Today we celebrate Theo's 3rd birthday. I've only recently had the time or emotional fortitude to process all that happened the day Theo was brought into this world. Here is the story of the day he was born.

July 3rd, 2016 will always mark one of the best days of my life because it brought us our darling Theo. It also carries a dark cloud because it launched the three of us into a chapter that often felt like a nightmare. We had no idea that the morning of July 3, 2016 would be our last as a family without the incomprehensible, staggering stress that comes with caring for a very sick baby.

I had been on bedrest for months due to an incompetent cervix. I had literally been sitting on a couch and only getting up to use the restroom. If I went anywhere, a doctor appointment or an occasional walk, it was in a wheelchair (see photo). That I had made it this far was a bit of a miracle. I had a subchoric hematoma that caused me to lose so much blood I had passed out several times and at one point required hospitalization and a blood transfusion. We found ourselves in the ER on multiple occasions, certain we had lost the baby only to be flooded with relief and joy to see that tiny white pulsing image on the ultrasound screen.

I had also gone into labor twice before 24 weeks and required a cerclage, which is essentially a shoelace tied around the cervix to keep it from dilating. Pregnancy had been a harrowing experience. My OB is an outstanding, attentive and compassionate physician and walked with us each step of the way.

Thursday night, June 30th, 2016
Rick and I were at a church event when, for a period of about ten minutes, I felt Theo moving around more than ever before. And then, before the event was over, he was suddenly moving much less. In the car I mentioned this to Rick. From that point on, while I did continue to feel movement, it was noticeably diminished. With the benefit of hindsight, clearly something was wrong, but it wasn't obvious to me at the time. That night and the next day I had a growing uneasiness.

Sunday afternoon, July 3rd, 2016
On July 3rd I had six more weeks until my due date and was feeling immense relief that we had made it past the 32 week mark. That day was a deliciously warm, sunny summer day. A month prior we had moved into the home we had been building for the last year. That afternoon we had two of our former foster children over and spent the afternoon walking (or in my case wheeling) around our neighborhood, riding bikes and playing. Around 4pm my worry was increasing, and we decided that after we took one of the kids home, we would call my OB.

I had seen my obstetrician the previous week and knew that he would soon be going on vacation. I joked with him that I literally was not going to move while he was gone because he's one of the best obstetricians in our area and was the only doctor I wanted delivering Theo. As things would turn out, he would be gone. Fortunately, he chose a brilliant and compassionate doctor as his backup. I explained to her the decreased movement and she told us to go the the hospital. The staff in the birth and maternity ward would check the baby and call her if necessary.

When we arrived at the maternity ward a monitor was placed on my belly and we breathed a huge sigh of relief as we saw Theo's heart rate at 150. Phew, he's alive! Thank God! Let's get out of here. What's for dinner?

The nurse, however, didn't look as reassured and said I would have to stay a bit longer to monitor Theo's heart rate. She explained that there was no variability in his heart rate. It was 150 exactly and wasn't moving up or down. The ultrasound tech tried to get Theo to move by pressing on my belly during the ultrasound. No movement. A few minutes later someone I didn't recognize popped his head into our tiny room and informed us that the doctor was on her way and would need to perform an emergency c-section.

That was the moment, around 5:30pm on Sunday, July 3rd, that my world began to shatter.

I immediately began to sob as the wide range of terrifying possibilities hit me all at once. I had had a rough pregnancy because of my cervix, but there were never problems with Theo. Now there was something wrong with my baby?

I was immediately wheeled into the cold, bright, sterile OR. There was music in the background, some obnoxious modern song that gets overplayed on the radio, and there were a lot of people rushing around the room. I remember wondering why there were so many people in the room and looking over at a table covered with metal instruments. I nearly suffocated from fear.

The anesthesiologist came in and had me sit up on the table and curve my back into as deep of a C shape as I could. That moment was the closest I've come to an anxiety attack. Over and over I whispered under my breath, have mercy, oh God. Please save my baby.

There was a wonderful nurse, or possibly an angel, who stood in front of me and held my hands - held the weight of me as I leaned into her and felt the sting of the needle going into my skin, into my spine. I could tell that she cared about me and it was what I desperately needed in that moment. She was whispering a prayer too.

As soon as the anesthesiologist finished I laid down on the operating table and Rick was allowed into the room and sat near my head. I had never felt so much fear in my life. Fear for my baby, fear for my body, fear for the unknown minutes ahead of us.

The doctor zipped into the room, made a quick stop by Rick and I to say hello and apologize for having to meet this way, and then instantly got to work.

An emergency c-section happens fast. It was a few minutes, a violent, sudden push on my belly, and Theo was out and rushed into the next room. Rick stood up and looked when Theo was pulled from my body, and I kept asking him what Theo looked like. He thought Theo had been moving but wasn’t sure as the fog of the moment was blindingly thick. The next half hour involved sewing up my stomach, cleaning me up and then wheeling me to a recovery room.

We waited anxiously for the doctor, for anyone to come and tell us what was happening to our baby. I kept asking the nurses if anyone knew anything. Finally, after about 30 minutes the doctor who delivered Theo came to update us. She said something that we would hear many times from that point on: your baby is very sick and we don't know why. I could barely choke out the question: will he live? She was a good doctor, kind and compassionate, intelligent and honest. She held my hand with both of hers as she answered my question: I don't know.

As she spoke those words, a guttural, involuntarily wail erupted from the deepest part of me. I was being torn open again, this time from the tenderest part of my heart. It was an agony I had not previously known and I wailed as a broken hearted mother does.

Doctors who care, who hold your hand when delivering bad news will not soon be forgotten. Both the doctor who delivered Theo and the neonatologist who took Theo as soon as he was delivered, tenderly and warmly held my hand as they updated Rick and I on Theo's status.

After an agonizingly long hour and a half the neonatologist came to update us. Theo was alive. A wave of relief. But there were multiple things going on with his body and this doctor did not know why. Perhaps this or that syndrome. We don't know. He is very swollen, with possibly over a pound of extra fluid on his body; his lungs aren't working; he needs mechanical ventilation to breathe; he was a 1 on the Apgar score and needed to be resuscitated and required chest compressions. We don't know why.

Rick was eventually able to go back into the NICU and see Theo with our dear friend Jason, who we had immediately called and asked to come and be with us. Jason took my phone with him and took videos and photos of Theo. He brought it back to me and these were my first glimpses of our son.

The doctor informed us that, unfortunately, the NICU we were currently at was full and Theo would be transported to a different hospital a few miles across town so that he could receive the full attention needed. This meant that he and I would be separated as I would not be able to leave the hospital, having just had a c-section.

In retrospect, I do not know how I was able to emotionally handle any of this. Thinking about it brings an acute ache to my heart. My precious baby boy - my darling Theo - in his first hours, fighting for his life, alone in an isolette, being cared for by strangers wearing gloves; his mommy miles across town, so far from him. Those precious first hours and days would not be ours to share.

It was 9:30pm and I still had not seen or touched Theo myself. Initially the nurses said that they couldn't wheel my bed into the NICU to see Theo. The plan was to wheel my bed into the hall where I would see him in passing as the transport team took him to the other hospital. Every fiber in me wanted to see him, but that desire was balanced by my concern for his swift transportation. In a last minute change, the nurses decided they would be able to wheel my bed into the NICU, right up to his isolette.

Looking back, I suspect they did this because they weren't sure how long Theo would survive. I'm so thankful I was able to see him for fifteen precious minutes. I was in shock from everything that has just happened, and I don't remember paying particular attention to all the machines attached to Theo keeping him alive. I was mesmerized with him. With touching every precious part of him that I could and drinking in the sight of a baby that I instantly loved with a kind of love I had never experienced.

A few minutes later, Theo was taken by the transport team and I was wheeled into a hospital room where I would stay the night. Rick stayed with me long enough to make sure I was settled and then drove across town to see Theo.

Sunday, July 3, 2016, evening
One memory of that night is of the nurse who cared for me. She was one of the kindest, most tender humans I have encountered. She had been a nurse for thirty-five years and had just two more nights of work before retiring. She cared for me so well. She got me out of bed around 1am as it is important to move around after a c-section and showed me how to use the breast pump, which up to that point had not even crossed my mind. After such a stressful, chaotic 8 hours, we were both amazed that my body instantly started producing milk. A gift of grace.

Rick came back to sleep with me as there was no place for him at Theo’s hospital. After a few hours of something in sleep and wake, Rick left before dawn to get us some breakfast and then head over to see Theo.

Monday, July 4, 2016
Normally, a c-section requires a multiple night stay in the hospital. However, by the next morning I was frantic to get to Theo. I desperately needed to be with him. Rick was sending me photos and at one time Facetimed me, but this almost made it worse. Everything in my mind and body protested this separation. I couldn't leave without the doctor releasing me so it wouldn't be until late afternoon that, with some reluctance, she let me go less than 24 hours after the surgery. As soon as she signed the papers, I was wheeled out and my dear friend Tracy drove me to the hospital across town.

I began to sob as we neared the hospital, overwhelmed by everything and aching to be with Theo. As soon as I was wheeled next to his isolette, I felt as if I could breathe again. He was hooked up to machines and monitors and IVs; I had never felt such heartache or love in my life. All that I wanted was for him to live.

We went to the hospital in the morning and spent the whole day there. This was our routine for six days. There was an unused wing near the NICU that the nurses let us use so that I could lay down and rest. I felt pretty miserable post c-section, but insisted on being at the hospital. Friends brought us food and my dear friend Lynn brought me bags of clothes. I had not bought/packed/thought about clothing for myself post-baby. I had expected to be lying around the house in my PJ's snuggling my boy, not running up a down the halls of a hospital, pumping around the clock, meeting with doctors and nurses, and trying to figure out the best course of action for our baby.

Theo would spend 6 days in this NICU before being airlifted down to Riley Children's Hospital, a 2.5 hour drive from us. During those six days I pumped around the clock and spent as much time next to Theo as possible. Rick and I came home late each night, exhausted and feeling like we were stumbling through a hazy, horrific nightmare. Was this really happening to our baby? We were exhausted and woken by phone calls, worry and milk pumping sessions throughout the night.

July 9th, 2016: 9am
Because of the heart issues that Theo was experiencing, the head neonatologist, Dr. White, make the wise decision that Theo should be transported to a larger children’s hospital with a comprehensive cardiac team. It would be on that sixth day, before he was airlifted down to Riley, that I would finally get to hold him in my arms for the first time. It was heaven and heartbreak all at the same time.

We would eventually discover that Theo had a rare lung disease, a hypoplastic left lung, a heart arrhythmia that would dominate our lives for the next 19 months and nearly take his numerous times, and brain damage in his frontal lobes caused by either an infection or stroke in utero. To this day, it is still a mystery as to what caused all these problems. Extensive genetic testing has been done and no answers have surfaced.

It is hard for me to think about all that unfolded the day Theo was born. The sadness that I feel for what Theo and I did not share in those first precious hours and days is deep. There is a permanent fracture in my heart for the painful, uncomfortable procedures he endured starting in his first moments of life and continuing in the following two years.

This day of Theo's birth reframed everything in my life. I now see through a lens, through a brain, that is entirely different than if my child had been born healthy.

These experiences have informed the way Rick and I live and parent and are part of why, at almost three, he still sleeps next to me, his little body snuggled safely next to mine all night long. Every time he wakes in the morning or from a nap or does something adorable (or naughty), always in the background of my mind is: we came so close to missing this and these moments are an immense gift.

I approach our life differently: how can I fill his days with joy and beauty and a sense of well being? How can I help to heal the trauma he endured? How many ways can I show him he is safe and loved?

I love Theo with the kind of love that has stared into the face of death as it sought to steal what my heart loves most; with the kind of love that thought it might have to say goodbye. I love him with that wild love born out of suffering and heartache.

Our 5 months at Riley and the fight for Theo's life is another story for another day. Today, the sun is shining brightly. The staggering weight of heartache and stress that we experienced in those first months and first year of life seems lighter and is now only an acute memory.

Theo is crawling around the kitchen pulling open cupboards and trying to peel the childproof protectors out of electrical outlets (which he can do in a half second). He has the most perfect head of curly hair. He is lighthearted and sweet. His disposition easy. He is a beautiful child, in appearance and in spirit. Being his mom and learning to care for him, to meet all his needs, is my great honor. I strive to do it well.

Though I would never want him Theo to go through any of what he experienced, I would choose him a million times over. We have a sense that from his suffering will emerge someone marked for goodness - Theodore, literally a gift from God. That I get to be his mom, along with being married to his wonderful father, Rick, are my two great joys in life.

Happy third birthday to my courageous, bright spirited, bringer of joy, Theo. I love you with all the love I have.