Yes, you're still little. Even though you think you're big now ... you're not. It's only been three and a half years since the day you were born. Some days my head spins with your busyness, and I am still grasping the fact that I gave birth to you. All of you. A minute apart. Every minute for three minutes, I delivered each of you. That in itself makes you a miracle. Each of you are beautiful miracles, and I am so blessed to be your Mother.
I look at the pictures of the day you were born and I revel in the fact of how far you have come. Each of you were on ventilators in these pictures, and that was your beginning. You were born long before you were ready and before you could breath on your own. I felt so guilty and so overwhelmed. I guess that is why I am so overjoyed that you are okay, and you made it. But then again, I am your Mother and it's my job to feel joy when I think of you. You're each strong and doing well. You are healthy ... and so am I. We're a team now, you and I.
That first day was such a blur. It was only hours before I got to visit each of you, but it felt like weeks. To see you lined up on one wall .... all together, but so far apart from when you were in my womb, was surreal. It was real that you were here, but I didn't expect the fear for your life that coursed through my veins, or the reality of just how fragile you were. Or the instantaneous overwhelming love I felt for you. I knew a Mother's love, as I was a seasoned Mother. But what I didn't know was the countless prayers and the endless bargaining, that I would do with God.
For awhile, every day was one step forward and two steps back until each of you grew, and each of you were out of danger. Many sleepless nights happened in our house, and many nights I couldn't sleep. and would get up and drive to the hospital just to touch you. and let you know that I was there. Every day was another day that we made it, and another day under our belt. NICU became our way of life for those two months before you came home. But you grew, and you grew to breath on your own without help. Each of you. ... and one by one, the tubes and lines disappeared, and one by one, you came home to live with us.
These pictures don't truly show just how small you were. Each of your heads fit in my hand, and your fingers were so tiny I was afraid I would hurt them when you wrapped them around mine. But you knew me then, as you you know me now ... and you hung on, just like you hang onto me now. I'm always here for you. It's been a good three years and we're still a team .... You and I. Forever.
Tuesday, March 11, 2008