Читать книгу 61 Minutes to a Miracle - Bonnie L. Engstrom - Страница 13

Chapter 5

A Troubling Dream

At the beginning of my eighth month of pregnancy, I began to second-guess my decision to have another homebirth.

My first two homebirths had been wonderful experiences, even though the labors had been long. But as this pregnancy continued, I began to think that another homebirth was no longer the best decision. I was already exhausted from being pregnant while caring for two very little ones, and I worried that I would labor for another seventeen to twenty-one hours as I had with Lydia and Bennet. If that were the case, when the time came to push, I was afraid I wouldn’t have it in me. I didn’t want to jeopardize our baby’s health or mine, so I brought my concerns to Travis, my midwife Bernice, and my mom. Mom liked the idea of the hospital, and Bernice was ready to support whichever decision I made. But Travis was convinced I had the strength of body and spirit and thought I should stay at home. He encouraged me to pray about it, so I did.

A few nights later, I had a dream. Even though Travis and I usually choose not to learn the gender of our unborn children, at that time I had always known what we were having because of my dreams. With Lydia I dreamed that I was holding and cuddling a newborn baby girl. The dream was lifelike, and the next morning I confidently told Travis that I was pregnant with a girl. Travis laughed; but when I had a lifelike dream that I gave birth to a baby boy while pregnant with Bennet, he didn’t laugh again.

So by the time I was pregnant with James, Travis and I had started to take my baby-related dreams fairly seriously. But this dream was troubling, and I carried its heaviness with me throughout the next day, awaiting a chance to discuss it with my husband.

Finally, after eating dinner, cleaning the kitchen, and tucking in the kids, Travis and I crawled into our queen-sized bed. With his head on the white pillow and mine on his chest, we pulled the quilt up to our shoulders.

“Travis,” I said to him, “I need to tell you something.”

The look on his face showed that he knew I was serious, and even a little anxious. “Okay. What is it?”

“Last night I dreamt that here in our bedroom, in the middle of the floor, I gave birth to a baby boy. It was a completely normal dream — nothing weird or out of place. Actually, it was really lifelike.”

He interrupted me and proudly said, “I knew we were having a boy!”

“Travis, in the dream he was blue; he wasn’t alive. I dreamed I gave birth to a stillborn.”

Fear made his eyes widen slightly, and his mouth formed a silent, slow, “Oh.” Then he softly said to me, “That can’t happen.”

“I know. I know.”

We didn’t talk about the dream again, choosing to ignore it, but deep down I couldn’t shake it. Anxiety bundled and knotted in my shoulders and stomach, and it drove me to prayer time and time again, each time asking for God to make it obvious to me whether I should have my baby at home as I wanted, or plan on a hospital delivery.

In the end, I felt great peace about giving birth at home. It was the kind of peace that didn’t come from me: I was confident that home was where God wanted us. I told Travis and Bernice that I would stay home for the labor and delivery, though if at any point I asked for a transfer to the hospital, they should take me there immediately.

The knots untangled, and my whole body relaxed into the last month of pregnancy. The baby was healthy, and I was in God’s will. I was ready.