Baker's Birthday

Gratitude Week 4: My Boy

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My 17 year old son.

My baby boy, not yet one day old, slept bundled in my arms. Looking down at him, I dripped tears onto his soft flannel blanket.

A nurse entered the room, saw me crying, and asked, “You okay, Honey?”

I looked up and nodded. “I’m fine,” I said, my voice sounding weepy and weary even to me.

She must not have believed me. “It’s alright,” she said, fussing with my covers as she talked, “a lot of women suffer from postpartum depression.”

I shook my head. “No, that’s not it.” I was weeping now, gulping shallow breaths in an effort to pull myself together.

“Oh Sweetie! It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” she went on, her assumption unwavering. “It’s very common.”

“No, really,” I said. “I don’t have post-partum depression.”

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Baker being his silly self at 6 weeks old.

I wasn’t lying to her, or to myself. I was dealing with something else entirely.

Prior to that day, we were a family of three: Jay & I, and our little regent Trellace Marie. We had everything we needed, everything we wanted. And yet miraculously, we now had even more. I was completely enamored with and awed by the blessing I held in my arms. I was overwhelmed with love for my little family, but even more so by my gratitude to God for this undeserved gift of love and of grace.

“I’m not sad. I’m not depressed,” I told the nurse.  “In fact, I think I might have postpartum elation.”

And we are elated still, 17 years later, by our bigger-than-life blessing,  our son: Baker Powell Lawrimore.

About the Author Aileen Lawrimore

Aileen Mitchell Lawrimore is a mother x 3, wife x 28 (years not men), minister, speaker, writer, retreat leader, and lover of beagles and books. She has a lot to say.

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