IIvy Mikayla was born August 7, 2010, at 7:10 AM.
Heather and I had accomplished everything within our power to ready her new
little world within a small parcel of just over 1,000 square feet. She can call
8x10 worth of that thousand square feet hers. We were ready, per material
standards. We did not, however, have any kind of bearing on what type of
emotional impact her birth would deliver. It hit me at about 7:09 AM and 43
seconds.
Ivy appeared at 7:10 AM. The only way to
describe my emotional state is by comparing it to a washing machine on
"Heavy Duty" cycle. This specific wash had everything packed inside.
Colors, whites, delicates, and knits. When she appeared, numerous emotions hit
me all at once. I felt weak from instant unconditional love. I wanted to be
strong and yet I wanted to burst into tears at the same time. The only thing
that was set in stone, unchanging, was my ear-to-ear smile. That wasn't going anywhere.
When I think back, I tend to chuckle a bit. I
had to give the medical team a little bit of room right after she was born so
that they could do their job. I remember standing about four feet behind them
in a haze that I can’t
really describe. And I still held that smile. I can liken that moment to
standing in a piece of PVC pipe, bottled up with the emotions I described
earlier. I must have looked drunk. I guess I was, depending on how you look at
it.
All of my friends, who are parents, have told me
that time does nothing but shoot by you at an immeasurable pace. I naively
figured that I’d
have a minute to sit back and realize all that has happened and to study the
little miracle that Heather and I were able to produce. They were all right. We
have been hit by a barrage of diapers, feeding schedules, wake time, nap time,
skin to skin time, Google searches as to "why she does this," and a
mommy/daddy sleep schedule that mommy and daddy aren’t used to. Ivy is already
eight days old. It feels like she just arrived yesterday.
Mikayla means "Gift From God" which,
if you know our story, is quite appropriate. After some of the dust had
settled, I was able to study my little girl as she laid in her mobile wooden
cradle. I have heard numerous people ask for proof of God’s existence. As I looked at
Ivy, I could only wonder how they can’t see the miracles that we are surrounded by at
every rounded corner. Specifically, within a new little blessing such as this!
Ivy is not chance. She is not an accident. She didn’t evolve out of matter. God’s hand shaped her into the
intricacy that envelops every breathing human body. And everything else for
that matter. As I looked at her, I noticed that everything she is comprised of
has a purpose. From the way that she looks (physically), to the numerous faces
that she has learned how to make.
Parents are right. It is incredible how having a
child will coerce life’s
purpose into a 180 degree turn.
Thank
You, Lord, for this opportunity. We pray that you protect Ivy as she continues
to grow, and we pray that you continue to mold Heather and I into the parents
that we should be.
