Always Say Yes

     After fourteen hours of driving and two hours of sleep, I stood looking into the eyes of my child.  I made every sacrifice possible to assure I would be there to pray with her before she was wheeled away for her C-section.  My mind drifted and began to recall every scratch, bump, and bruise she has ever had.  I thought of when she jumped off the top bunk and landed on the toy box and ran with blood gushing from her head to hide in the kitchen cabinet so I wouldn’t take her to the “hotpital for ditches.”   I smiled as my mind raced to Christmas 1994 when my sisters gift to my children was Chickenpox and I was sure there would be scars.  I remembered every cold, cough, and fever. 

     This is her first child.  She has no idea how much can go wrong.  Didn’t she read “What to Expect When You are Expecting?”  Did she see the posters by the NICU with instructions for resuscitating an unresponsive infant?  Did she remember when the radio announcer “Break of Dawn” died during child birth a few years back?  See, I have spent the last twenty-one years worrying about her.  What do I do now with my grandchild about to enter this world?  I can’t quit now, I must worry!

     And off she went. I sat in the waiting room with family eager to hear the Lullaby that the hospital plays when a baby is born.  The doctor said it would only take ten minutes to deliver my granddaughter; the majority of time is spent stitching up the mom.  One half hour passed and still no music, no one came to get us.  Then finally we heard that precious sound, the lullaby.  A group of elderly women that were also awaiting a new arrival came out from the ward and said, “Is that one yours?  We just saw her, she is absolutely beautiful.”  Relief overtook me, all was well.

     I stood at that window watching my first grandchild with tears in both of our eyes.  Her new Daddy so excited to see her, taking photo after photo as to never forget this moment.  What seemed like an eternity passed, and finally her doctor emerged out of the OR.  He explained that my child was born with a deformity that they were unaware of, so the procedure was more complicated than expected.  Chelsea was missing her right ovary, right tubes, and right kidney.  They were going to do another procedure in six weeks to make sure of what was there and what wasn’t.  The baby had been breech and the uterus had gone into the space where the organs should have been. The position made it difficult to make the incision and to remove the baby from the womb.  I immediately went into melt down mode. I cried to my husband, how could I not have known my child is missing organs?  The Doctor said she could have hemorrhaged if she would have gone into labor, and she would never be able to give birth naturally.  All that worrying I could have been doing!  What my husband said next determined the “Mimi” I was about to become.  He said, “Robyn, do you realize that all these years she has been in God’s hands.  She has not had one problem with the organs she does have, don’t you let the devil steal the joy of our grandchild’s birth.” 

     That was it.  My worrying had accomplished nothing, all those years for absolutely nothing.  No one ever looks back and says, “All that anxiety, yep, sure did make me a better mom,” or, “Thank goodness I cried myself to sleep every night.”  And guess what?  It didn’t change a thing.

     I walked into her room and looked at her peaceful face and the perfect baby she produced in spite of all my worry.  I began to rattle off instructions that I knew she needed to know; make sure you everyone washes their hands before they touch her, always sterilize her bottles because you know babies can get thrush, put oil on her hair so she doesn’t get cradle cap, and for the love of all things good and pure, have the nurse show you how to bath her before you get discharged, babies can drown in an inch of water.  Wait, these worries are no longer mine, they are hers, and I believe she will unlikely carry that torch, Praise the Lord.  My description is now a grandmother, a Mimi, if you will.  And not only do I no longer have the worry, but I also do not have the responsibility of being the one that has to say no.  As a Mimi, my responsibility is to always say yes. Our roles have changed, and the dynamic was new and unfamiliar, but I was ready to embrace it.

     Yes, Noelle, you are beautiful and wonderfully made.  Yes, unicorns are real and we can have ice cream for breakfast.  Yes, the world is wonderful.  Yes, everything will be ok, and yes, there is nothing to worry about because your daddy is kind and your mommy is brilliant……….. and your Mimi is right here.