Willa’s Story

Like most birth stories, ours included a cast of characters, props, and twists and turns that kept us on our toes. Between two faint pink lines and that first feral cry earth-side, I held hope and fear and beauty and ugliness in a messy arrangement of my heart. Before we made the decision to try for number three, Matt and I felt both fully satisfied and spent raising two wild little boys. But a little less than two years ago I felt that nudge settle up somewhere deep inside of me. I noticed it at the daddy-daughter dance our church puts on every year, watching my husband DJ while dozens of little girls and their fathers flooded the dance floor. I felt this again when I thought about my relationship with my own mom, and the countless afternoons spent eating chocolate chip pop-tarts watching Gilmore Girls reruns after school. Boy-mom life is magic, unequivocally. But a longing for a daughter had already begun to take root.

Last fall, after an early miscarriage and a year of trying, I took a routine test and two pink lines appeared. For weeks, I held my hope at arms length, like a breath refusing to exhale. The miscarriage last spring had rattled my confidence and every day felt like I was waking up to a new battle. I survived the first trimester fog, curled up in the corner of the leather sofa, nauseous and uncertain. On a particularly vulnerable day in November, I woke up and all my symptoms seemed to have vanished. In a fit of panic I called my mom over and began to spew my ugliest fears in a tearful confession. What if I fail again? Why did it feel like God was dangling this desire only to remove it once again? I was living in a season I didn’t yet know how to exist in. Hope felt childish at best and downright dangerous at worst. I realize countless women have walked this lonely road much farther distances than I have. If this is your story, my heart goes out to you. I share this part because it initiated a turning point in my pregnancy. That night, I went to bed, still wildly uncertain, but completely and utterly surrendered. My prayer had become “God, I trust Your yes and I trust Your no.”

The following morning I woke up queasy and exhausted… and so extremely grateful.

By January, we had finally reached the twenty week milestone, which meant the anatomy scan and gender reveal. In a desperate attempt to remain neutral, I began preparing myself for news of another boy. But five minutes into our scan would reveal that I was pregnant with our first baby girl. We were shocked and we were elated.

We had approximately twenty minutes to celebrate and digest this information before getting hit with another shocking piece of news. My placenta was anterior and low-lying, which just means it was in the front of my uterus instead of the back. But because of my two previous c-sections, it ran the risk of attaching itself to my scar tissue — a rare but life-threatening condition that would mean a very early delivery and an emergency hysterectomy. To gain more clarity on my situation I was referred to a high-risk doctor. And it would be three weeks before I would know more.

During this season of waiting, I found myself flipping back through my journal to that scary day last fall. I was reminded of my commitment to trust God’s response, no matter the outcome. And in a surge of boldness, I scribbled out a new prayer. I was believing for a miracle, that my placenta would move and I would experience a completely uneventful and easy delivery come June. On the day of my appointment, Matt took off work and we walked into the doctor’s office quiet but hopeful. After an ultrasound that seemed to last forever, our doctor finally came in and told us she wasn’t concerned. My placenta was no longer low-lying and there was no evidence of it attaching to my c-section scar. We walked out of that appointment feeling a thousand pounds lighter, reveling in the kindness of a God who hears our prayers.

The rest of the pregnancy seemed to drag on at a glacial pace, but there was a peace knowing our girl was safe and I would likely be just fine. And on June 18th at 8:10 in the morning, her tiny, animal cry filled our world with a newfound joy. Our Willa Jovi (Helmet of Joy) was finally here. Her namesake a proclamation spoken over her life — despite the fears and unknowns this world throws at us, she carries with her the mind of Christ and His joy shall forever be her strength.

Family Photos taken by Haley Barton