Finding Confidence in Uncertainty — Dear My Future Daughter

Dear my future daughter,

Below documents one of the most frightening times of my life thus far. I hope you know that fear isn't meant to cripple you, but serve as a reminder how powerful of your God is. When you begin to doubt yourself and the structure around you, remind yourself of the deeper ground you stand on. "I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me." Philippians 4:13.
**Love,**
**Your Mama**

To be honest, I didn't necessarily want to relay this memory to others - Just looking at the above picture brings back the remnants of fear, anxiety, and panic that I have continuously tried so hard to shove to the back of my brain. I hid this from even some of my best friends, because, well, part of me was ashamed. And, still, even as I wrestle with it today, I think it's important for me to tell this story.

When Emma was 5 weeks old, she had an incident. Cole was back at work, and I was still on maternity leave at home with Emma. She had just finished nursing, and was already falling asleep on me. I attempted for 5-10 minutes to burp her, but when it didn't seem like it was going to happen, I decided to put her down for a nap. It was just moments after putting her down in her bassinet, that she projectile vomited upward.

Instantly, I picked her up, assessing the damage done all over her little onesie and bassinet. I was about to change her when she projectile vomited again- this time a yellow mucus-y milk came out of her nose as well. Her eyes widened. She took a deep gasp in, tried to let out a scream, but it was muffled and she turned bright red. She arched her back as if she was seizing… just like that, Emma stopped breathing.

All I could do for those first 10 seconds was to hold her up in front of me, stiffening in my arms, and screech "What's happening?! What's happening?!" After those 10 long seconds of her pained stiffening and my running aimlessly in circles and patting her back, she managed to let out a quick scream (she was getting SOME air)…but then back to arching her back.

Before Emma was born, I took infant CPR. I took a breastfeeding class. I watched infant care YouTube videos. I really thought I’d be prepared for almost anything. Yet, still, there I was in the moment unable to even comprehend what was happening or what to do... I had never felt so small.

I grappled for my phone and called 911. The woman on the other line sent an ambulance. I begged her to stay on the phone as I sobbed through my shaky words.

The EMTs assessed her and decided to take her to the hospital where she was delivered. "Is she okay?" I let out in a voice unrecognizable to myself. "Her lungs sound weak" was all the EMT said to me. In the ambulance, I texted my husband on the way (yes, texted - to this day, I still can't believe I thought it was okay to text this, but I was terrified to speak the words out loud that we were on the way to the hospital in an ambulance).

Immediately at the ER, the doctors took Emma and began working. They sat me in a chair nearby - doctors flooded the room to the point I couldn't see her anymore or what they were doing. I sat there feeling hollow, still in my pajamas, my tank top now soaked in breastmilk. By the time Cole showed up 20 minutes later, most of the doctors had left, and Emma was there, hooked up to a plethora of cords, and sleeping under a heating lamp.

I shyly asked questions, as if I was in trouble. The doctors told me that they had extracted liquid from her (aspiration? Choking on mucus? These words were thrown into conversation but I never fully achieved the full explanation) and that I was right to ambulance her. They said they believed she was going to be just fine, and they would have us stay overnight to monitor her oxygen levels.

So, there I was, trying to smile through the poisoning thought that I was terrible at the one thing I had felt called to be my whole life - a mama. Sitting in that hospital where the doctors had first handed her to me, I felt like a child who had already managed to break her new precious gift.

When I finally found the confidence to ask questions, I asked what I could have done.

The answers weren't great. "Sometimes things like this just happen…"

Nothing could have struck a deeper-rooted fear in my gut than this. I shrunk into myself with the realization that this could happen again and there weren't sure-fire steps to prevent it. Later, the nurses presented me with some more tangible pieces of advice- Hold her upright for 30 minutes after every feeding (an exhausting blow to a mom who is already awake most of the night) and to slow my flow by reducing my milk supply. Of course, they too said, "sometimes things just happen…" and my insides continued to crack further.

In the end, we were incredibly thankful that Emma showed good oxygen levels throughout the night. We were able to go home the next day and resume life with a newborn, though I can admit I wasn't the same mom. The rest of the newborn stage was difficult for me. Where I was calm before, I became paranoid, that image in my head of Emma's panicked eyes creeping back in over and over.

Confidence slowly grew as Emma got older and stronger, but I know that even today the helpless feeling can still haunt me if I give in to it. Being a mom is beautiful, rewarding, and at times… scary as hell. I don't think this incident will be the last time that I feel unprepared and unsettled in my motherhood journey, but I pray I can prepare my heart to face whatever may come.

So, I know this story is darker and more vulnerable than my other posts, but because of that, I felt it was necessary. Growth comes from working through these dark pieces, forcing me to break these tough memories down in order for the light of the Lord to eclipse them all. In working through this story, I can confront the fact that loving someone so much is scary, yet still, I can find comfort in knowing God loves Emma more. She's His child, He chose me for her, and He is bigger than my anxieties. I have learned that in order to be the mama I've been called to be, I must accept the loss of control and embrace the unknown. All I can do is be proactive in what I do as a mom to keep her safe, and constantly redirect myself to breathe, pray more, worry less, and lift her up to Jesus.

Today, whatever struggle you face, I hope you can find encouragement to face it head-on; Not because you can handle it, but because He can.