The Second Scar


If you've read Declan's birth story, you know that everything didn't exactly go according to plan. The nice little set of instructions typed up on a piece of paper got thrown out almost immediately after we were sent to the hospital, following a test that showed my baby wasn't breathing right. 

I honestly don't think about it that much anymore. Life moves fast and Declan is now a healthy 18 month old with a strong will of his own. However, there are moments when it all comes roaring back. I actually have two scars from that day: one rather ugly thing going across my belly, and the other sitting prominently on my left wrist, the remnant of an IV needle that was painfully shoved in after the nurses predictably couldn't find the tiny veins in my arms. Sometimes I actually feel embarrassed by it, like it will get mistaken for a weird mole or something. But, most days I don't remember it's even there.

However, there are moments when it all comes roaring back. Like when my son reaches up to hold my hand, a huge victory in the obedience department. I look down, and there it is. A reminder of the sacrifice I made to bring this beautiful boy into this world. A little blemish representing the gritted teeth, breath-stealing contractions, tasteless food, radiating back pain, and flowing tears of joy and love when I finally held him close.

In the end, it turns out I have more affection for my scars than I thought. While I can hardly romanticize all of it, I can wholeheartedly be thankful for why I carry them.