12 stitches, many sleepless nights, and 6 weeks later, I was back in the office for a post-baby check-up. Already back down to my normal weight (which is nothing to brag about), having attempted breast feeding for 4 weeks with minimal success, but with a healthy baby, I was in good spirits. Until I heard the words that would shake any mother to their core...."He could have died."
I froze. Here was my doctor, sitting across from me and telling me my son could have died. WHAT?
I knew that I did not get to hold him immediately because he had aspirated meconium and I needed stitches, but where does dying come into this? I half-halfheartedly listened as he explained it to me. Liam's cord was too short. During my contractions, his heartbeat should have dropped because of the strain. It could have ruptured. At the very least, I should have had an emergency C-section. He told me he was sorry he had waited, and he was glad that my instincts to deliver a little early had persisted.
But he was strong. I was strong. We were both strong. And I said a little prayer.
I drove home more grateful than ever. I snuggled him a little closer, got a little more anxious about his first day of daycare, and didn't mind so much that I was up with him most of the night. If he was crying, he was alive, and that was enough for me!
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