It’s been a good (roughly) 2 days since that fun appointment for Zoe, and now we’re in uncharted territory.
We had ‘the talk’ with our doctor, so we know that we’re in the ‘any moment’ zone. When labor happens, they won’t stop it or slow it down. Everyone involved is ready for Zoe to show up. She won’t be hiding behind the placenta for long now. Even after having the talk, our little girl is still alive. That’s the detail that really matters.
This is a new spot. Last year, we had the talk, heard the silence, and headed right over to the hospital to live out a nightmare we couldn’t have imagined if we tried. This year, I’m making sure that my cell phone is charged because the call could (theoretically) come at any minute. I’ve got the speech about it planned for my students. It includes the words “If you get in my way when I’m heading to that door, that’s your fault. You’ve been warned.” But realistically, we probably won’t be waiting that long. This is uncharted territory in our home, and it’s nice. I like the anticipation.
It comes with some odd features. At some point on Sunday, Zoe will be as old as Doria lived to be. That’s a very strange notion to me. I knew it was coming. I marked it on the calendar weeks ago, and that day is actually about to arrive. Our run for the rainbow has been mercifully quick and mostly drama free, but still has some milestones to cross. Sunday will be one, a few more things to prepare, and then the whole birth thing.
I’m not terribly afraid of the possibilities from here, but I’m certainly aware. This is the point when you’re supposed to take a safe, healthy baby for granted. Babies don’t die this late in the game. You assume victory, and you’re going to be right.
But, I’ve been here before, and that’s why this thing exists. I’m not outright frightened, but I’m pretty soberly excited. Not guarded, because I’m all in, but there’s always a part there in the mind that knows what could happen. The best way I could describe it is this: I’m not taking it for granted. Every one of these healthy days is a great blessing, and another step towards victory. I take it for what it is, and go from there.
That said, there’s a choice to make in my position. My historical research approach and my Bible interpretation approach is to follow the evidence. It’s a favorite phrase that I use to guide my thinking (when I remember it). As of right now, all signs point to a ZoGo:
1. The odds are so with a healthy baby like her at this point. Babies just don’t die this late in the game.
2. Lightning so rarely strikes twice. We’ve won that lethal lottery before. We won’t win it again (probably).
3. We have about 8 billion thorough tests that show us Zoe is a healthy little monster baby. She’s a beast. That said, so was her sister.
So, there’s a choice. Assume the worst, or press on for the best. Overall, for most of each day, this one is pretty easy, and I’m often dumb enough to forget the other option. Like Paul said in Philippians (paraphrase here): Not dwelling in the past, but pressing on towards the goal. The goal on the rainbow journey has been a healthy Zoe, and everything is still moving towards that goal.
I know what happened. I know what could happen this time. I know what should happen, and that’s the one that obsess over and prepare for. I guess a jaded view could be that I already know what to do in the worst case scenario, but that’s really not the point. I’ve had a chance to pore over the evidence, and the evidence says that this journey into uncharted territory is going to be a resounding victory with a healthy baby and smelly diapers at the end.
I just can’t imagine how horrible it would be to dwell on the worst, so I’ll dwell on the diapers instead, because that smells a lot more like victory.