6 lbs 9 oz

I was at a friend's birthday party when the call came at 7.30 pm last night. My friend, R, was in labour. It had started around noon and now the contractions were getting closer and stronger. Much stronger. It was time to rally the troops. 

My supremely understanding friend, A, was lovely about me bailing on the rest of the night. Her unselfish response was, "Oh my god, you're friend's in labour, you *have* to go!" followed by advice about the best bus to catch to the hospital. So off I went, honoured to have been asked to hold R's hand at this special, special time. 

Let me tell you a bit about R. She married J when they were 20, and they've been trying for a baby for the last 20 years. They have tried everything, including as many courses of IVF as they could afford. The money ran out, but the hope didn't. J in particular has been a rock, supporting R through every up and down, every twist and turn of the emotional rollercoaster you ride when you're desperate to have a child and it's not happening. These people would have loved any child that came into their lives, biological or not. And over these last 20 years, they have fostered a number of children. They have never adopted because J is a soldier, currently on active duty, and his being away so frequently and unpredictably has made adoption difficult.

R and J have wept over this, and their hearts have been broken, and R, certainly, has seriously questioned her faith. She has found it hard to hold on to a God who has not seemed to hear her plea, who has not seemed to heal her broken heart, who has seemed so far away for such extended periods of time. But she knows that God has been there for her, especially through J, who for so long carried his own sorrow so bravely, making it his priority to be strong for his wife. You only need to be around R and J for five minutes to know that if he could, he would carry all her pain for her. 

Anyway, about 10 months ago, it happened. Just like that. Out of the blue. At the age of 39, R conceived, naturally. She didn't find out until 8 weeks later, when J had left for another tour of duty. And so we come to last night. This long-awaited miracle was taking place, and J was not there to see it. He was not there to rub his wife's back, to pace the hallways, to ask silly questions, to have things thrown at him by a woman who really wants some painkillers NOW. 

At 11.28pm, 6 lbs 9 oz of kicking, screaming life finally arrived. And J wasn't there to welcome his daughter into the world. He should have been the first person to hold her, but instead, he is in a war zone. 

This baby didn't get a name until we could get hold of Daddy on the secure satellite phone, at about 6 am this morning. J said he had the perfect name for her, but he wasn't going to tell anyone until she got here. J has been allowed to get away with this because he generally has good taste, and it was felt he could be trusted not to name her something catastrophically awful, like Fifi. He wept with joy for this child, so longed for, so loved for such a long time, even before she got here. 

She has been named for what she represents, for what sustained her parents while they waited for her, for what they hope will guide her through her own life.  

Her name is Faith.