Happy Birthday, Cuddlebug!

I remember that while I was pregnant a little more than 4 years ago today, my glucose testing had come back with a diagnosis of "borderline" gestational diabetes (GD). I could have guessed it really. Fifi was 9 lbs., 9 oz., and Nurse Ratchett spent 10 minutes scolding me after delivery about how likely it was that I would have trouble with blah blah blah and it would happen around yada yada yada. That's really what I heard because I had just given birth to a mammoth Eskimo, by way of salad tongs after pushing hard for more than 2 hours!

Then Dumpling was 11 lbs. So, yes...probably some sugar problems going undiagnosed. Maybe I was being tested just a hair too early? I don't know, but this time it was detected and I was referred to a specialist. The danger in GD, Cuddlebug, was that you might grow too big, too fast -- and disproportionately so. Your lung development might have also been retarded -- that's bad. You need those to breathe.

Left untreated, GD might have caused you to die inside me. Without a doctor's wisdom at delivery, you might have been so large that your shoulders could get stuck and you would be trapped in the birth canal. So I went to the specialist, even though I felt like a birthing superstar, having already delivered your two giant sisters without surgery.

I didn't like the specialist from the moment I met him. He was a walking textbook, it was clear. He just did what the book said to do; not a lot of human reason going on, in my opinion. He talked about checking your size with an ultrasound first. If that showed you to be big, he would want to do an amniocentesis to check your lung development. If your lungs were good, we would induce and labor toward a normal delivery. If your lungs were still immature, we would wait and c-section you later.

I couldn't believe what I was hearing on my first visit! Then he explained that he wouldn't let me deliver you if you looked to be bigger than 8 lbs., 8 oz.! I laughed and implored him to change his mind because I had never given birth to a baby that small. I was sure he wanted to cut me open -- one way or another. Your due date was August 3rd. Our sonogram with Dr. Textbook would be roughly 3 weeks before that.

Now, I realized even then that women have c-sections all the time, but not me! I had never yet had any surgery and had no reasonable hope for help afterward with your sisters (then) 7 and 2, and you. Daddy is very supportive, but works a straight-commission job. No work -- eventually, no money. He just can't stay home with me for 6 weeks of recovery.

So, I had no peace. No peace about surgery. No peace about going against medical advice. I didn't know which way to go, and after days and days of prayerfully struggling with fear and doubt and confusion, I arrived at that place of yielding -- of resignation where I asked the Lord to just, "take me by the shoulders and point me in the direction I should go." I was scared of making the wrong decision, and He -- Creator of the universe and everything in it -- honored that humility in little 'ole me.

Cuddlebug, you are my own personal little miracle. He didn't part a sea or raise anyone from the dead for me to witness first-hand. He didn't need to because everything He did do was a confirmation of His omniscience and sovereignty. It was all in the little details.

On the eve of the sonogram appointment, something happened that never happened to me before. My water broke. My water broke and you were going to be born! Really, it was too early, but that fact was not within my control. After a couple hours sleep, we called for a friend to come babysit your sisters, and Daddy and I headed to the hospital in the early morning. Labor progression was a little slow; there was much discussion and eventually a small dose of pitocin, blood sugar checks at intervals and the clean epideral I enjoyed with Dumpling. Sometime after that, I had a thought and shared it with your father, "We're going to deliver this baby in the 3 o'clock hour because that is when my appointment was set for the dreaded sonogram."

A few restful hours later, I sensed it was time and told Daddy to find the nurse. He did. I was. They called, and the Ob came running. You only required 2 pushes and you flew from my womb at 7 lbs., 15 oz. There was much jubilation amongst the doctor and nurses because you, my baby, were a beautiful bright pink and scored an unheard-of "10" on the apgar scale!

When I asked about your lungs, "Are her lungs o.k.?" They asked me if I couldn't hear you crying? You were crying as healthy as any baby ever did. You were 36 1/2 weeks gestation -- 3 1/2 weeks early. But to the glory of God, you were developed. You were perfect. You were RIGHT ON TIME! 3:23 p.m. I imagine that might have been about the time Dr. Textbook would have been saying, "Oh, this baby is already in the 8 pound range. We'd better do that amnio. Nurse will be in, in a moment, with the paperwork and release forms."

Did you catch what the Lord did there, Cuddlebug? He took the decision from me! He answered my prayers over and above anything I thought to ask.

Now it is four years later and so much has happened and there is always something new to remember. Today, I'm remembering you.

Truth be told, you were fairly small and raw looking to us when we brought you home. We used to say that you weren't fully cooked. As you grew, you nearly killed me with a full year's worth of chronic sleep deprivation and worry over your bladder reflux; but we've now outgrown them both, so who cares?!

Of course, then you spent a couple of years trying to kill me with your stealth-like, determined will; but I suspect in the end it will be the character quality that lets you stand strong and solid in what you know to be right. I'm pretty sure that will ring true, so I endure the "cross" of it with the joy of anticipating what it will bring.

Today you are four years old. I've only really begun to know you, and I like you. You've forever been soft and cuddly. You used to crawl into our bed in the wee-hours of the morning and then stroke my arm until I awoke when you saw the first light of dawn. I know that every 5th phrase out of my mouth to you is, "No thumbs, Cuddlebug. The dentist says so," and I'm sorry about that. I'm only doing what I think is important for your good health. I'd like it very much if you would take charge of that responsibility now that you're so grown up.

Your appearance can be deceiving. You look a little waif-like; you're slender and tall with small, sharp features. But in reality you're pretty loud when you need to be heard above your sisters' height, and you're strong enough to be the most athletic of the group. You love to jump off things and you've perfected the forward roll all by yourself. I'm impressed.

Your daddy and I are really tickled at what a true apprentice you are. Most little girls enjoy pretending to do grown-up chores with Mom and Dad, but you are really interested in learning; even when we say it's not the time to do, you still want to observe. And you are very observant. Daddy remembers the time this spring when you were helping him bag leaves. When the container was full, he had trouble pulling the bag from the can and without a word, you ran inside, retrieved the flour canister from the pantry and a spoon from the drawer. You had seen your father use these tools to loosen a garbage bag from its can in the kitchen a week before. How impressed was Daddy! You are so thoughtful. So willing. So thorough. So smart.

I'm glad I didn't resist your desire to learn to read. Teaching you this young is against my better judgment, but we'll keep going as long as you are interested and succeeding.

I laugh when you make that playful grimace that pushes your lower jaw out as if to clench your teeth -- you look just like Grandma when you do that.

You're a good pancake flipper and you make pretty patterns with the silverware when it's your turn to set the table.

I thought it was wonderful the way Dumpling tied your swing to her's last Christmas, and thereby taught you to pump yourself. I like to watch you go high!

I remember the delight I experienced watching you skip -- especially when you figured out how to skip on both legs instead of the strange, off-beat skip of just one side. I love the way you thrust your knees high to do it. It is all so deliberate. And adorable.

I'll never forget the time your sisters came running and shrieking to me because they found a big, disgusting bug in the playroom and when I got there, you had your shoe in your hand having already slammed it on the bug and were now running your Fisher Price vacuum over it!

I love your little giggle. I love when, through your laughter, you say, "Do dat again."

I'm grateful for the strong bond you have with each of your sisters and I try not to be envious of the way you look to capable Fifi for some of the things I could be doing for you.

I almost cried when you so sweetly asked me a few months ago, "Mommy? Am I pretty?" Yes, my darling. I behold your beauty.

I believe that through you, God is teaching me about the tenderess of love.

I love you.

I enjoy you.

I can't wait to see who you become when you are grown; I know you will be great.

I believe you will be rewarded with many "bebes," and that your children will arise and call you blessed.

Happy Birthday, Cuddlebug!

And the next year, she turned five!