sensation. I do believe that a woman's body is made to carry and birth a baby, and most times, if you cooperate, it does what it is supposed to do. That is what women have been doing for thousands of years. I also am most thankful for and comforted by modern medicine, in cases of emergency and when further assistance is needed.
That night did not go as I had expected. During the contractions, I had tremendous lower back pain, probably because of your physical position. My nurse/instructor knew what to do: during each contraction, she had me stand up and rest my arms on either dad's or her own shoulders, to take pressure off my back. It was quite hard for Dad to see me in such pain, a universal feeling shared by most empathetic fathers-to-be. During the wee, morning hours, he suggested that perhaps it would be better for me to get an epidural. I told him he could call that anesthesiologist and have him bring the epidural kit to my room and set it on the table, if that would make him happy. And that is what happened. At one point, I might have told him that HE should have that epidural; fortunately, laboring women get a pass for the rude comments that they make to their dear husbands, during their hour of travail.
It was a long, sleepless night, at least for me. I remember seeing Dad and the nurse dozing in their chairs between contractions and feeling extremely sorry for myself. At 6 am, things were progressing enough for the dr. to break the waters. At 6:34 am, you emerged into the world; I know, because I felt every sensation. You arrived squalling and they said that you were a girl. You were wrapped in a blanket and handed to me. I don't have words to express how I felt as I looked at your face (and when have I ever been at a loss for words?!). A daughter. My own little girl to cherish. My heart exploded with such emotion and joy.
I saw that you were olive skinned, like me. And your beautiful, perfect face, with its rosebud mouth, framed with soft brown hair, looked so very much like your Grandma Hershberger. After an hour of bonding, the nurses came to examine you. I went through the pages of my address book and called everyone I knew, to tell them the news. Remember this was in the dark ages, before social media and cell phones. Dad was worn out and went home to sleep, but I was on such an adrenaline high, I didn't sleep a wink until that night. That evening, Dad brought Christopher to the hospital to meet you. He had been pulling to name you Rice Krispie; we exerted our parental veto powers and crowned you, Lauren Elizabeth. Lauren actually means "laurel crowned" or victorious, and it also reminded me of your dear Daddy's name, Larry. Elizabeth is in honor of my own grandma, Elizabeth Gingerich.
Please refrain from commenting on the size of your dad's glasses; they were all the rage in 1993.
The following day, we drove home from the hospital, ready to tackle the challenges and joys of being a family of four. Magically, my maternal heart divided and swelled to love you both more than life itself.
I did sometimes wish that I had more than two arms. :)
Here is the announce and picture that we sent out to the world; well, at least to our circle of friends and family.
That was twenty-four years ago: April 20, 1993, a day that I will treasure always in my heart. It was the day that God gifted me with my beautiful daughter, Lauren Elizabeth.