It has been two years already!

Two years ago today I was at the hospital, nervous and shaking and with blood pressure that was through the roof (the doctor's didn't want to believe it was all nerves, but it was). I was dreading that surgery, but at the same time I just wanted them to get it over with so I could stop being so scared. I was glad my husband was there, holding my hand and telling me how well I was doing. My tears had stained my glasses so badly they were useless, so I asked him to take them off. I spent the entire time unable to see.

I knew what I'd get when it was done. At least, mostly. I knew I'd end up with a small, helpless bundle I'd be responsible for taking care of, and I knew I'd love that bundle more than anything. I just wasn't entirely prepared for how much "more than anything" would truly be.

At noon, I was taken into the emergency room and given the shot that would make me unable to feel anything from mid-chest down. It hurt a lot, but was over quickly. There was a lot of action, and before I knew it, I heard the screaming cry of a newly-arrived baby. They announced that it was a girl, which I knew, and then whisked you away to get cleaned up and wrapped in a blanket and little hat to keep you warm. I got to kiss you once on the cheek, then you were taken away.


My gestational diabetes required treatment, and the little once-per-day pill they had me on (when diet just wasn't enough) pushed your blood sugar down to half what it should have been. They were having trouble getting you to breathe on your own. All of this required an IV, sugar water feedings (to supplement the breast milk, and then the formula when we discovered I wasn't producing enough), a heart monitor, and an oxygen monitor (which you kept knocking off your hand so they had to attach it to your foot). I cried when I saw you - the IV they had to put in your precious little foot must have hurt quite a bit.


You spent your first two days of life in the intensive care nursery, unable to come to my room except for feedings (once an hour - around the clock - while trying to breast feed, then once every two hours for formula). They let me come to you, though, so I did as much as possible. Your grandparents - my mother and father - visited every day, and fawned over you as much as they always have.

Your father, video camera rolling and pointed at us as I sat holding you, asked me how I was feeling. My voice breaking, I could only say "I don't know. I can't describe it." I didn't have the words for the way my heart seemed to be swelling and breaking (in a good way) all at once.

It took me two years to finally find them, and I want to write them down now before they're swept away by the wonder of it all again.

You are, without a doubt, the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. My heart aches with joy every time I look at you. Watching you grow has been the greatest thing I've ever experienced, and I feel blessed that I'm having the chance to be a part of it.

I can't wait to see what you make of this life. I can't wait to see where your dreams take you. My greatest wish is that you grow up happy, and healthy, and that everything you want in life comes to you.

My only regret will be losing the little girl that curls up and goes to sleep on my chest, and hops in place yelling "Ma ma! Ma ma!" when I come home before running to me and giving me the biggest hug she can manage. You have no idea how much that means to me. It is, truly, things like that that I live for.

But you will grow up. You will change. I have come to accept that, even if it means the loss of my curly-haired little darling, and am excited to see what comes next. I can only hope we stay as close as we are now.

You're asleep as I write this, worn out from yesterday spent with your grandma (daddy's mommy). I hope you'll enjoy today. I can't offer you clowns and balloons and dozens of children to play with, but those of us that love you most (mommy's parents, daddy's mommy, mommy's grandparents, your god father and his partner, and a few close friends) will be here with you. Some might not make it, but I know they're sending their best either way. We'll be here to watch you open presents and eat cake, and to lavish attention upon you. This whole day is all about you.

I hope you know, in some unconscious way, how much you mean to all of us. You've changed our lives, for the better, and we're all eternally grateful that you're here with us.

I love you, my angel. Happy birthday.