Seven years ago I was pregnant. During that Advent season I was waiting not just for Christmas, but for the birth of my own baby. I wanted more than anything for the baby to come before Christmas so that I could be home on Christmas morning with my other children.
In my own head, December 21st was a good day. The Winter Solstice. Baby and I could be home well before Christmas.
So all that weekend I walked. Walked our neighborhood, one foot on the curb, the other in the street, trying to get labor going. I walked the halls of the hospital after my appointment. I walked all over the PX. Phil followed me the whole time.
So Monday, December 22 dawned crisp and cold, without any sign of labor. I snuggled deep into the blankets as Phil got ready for work. I heard him leave the house and then POP! My water broke!
I rushed – as best as a very pregnant woman can rush- down the stairs and out the front door to call him back. I caught him just in time. We got ready to go, bid Boo and Pumpkin Girl farewell and went off to have a baby.
At the hospital we waited and waited, with nary a contraction. Eventually our baby did arrive – our sweet little Rebecca!
It was a very good day.
As it turns out, Winter Solstice was December 22 that year – I’d gotten my wish. And Becca and I came home on Christmas Eve.
For all the pain of losing Rebecca, God showed so much mercy. The first was that she came before Christmas, the only Christmas we shared with her. I’m glad we had that time with her.