Last week, Charlie turned the big 2. For the non preemie parents who may read this, two is the promised finish line. According to NICU lore, preemies “catch up” (meet age appropriate milestones) by two. The preemie’s age is no longer adjusted to account for the premature arrival. That’s it, poof, the baby is just two.
Two is a pretty big birthday in the preemie realm. However, the birthday was not the prophesied finish line for us. The finish line moved further ahead and our marathon continues. I’ve become content with that.
Yet, last week was a very emotional week.
It started the night I wrote Charlie’s birthday post. In between my stifled tears and keyboard clicks, I opened an email. Charlie received an amazing birthday card of sorts. People we had never met wished her a happy birthday. For once, I was at a loss for words.
Later in the week, I received call from a friend who procured team T shirts for our March for Babies team. When we made plans for the walk, I mentioned how we were going to be a shirtless team. She surprised me by coming up with shirts at the last minute. She expressed concern over odd sizes and mismatched colors. I thought they were perfect.
Charlie and I went hiking today.
On Saturday, our team lead the March For Babies walk in our area. Last year, we had four team members. This year, we had fifteen and raised over $1500.
I had no idea that this week or this march meant anything to anyone other than me.
I cried quite a bit this week. It was not because Charlie didn’t catch up or that two isn’t the promised end for us. It is because I am honored, in awe, and am grateful for the kindness and love given to us this week.
Yes, we missed out on yet another thing that “should have” happened. But, rather than focus on what didn’t happen last week, I prefer to notice all that did.
Two years ago, a nurse directed me to call your daddy. “Are we having the baby today?” I asked. She answered, “If I were you, I would want my husband here.”
Two years ago, I saw your picture for the very first time. Later in the day, the NICU nurses sent a card of your prints with a note that said “For my mommy”.
Today is my 35th birthday. I am officially in my mid thirties. If I got pregnant again (not happening), my medical chart would be plastered with alerts warning staff of “advanced maternal age”. Does that mean I am now an advanced mother?
Cheering on Charlie 