My wife is a strong, smart, caring, loving, and proud Latina.
Being married to your best friend is amazing. But the most amazing thing you realize when you have your first kid about your best friend is what parenting force and strength she has. Parenthood has shed new light and highlighted qualities in her I never knew existed. My wife is a strong, smart, caring, loving, and proud Latina. But I would never have the strength she had when she had a cesarean and would go so long without sleep those first weeks of parenthood while still recovering from surgery.
My wife wanted to have a natural birth but things happen and a cesarean was the best option. Heading to the room wrapped in a white medical suit, mask, hat, and booties. I entered a bright white room. They placed me next to her and I could look over a sheet blocking her view. Reaching from a gaping hole in my beautiful wife’s stomach was the head and right arm of a bloody, powder white baby. Something white and veiny was wrapped around his neck and shoulders that seemed unnatural. I’d never had a major surgery myself, and I still haven’t. It was hands down the most frightening thing I’d ever seen. Yet the moment was hands down the most beautiful moment in my life. Once it was all said and done. I was holding our son, and Gabby was stitched and bandaged. Every once in a while a nurse would come in, lift up her gown, and examine her incision to clean it or make sure it’s good. She had shown so much strength that the next day she was up walking around. Her steps were slow and soft. She was smiling, and I can still recall thinking that she was strong, powerful, giving, dedicated, and the resilient person I know.
On our drive home from the hospital with a recovering new mom and new human, I thought how lucky I was and how our lives will change. Once we got home she was awake and at attention through those first weeks. I thought to myself some days, Wow! This woman I married is holding a baby with one arm, recovering from surgery while being on sleepless nights and hours. She would stay vigilant during the first nervous feedings, swaddling’s, and wake-ups. My wife would wake up and hold our son so he could sleep better, soothed him, and whispered lullabies to him the entire time. Visibly I could tell she was frustrated from and the lack of sleep. But she never once complained or did anything other than try to love him. My wife can be a grouch when she doesn’t get her rest. Those first weeks and still today it’s incredible. She’s been an absolute champ when it comes to operating during a sleep-deprived state. It’s something that I admire in her because still today I will drop the ball and doze off sometimes when our son wakes up late or early at night.
Every time I look at her scar, I feel grateful that as a man I’d never have a doctor cut me open, reach inside my body, and pull someone out. Gabby’s abdomen has a lengthy scar now, it’s a raised, pink, and she’s lost some feeling around it. It’s larger than any scar I have, or probably ever will have. And even if I do get a scar that equals hers, it will never signify nearly as much importance, because it will have to do with my survival alone and not the creation of life. Her scar is evidence of dedication and determination to our little familia. It’s evidence of her willingness to do whatever it took to bring our son into the world that fills my life with more joy than I ever thought possible. It’s evidence of how a strong mom my wife Gabby is.