So God Made a Mother is Here! 🎉

“This is your son.”

The orderly rolled my bed into the hospital’s NICU and I groggily stared over at the tiny bird-like creature lying in an incubator. His three and a half pounds was composed solely of skin and bones. The ventilator was breathing for him, his tiny body dotted with tubes and wires–and I looked at him and wondered, “Are you really mine?”

I’d gone from pregnant to not pregnant in what felt like mere minutes, and I was struggling to wrap my head around the sudden change.

My twin boys had made their surprise entrance into the world an hour earlier. After feeling a reduction in movements, I’d hauled my thirty-one week belly into the hospital with full expectations of being politely told to, “Go home.” But when the medical staff started flying in and out of the room faster than I could count, I knew that something was really wrong. The doctors left my husband standing in the hallway as they wheeled me into the operating room, and a nurse whisked up a sheet to block the view of my tummy. An anesthesiologist patted my hand comfortingly as a mask was pressed tightly against my face, and then the world went dark.

This was not the way I’d envisioned my delivery.

As a high risk pregnancy, I had decided on a “flexible” birthing plan. I wanted a natural delivery but if we needed a C-section, so be it. But when the day of the boys’ delivery arrived with a flurry of complications, nothing went according to any sort of plan.

My firstborn was born still, while my surviving twin fought for his life in the NICU. I was utterly devastated by the loss of one son, and cried out to God on behalf of the other. I mourned and I wept and I ached. There was no grief like that of losing my son.

For the next few weeks, I was surrounded by pregnant ladies and other babies. Every day, I’d head to the hospital NICU to visit my surviving little one and would, understandably, come across a woman in labor or a happy family bringing home baby. I watched one heavily pregnant woman and her husband take a stroll around the hospital grounds, pausing every once in a while for contractions. And I was angry.

I’d been robbed of so much. And, as silly as it sounded, I was grieving the labor now too.

What? Grieving the labor pains I never experienced? The hours of grunting and moaning? The pacing and crying? The pushing? The sweaty, unattractive photo of me holding a slimy looking newborn on my chest?

Yes. All of it.

I felt as if I had been robbed of a birth story.

While I heard other mommas tell tales of 30 hours of pushing, third degree tearing, husbands passing out, and doing it all without an epidural, I felt alone and left out. “I had an emergency caesarean and one of my twins died,” has a way of quieting the room.

I wanted to feel the pain of labor, just to know how strong I really was. I wanted to be awake for my boys’ birth, to see them take their first breaths and hear their first cries. Call me crazy, but I was actually looking forward to delivering the boys. I was excited about giving birth. I wanted to wake my husband up in the middle of the night and say, “It’s time!” To use the breathing techniques we’d been practicing and the laboring positions we’d been taught in prenatal classes.

For the majority of my sons’ birth story I was “asleep.” I don’t remember it. I woke up and was suddenly a mother. I felt that I needed that laboring process to fully grasp the fact that I’d had a baby. And I’d missed it. Sometimes it was hard to believe that my son was truly mine because I had no recollection of him coming from me. I felt that I’d missed out on an inaugural motherhood moment, and I mourned that.

Very few mothers get the labor and delivery they’d dreamed of. Complications arise, schedules change, and life gets in the way of our intricately detailed birthing plans. It’s okay to grieve the loss of those dreams or expectations. Birth can be traumatizing and disappointing, and it’s okay to feel that way. We don’t always get a beautiful birth story. We don’t always get the early motherhood moments we’d wanted. And it’s okay to mourn that.

Those first few hours of motherhood robbed me of so very much. And I grieve that. But I also delight in the life it gave me. 

Grief and joy are never mutually exclusive. Through the aches and the pain, the laughter and the celebration, I grieve the loss, and revel in the gains. 

So God Made a Mother book by Leslie Means

If you liked this, you'll love our new book, SO GOD MADE A MOTHER available now!

Order Now

Liz Mannegren

Liz lives in Vancouver, Canada with her husband and two littles. She is the mother of seven beautiful babies: carrying two in her arms but an extra five in her heart. You can read more of her writing at MommyMannegren.com or follow along on Instagram and Facebook.

I Buried My Heart with My Baby but God Brought Me Back to Life

In: Faith, Grief, Loss, Motherhood
Woman in a sweater standing outside looking at sunset

Recently, my world felt as if it were crashing around me. I was so angry I think my rage could have burned a small village. Unfortunately, that rage was directed at God though I knew that wasn’t what I needed to be directing toward Him. He owed me nothing then, and He owes me nothing now; however, my heart was shattered, and for a while, it seemed as if my faith was crumbling with it. I stopped going to church. I stopped praying. I stopped all positive feelings and allowed myself to succumb to the pain and the anger. When...

Keep Reading

I’m Letting Go of My Toxic Mother

In: Grief, Grown Children, Loss
Daughter holding mother's hand, color photo

My mom died. She died, but I became free. For the very first time in my life, I’m not worried about what stories and lies she’s spreading about me. Even though we lived thousands of miles apart from each other, she had everyone around me in the palm of her hand. They believed her. I was a horrible child, rebellious teenager, and spiteful adult.  You see, I was never good enough for her. Her fantasy of what she believed a daughter ought to be is something I simply could never live up to. When I realized the behavior was transferring...

Keep Reading

My World Stopped When I Lost My Dad

In: Grief
Sad woman placing a white flower on a closed casket

I think it’s safe to say we have all dealt with grief. If you haven’t, count your blessings. I, like so many of us, have traveled on the road of grief . . . an unpleasant walk. After several losses, I have been on different sides of grief. When your friend loses a grandparent, you mourn with them, for them, for yourself, for their family. But it doesn’t quite affect your everyday life. When your spouse loses an aunt after an illness. When your spouse loses an uncle in a motorcycle accident, you mourn the loss of a kindhearted man....

Keep Reading

It’s the Flower Food Packet that Hurts

In: Grief, Loss, Motherhood
Flowers on a headstone

It’s the flower food packet that gets you. That little plastic packet with the powder that keeps your flowers alive longer. The little packet you know you’ll never use because these flowers aren’t going in a vase. They’re going on the ground. RELATED: The Impossible Grief of Child Loss Hurts Forever Buying flowers for my baby’s grave is a normal process for me. Every so often, and especially around the time of year we lost our boy, I grab a bunch at our local grocer. I lay them carefully on top of where his very tiny body was laid to...

Keep Reading

How Do You Say Goodbye to Your Mother?

In: Grief, Loss
Sad woman sitting on edge of bed

Sitting at a McDonald’s table in Charleston, SC, I looked down at my ill-fitting shirt and shorts. Stress had taken its toll, and most of my clothes now hung off me. I should have worn something else I thought, but how do you pick out an outfit for saying goodbye to your mother? I reached up and felt my earrings. They were hers and seemed right. That was something at least.   Within the hour, my family and I would come together to take my mom off life support. It was Good Friday and I managed to secure an Episcopal priest...

Keep Reading

This Is How to Show Up for a Friend Who Has Cancer

In: Cancer, Friendship, Living
Bald woman during cancer treatments and same woman in remission, color photo

One moment I was wrestling with my toddler and rocking my 3-month-old to sleep, and the next I was staring blankly at the doctor who just told me I had stage four cancer that had metastasized from my uterus to my left lung and spleen. “Well, I didn’t see that coming,” I smiled at the young doctor who had clearly never given this kind of news to anyone before. I looked over at my husband’s shell-shocked face as he rocked our baby back and forth in the baby carrier because I was still nursing, and we knew we’d be at...

Keep Reading

All I Have Left Are Dreams of My Mother

In: Grief, Loss, Motherhood
Mother holding infant, older color photo

I had a dream about my mom last night. It’s rare when this happens but last night’s dream was unlike any I’ve ever experienced. I was at a party, and she just walked in. It was so vivid. She sat down in a chair, looking so beautiful, so young, her eyes so very blue. She was so full of light, something I hadn’t seen in a while. I just looked at her, stunned, and gasped. I said, “Are you here? Are you real?” I couldn’t believe this was happening. Just like that she got up, grabbed me, and hugged me...

Keep Reading

I Miss the Little Moments with My Mom the Most

In: Grief, Grown Children, Loss
Woman sitting on floor by couch looking sad

You think it’s going to be the big holidays that are hard. The first Thanksgiving without her. The first Christmas. Maybe even her birthday. But it’s not the big days that bring you to your knees. It’s all the little moments in between. It’s cooking a family recipe and not being able to call her to ask a question about the directions. It’s looking down and realizing you’re using the Tupperware you stole from her and knowing you can’t return it even if you wanted to. RELATED: My Mom is Never Coming Back To Get Her Shoes It’s talking about...

Keep Reading

“It Can Wait.” What I’ve Learned about Doing Too Much after My Mom Died Young

In: Grief
Family posed for photo outside

My mom died at the age of 45. Yes, just 45.  Around Mother’s Day, the reality of just how young she was hits me hard. As a mother of two young boys, I’m evaluating my own motherhood journey and in the absence of my mom, trying to give myself some sound advice for this next year.  My mom was a family doctor. She got her MD at the University of Pennsylvania and a Master’s from Johns Hopkins University. Brilliant, most would say. She was in generally good health, petite, never smoked, never had more than a glass or two of...

Keep Reading

Time Doesn’t Make Mother’s Day Hurt Any Less

In: Grief, Grown Children, Living
Grave stone that says "mother" with a yellow flower

I’ve been in this motherless daughter club for over a decade now. Most of the time, that still seems strange to say out loud. I’m far from the firsts without my mom. However, what I have learned, is that there are certain experiences, certain days, and certain moments that you can’t put a timeframe on. These are the times that hurt for so much longer than just that initial grief period. Big moments without my mom—anniversaries, birthdays, special days—but the one I like to believe weighs the most and hits the hardest year after year is Mother’s Day. RELATED: Mother’s...

Keep Reading