Looking for Signs

So one of the things I failed to mention about our ordeal on Friday was something that has really stuck with me. Anyone who knows me knows I try to find signs in things because, well, it makes the world feel a little less scary to think someone is giving you clues along the way.

So as you know, on Friday, I woke up in agonizing pain and terrified by what may be happening in my body. I was convinced BabyG was dislocating my ribs or something dramatic. The pain was unimaginable. So after I finally let Evan convince me it was time for him to call the midwife for advice I was uncontrollably sobbing and convinced someone was going to have to cut my baby out of me that day. By the time we received instructions to head up to Birthing Center I had resigned to the fact that all of my natural child birthing hopes and dreams and plans were just out the window. I imagined sending a picture of my premature child to my sister, who was supposed to coach me through a natural birth and hoping she wouldn't be disappointed. And just the thought of being out of work starting that day without any real out of office instructions started up even more crying fits.

Evan strapped an ice pack to my side and escorted me to the car gently and slowly and lovingly. Got in and turned the car on. We were immediately greeted with the first keys of our wedding song. Huh. Mind you, our wedding song was You're My Best Friend by Queen. Not really a song you hear every day but also not THAT rare to hear. The weird part to me was that I typically tune the radio back to NPR when I roll into the driveway so my car starts in the morning with news and not music or, even worse, loud commercials. Ugh. So to have the car turn on to a non NPR station that just so happens to be playing our wedding song is to say the least, quite the coincidence.

At the time, I took this as a clue that we would be having our baby that day but that everything was going to be fine. I took solace in that and gritted through the pain on the way to the hospital. But now that we're almost a week out from that day and the baby is still very much in me and not on his way out, I'm wondering what that really meant. Granted, it soothing me and giving me solace is likely enough. Even if my conclusion was (thankfully) incorrect. But is there something more there?

Maybe it was meant to remind me that my husband and I are bound by love and respect and yes, friendship. That we're going to get through the good times and the bad (granted, something we did not have in our vows to my recollection but still a valid point), that he will always be there for me and will support me in ways I've never really allowed him to. Because I need him. We need each other. I don't think I could have gotten through that day without him. He was so amazing. So supportive. So loving and really took charge in ways I've never seen him do. Again, because I never really let him. I'm usually the take charge person. Because I like taking charge, not because he's ever failed to do so. As I think back, I never really allow myself to be scared and need to be taken care of. This was the first time in our entire relationship that Evan was able to or had to really support me in that capacity. He's always been supportive but this is just a totally different level of support. I physically couldn't speak, or stop crying, or really move. I've never been that dependent in my adult life. Ever. I've never broken a bone or been hospitalized. I've never needed someone that much and fully as a grown up. I have to say, my husband really rose to the challenge and I love him more deeply for it.

29 days to go until our "due date" and while I can't wait to meet our little man, I need him to be patient so I can heal fully and prepare for his arrival. Sit tight little one. Mommy wants to meet you but it's not time yet!