Thursday, May 5, 2011

Everyday Miracles

Dear Sweet Jackson,

If you ever read this blog (at the rate you're going, it might be next week), I want you to know that with all this talk about miracles, you are just as much a miracle to me as your brother is.  You are the miracle who made me a mom.  You are the miracle who has made me grow as a person.  Every single day that I watch you grow, you make me believe in miracles.  You are brilliant, and I'm not just saying that because I'm your mom.  You are kind, loving, silly, curious and such an amazing little boy.  You make me so proud!  Today I watched you play race cars with your brother.  How is it that you know to play gently with him?  How is it that you know to use your softest, sweetest voice with him?  It must be a miracle.  Sure, your dad and I might have a little something to do with it, but truly you are a miracle!

And I love you.

Dear Peyton,

I can't believe you are four months old!  I feel like I can tell you now something I hate to even say out loud.  I did not think you were going to make it.  I spent my entire pregnancy terrified that something was wrong.  I had good reason.  If you put the words "high risk" in front of something, it can't mean anything good.  The only good thing about being high risk (besides becoming close personal friends with your ob-gyn and the entire staff of the doctor's office) is listening to the baby's heartbeat.  I lived for my appointments because I got to hear your heartbeat.  It felt like the only natural thing about my pregnancy.  Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh.  The best sound in the world.  But then there were those appointments towards the end.  You were so stubborn.  You didn't want to move.  You didn't want me to hear your heartbeat.  I used to hold my breath and lay very, very still praying that you were still okay. 

Maybe that was your way of preparing me for what was to come.

I know.  You're tired of hearing your birth story.  You are so over it.  If you were a teenager, you'd be rolling your eyes at me.  You have moved on.

You have decided to just forgot all about your dramatic entrance into this world.  You don't want to miss a developmental beat.  I am constantly amazed by your strength.  For the past two nights, you keep rolling over in your crib (and crying because you can't figure out how to roll back onto your back).  You played race cars with your brother twice today. 

You are clearly healthy, so why am I still having such a hard time processing everything? 

When I hold you, I know that I am holding a miracle in my arms.  I look at you and see the gift from God that you are. 

Thank you for being my miracle!

And to my family and friends, thank you for everything.  Your genorosity has been humbling.  You are making it possible for the March of Dimes to continue to work towards their goal of one day every baby being born healthy.  As we walk tomorrow and celebrate our superhero, I will be praying for the parents who's journey is just beginning.  I will be praying for the mothers and fathers sitting helplessly at their baby's bedside in the hospital.  I will be praying for all the people in my life who want nothing more than to become parents.  And I will pray that Peyton continues to thrive.