Banana is 1!

Banana's birthday party is tomorrow, and she really didn't know that yesterday was her birthday, but everyone else did.  

She didn't know that exactly 1 year ago yesterday, she made me a mother for the 4th time around.  And, she didn't know that April 24th 2013, changed me.

As previous posts demonstrate, my pregnancy with Hannah was a roller coaster.  Doctor's were telling me she was fine.  But, then they said that she had Down Syndrome.  When testing confirmed that she didn't have DS, they told me she was fine again.  Her third trimester ultrasound suggested that something was amiss, especially since I was measuring the size of twins. They had determined that something was wrong, she had a genetic disorder, but they didn't know which one.  Finally they told me that she had Beckwith Wiedemann Syndrome.  

I remember that day.  I went to the appointment on my own, because the doctor's had told me that everything looked fine at the 18 week ultrasound.  Jon Mark wasn't there.  Immediately, I knew something was wrong because the tech was taking a really long time to measure everything.  The doctor came in a told me that my baby had BWS and I began to cry.  The doctor asked me, quite callously, why I was crying.  I wanted to scream at her, "because you just told me that my baby has this thing that makes her highly susceptible to cancer".  But, I didn't really say anything.  I just cried for a few moments and tried desperately not to.  I cried, not because I was sad, but rather I was scared.  I had no idea what BWS was, I had no idea what that would mean for our future. Would she be okay?  I was scared I would lose her, and I already loved her.  That's the beauty of pregnancy, my baby was so intimately apart of me, that we were in the truest sense, connected.  And, I loved her.  I loved Hannah. I didn't want her to have to suffer in any way. The timing wasn't "perfect" either.  We were supposed to be moving to AZ to take the Bar and find a job right after the baby was to be born.  So, how in the world would we be able to do that now?

As I left the hospital, I had a difficult time maintaining my composure.  Once in the car, I lost it.  I called Jon Mark and I called my mom.  They prayed.  

I remember the day that I gave my burden over to the Lord.  Everything felt better after that. It was going to work out. I just felt so much peace. There were still days when I doubted, but ultimately, I felt only peace.  

She would be delivered via c-section because her size was estimated to be about 12 pounds.  That scared me a little. Lindsay and Vanessa told me all about c-sections, and that helped.  

Hannah came out weighing only 8 pounds 15 oz (but I always just say 9 pounds).  That's a far cry away from 12 pounds.  I could have pushed her out after all.  If I had, I wouldn't have the six inch scar that marks me.  That six inch scar is a price I paid for her, and it reminds me of that day, April 24th: the day I became a mother again, the first time I held my Hannah, and the day that I learned more about the grace and goodness of our Heavenly Father.

My scar, as Michelle has reminded me, is a sacred scar.  Though not the same, Jesus Christ bears sacred scars to remind us of the price He paid for us out of love. His scars testify that He is the Christ. His scars reminds us of the price He paid for us to have eternal life.  My scar reminds me of the price I paid to give temporal life to another.  As do my stretch marks.  Consider this from Elder Holland: In fact, in a resurrected, otherwise perfected body, our Lord of this sacrament table has chosen to retain for the benefit of his disciples the wounds in his hands and his feet and his side—signs, if you will, that painful things happen even to the pure and perfect. Signs, if you will, that pain in this world is not evidence that God doesn’t love you. It is the wounded Christ who is the captain of our soul—he who yet bears the scars of sacrifice, the lesions of love and humility and forgiveness. (Do This In Remembrance of Me. 1995). Sacred scars, are scars of love.

That day changed me.  It made me better.  I saw the Lord's hand in my life. I knew, so completely, that He was in charge, that prayers are answered, and that these tiny babies are His, and He loves them.  This brand new, perfect baby was given to my charge.  And she was beautiful. 

She had these dark, big eyes that opened every once in a while. She had soft, baby skin that I rather enjoyed stroking, especially under her cheeks. My dark haired baby with strange toenails and fisted hands, was mine.  Thank you, Hannah, for loving me.  

Now, at a year, you exploring the world while bear crawling. Sometimes you gracefully try to walk, but mostly you just crawl.  You are a pro at standing from a sitting position and then returning back to a sitting position.  You love being held and will hold onto my arm to help me out.  You sing, "Let it go". You mimic my laugh. You certainly try to talk and I think you will be an early talker.  You love frozen peas.  You have big blue eyes and brown hair.  You like bananas and smoothies.  You take three hour naps and enjoy nursing to sleep, but you will never let go on your own. You LOVE baths and pools.  We love you!