Three years ago, I was in the middle of the worst kind of pain -- not physical (not yet, anyway), but psychological. I was dying and so was the baby within me.
None of this is a big shocker, of course, since you know the story of how my Butterfly came to be, and how she came to thrive and surprise and delight and and and ...
And I suppose each year it *does* get a little easier to let go of the terror that surrounded the day of her birth. It's mostly at rest, though it would be a disservice to let it all go. Some of the residual keeps me on my toes, keeps me remembering how lucky we are, how grateful I am to have her, to have Elephant, to have ...
From a 25-week, 1 pound, 7 ounce being I hardly could see as human let alone my baby to this beautiful, funny, smart and delightful cheeky monkey who could be no one OTHER than my daughter, it is a lesson, a life's lesson, I am not so foolish as to think I should ever take for granted.
See? I'm overwhelmed with the joy of her, so overwhelmed I write in silly circles ... each time bringing me farther from the center that was that terror to the loops of joy that she is now! That our relationship is (and I will try my best to always maintain -- though, as I just pointed out, she is MY daughter, and karma really is something, as I'm afraid I will learn in about, oh, eight years.)
Little Butterfly. My surprise, my beauty. My gratitude, my smart girl. My heart.
Happy Birthday, Miracle Baby. I love you.