As I'm typing, M is fighting sleep by crying for the 4th night in a row. As frustrating as that is (and it's very frustrating) I wouldn't trade the challenges of parenting for anything in the world. There is no doubt that M is our miracle girl. She was teeny teeny tiny when she was born -- 1 lb 11 oz. She was born 12 weeks early and was small even for her gestational age. But the more I learn about my body, the more I learn just how truly she is a miracle. Many women with homozygous MTHFR, one of the genetic mutations I have, have difficulty carrying pregnancies past the first trimester. And they often don't find out the cause until they have had multiple miscarriages. The fact that I was able to conceive and then carry my pregnancy as long as I did really is miraculous, given what I now know.
When I listen to M cry that she wants out of bed or throw a tantrum, as two year-olds will do, I can't help but think of her first five days spent on her ventilator and feel grateful for those lungs that are so strong and that have never given her any trouble since being discharged from her 12 weeks in the hospital.
As a family, we don't have the luxury of taking what we have for granted, but that's something we have come to appreciate. The funniest things strike me and remind me of how good we have it and how close we came to not having it this good. For example, on Easter, while helping M empty her eggs, I looked at a little Butterfinger egg and was struck by the memory of her first Easter picture from two years ago, taken by a very special NICU nurse when she was a few weeks old. M was surrounded with Butterfinger eggs the size her of hand. Those same eggs now fit right in the palm of her hand. So yeah, even Butterfinger eggs remind us that we're living a miracle!
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