Then Along Came Caden

"Weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning" (psalm 30:5). Clinging to this promise, and many others was truly the only way we managed to move onto another attempt at bringing a new person into our lives. The loss of Keaton, followed closely by an earlier 'miscarriage' left us scared, bewildered and longing even more for a baby. Having lost all faith in my body's ability to produce a living, breathing, full term infant, I tossed aside any hope of a home birth, and went full medical model.

Once the pregnancy was acheived, I became strangely excited and peaceful. Acknowledging my lack of control over anything, my mantra became : I am living in this moment, thankful for the last, and hopeful for the next. The new being growing underneath my heart was not guaranteed to be there for any length of time, so I enjoyed it fully every moment, and didn't think about the next very much. This strategy worked for about 15 weeks.

One morning, the sheets felt strangely wet. Throwing back the covers, my eyes fell upon the bright red stains on the bed, and my heart fell into my stomache...not again..please, God, not again. Jon managed to get me to the doctor's office, and he grimaced, led me down the hallway to the dreaded ultrasound machine. His words were "Let's see what we still have to deal with". I didn't even look at the screen, unable to bear the image of one more still baby. "Look, Crysta.".

"No."

"Look!"

The perfect little baby was turning, waving and had a gloriously bleeping heart! The scare wasn't over, but, I was thankful, once again, for that moment, and lived right there. I was sent home on bedrest, hoping for the best...and not preparing for anything.

Life on the couch with a 5 and 9 year old was difficult at best. Jon came home as often as he could, and women from church took my children to and picked them up from school, ballet, karate, etc. My mother drove to Marietta once weekly and did grocery shopping and cleaned. It was so difficult to not care for my other children. I hated it what this pregnancy was doing to them. So many sentences began with "If this baby doesn't die...." Somehow, we made it through.

Around 37 weeks, bloodwork and other tests indicated that my body was going into pre eclampsia. With the recommendation of labor induction, Caden was on his way. In the hospital, as the water was broken, pit drip started, I cried uncontrollably for the loss of my other babies, the loss of the lovely, gentle birth I had once envisioned. I knew it was going to be cruel and against all that I beleived, but, maybe, just maybe, I would leave the hospital with a live baby. I kept his monitor turned up full blast the entire time, the booming of his heartbeat mixed with my sobs as I accepted an epidural. It did little to ease the pain .. the emotional pain was much more severe than the forced labor. Finally, it was time to push, and his heart rate went down with each push..once it was in the single digits. I gave up, and stopped. I was sure this baby would not survive this final step. He was vacuum extracted from my body, and whisked to the warmer. He was floppy, blue, and silent.

Then, he cried. He cried! They finally brought him back, burritoed up, and I didnt even remember to unwrap him and put him on my skin. He was so beautiful, and looked nothing like me. It was as if Jon Bourdon had cloned himself. My heart opened, and all of the love I'd been reserving, holding back, protecting, spilled into this baby boy. I finally unwrapped him, cuddled him , nursed him, and held him all night. There was probably a rule against that, but the nurses said nothing. The next morning, he was still there, alive and breathing..and the next, and the next..

Five years later, he's still here. My curly-headed little boy, quirky and laid back. He's sweet and cuddly, not really your typical 'boy'. I've been overly protective, fiercely loving, and have tried to remember to live in the moment with all three of my children. I still am thankful for the last moment, hopeful for the next, but living in the present one (most of the time).