That’s what they told me, I was lucky.
I hear stories every day about childbirth that didn’t go as planned. Babies end up in the NICU, Mamas in the ICU.
But me? I walked out of the hospital in pretty good shape 3 days after childbirth with my baby in my arms.
I was lucky.
Lucky that I listened to my body and saw my midwife for just a little pain.
Lucky that she had the intuition to do bloodwork just to check.
Lucky that my body developed HELLP syndrome later in my pregnancy.
Lucky that the cord was only around his neck once.
Lucky that I only almost lost consciousness from the blood loss.
So lucky that I should be grateful.
Then why did I just end up crying on the floor in my kitchen when I came across this video of a Dad singing to his dying son after his wife died in childbirth?
Why do I cry every time I think about the day my oldest son was brought into this world, even almost 5 years later?
I cry because that man up there could have been my husband.
I cry because that could have been my son.
I cry because I was lucky.