It was sad for me to think that Symphony might never know the "Ty & Jules" before her. She'll always know us as "Mom & Dad."
So I had my mom tell me my own birth story months before. She'd shared bits and pieces of it over the years, but from start to finish, it was a weird mixture of identical and opposite to my own.
On a wintery Sunday in 1988, there laid a 23 year old girl, alone, in an East Coast hospital. 29+ hours of labor when her baby girl got stuck up against her pelvic bone and a C-section was in order.
Now, 25 years later, that girl was me. Except the fact that I was in a West Coast hospital, surrounded by the most important people in my life. But like my mother, modern medicine and the hand of God were making it possible for my baby girl to be minutes away from her first breath.
For that I am thankful.
You'll feel a little cold and then you won't feel anything at all, the lady anesthesiologist said. Ty was outside the operating room door because they wouldn't let him in while I was being prepped. I was more worried about him than I was about myself. C-sections didn't scare me. I was going to be okay. But he didn't know that. Why? Because I never prepped him for one.
That's right. I was so confident in my diet and exercising that I thought for sure nothing was going to get in the way of pushing this kiddo out. My factors were unexhausted however; muscles (check), stamina (check), flexibility (check), education (check). I never factored in my bone structure (damn).
They called him in, he grabbed my hand, and to be honest, I don't remember much after this.
It's all a blurry collage of blue scrubs, loud beeps and a ton of pressure. I mean a ton of pressure.
I remember Ty peeking over the curtain and marveling at my innards. Don't look at that! I yelled. Disgusting.
I remember him saying it was awesome, though his face said otherwise.
I remember hearing the doctors call out all their fancy tools like something straight out of Grey's Anatomy and then I remember hearing them talk over each other. Someone get down there and push.
Awesome. I freaked. As much as a numb girl could. She's not going to make it. What if she doesn't make it.
And then I heard it. The loudest, most excruciating and beautiful scream I would ever hear in my entire life. Even the doctors told us she holds the record for loudest newborn.
She was here.
Ty ran to the table where they were cleaning her up. Symphony, he sang. Symphony it's your Daddy.
Silence. And eyes wide open.
That's when I lost it. She knew him. And while it didn't happen as I dreamed, with me being her first sight, this might have been more perfect.
Her Daddy, her provider, her protector, the first man who will ever show her what real, pure and true love is was what she saw and heard first.
He wrapped her and brought her over so I could see her and through my tears I whispered, She's beautiful. And then, She looks more Mexican that I thought she was going to. Deep, I know.
But it's true, she's her Daddy's girl and I wouldn't have it any other way.
- - - - -
Symphony Mae, from the very beginning we knew you were meant for something great. You are a miracle to us and we'll never let you forget it. Your life has brought joy and hope and faith to so many people, some you will most likely never know.
God formed you and fashioned you to perfection, and while you'll question His handiwork one day, your Daddy and I hope to give you such a foundation that our faith will contagious to you.
He is good. He is faithful. He has created you for something great. And you, my little world changer, are already off to a great start.