When we were expecting our first baby, my husband and I prayed often for a healthy and strong baby.
Everything went smoothly during pregnancy. I put on a lot of weight, but I was not diagnosed with gestational diabetes. When you start at 105 lbs, it turns out no one cares if you gain 55 lbs.
Once I carried past 40 weeks, I got a sonogram so the midwife could check fluid levels, placenta, size, etc since this was routine. Based on head circumference, abdomen and length of femur, our little one was estimated to be about 8 lb.13 oz.
I was huge. With this information and based on all those other ultrasounds where our baby measured long (the nurses would comment that she would be “tall, like her Daddy”), we figured, yes, I’m probably going to deliver a 9 lb. baby. Manageable. Big. But not unheard of.
My water broke at 41 weeks, soon after I had gone to bed. We were hoping for an unmedicated birth, but as things got super tough that night and I was having a lot of back labor, I opted to receive a drug through the IV that would take the edge off. That got me through the worst, and 2 hours later, I was ready to start pushing.
Our daughter took her time, but she weathered the journey very well; her heart-rate was constant, and I just kept at it. Pushing. Pushing. Eventually, they could see her head. Finally, she began to crown and the nurse told me she thought to herself, “Yep. We got a nine pounder coming!”
Then the rest of her came out and the nurse thought, “That’s not nine pounds.”
They immediately placed her on my chest (it was like being handed a bowling ball), but the nurses kept badgering me. They wanted to weigh her.
My husband used to brag how he was 11 lbs 2.3 oz at birth. “Your poor mom!” I’d say, as would everyone. I never guessed just how directly those genes would be passed to our children! Our daughter measured in at 23.25 inches long (as predicted: tall, like her Daddy). She weighed in at 11 lbs 9.5 oz.
God certainly gave us what we asked for: A VERY healthy and VERY strong baby.
When people ask me how I did it, I say “I didn’t know!” With my second baby, the knowledge became scary, so I changed my expectations for delivery and opted for being induced just past 40 weeks.
We also changed what we prayed for.
I hope this story is a reminder not to trust late-term sonograms, that you have no idea what size baby is capable of fitting through your hips, and that God does answer prayers.
