Three whole months have already passed since little Skylar joined our family. I can't help but reflect on how challenging postpartum recovery can be. There was the beautiful miracle of a medication-free delivery, followed by my body adjusting to the changes a few days later. Alongside that came a bout of thrush, night sweats, and several weeks of hormonal tears. Despite all of this, I've fallen in love all over again with the cozy snuggles and the magic of my baby's smile.
The thing about childbirth is that every experience feels unique. With my first, the unexpected early induction due to preeclampsia was tough, but it led to the arrival of my first child, who filled me with immense joy. My second birth was entirely different—shorter, more intense, and everything I hoped for in terms of "normalcy." But let's face it, no two births are truly the same, and that's part of what makes each experience so special and personal. So when it came to my third, I knew I'd have a story of my own.
It was a Friday night, and we had plans to go out with friends. But my body had other ideas. For weeks, I'd been experiencing random contractions, but these felt different—not necessarily stronger, but definitely more frequent. They were coming every hour or so, and I decided to stay home, wanting nothing more than to cuddle with my two older children. That night, I realized how crucial it was to cherish those moments, as it would be my last night as a mother of two.
Saturday morning, around 6 am, I woke up and reached for my phone. I'd been tracking my contractions all night, and they were now averaging thirty minutes apart. I decided to take a shower, hoping it might ease the tension. Wrong move. By the time I got out, they were less than eight minutes apart. The fiery pain intensified, and I remember heading to the bathroom after a particularly intense contraction and throwing up. I texted my parents that we'd probably be meeting Skylar that day.
Chris helped me walk to the car, and even though it was just a short distance, it felt endless. Each contraction was like waves crashing over me, and I seriously considered collapsing on the pavement. But knowing I needed to get to the hospital kept me moving. When we finally got inside, I tried to explain how serious it was, but the calm look on my face probably didn't convey the urgency. They checked me in anyway, and I was admitted at 8:22 am.
I remember hearing someone ask if I wanted an epidural. My husband had planned to say no, but I yelled through the bathroom door, "Yes!" I wanted to feel as much of the process as possible, but this time, I wasn't sure I could endure it without help. By the time I got to the delivery room, I was dilated to six centimeters, so I had time to get the epidural.
The next twenty minutes were a blur of pain, pushing, and pure adrenaline. When Skylar was born at 8:42 am, I was overwhelmed with relief and love. Holding him for the first time was indescribable. His eyes locked onto mine, and in that moment, everything else faded away. The machines, the nurses, the chaos—it all disappeared. It was just us, two beings connecting in the purest way.
Our older kids came to visit him soon after, and it was beautiful to watch Aliyah take on her role as a big sister and Brayden's curiosity about his new sibling. We even celebrated Skylar's "birthday" with chocolate chip cookies and a rendition of "Happy Birthday."
Being a mother of three is overwhelming, but it fills my heart in ways I never imagined. Every moment, every smile, every tear—they all contribute to this incredible journey.
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