To the what-ifs

Toby, Eleanor and Callista,

Two years ago today I woke thinking, “I’m still pregnant! We made it to 28 weeks!” Two hours later, the contractions started. Twenty-four hours later, you were born – three miracles, each separated by one eternity minute.

Two years ago, the what-ifs tucked me into bed and hovered while I prayed.

Last year, the what-ifs loomed like dark clouds, bursting with showers throughout an otherwise sunny day. You were barely still premature by the books (they told me one month for every week born premature), but I didn’t drop the “corrected gestational age” distinction and count you as fully mature till the one-year anniversary of your due date. So many milestones lay ahead of us, and I couldn’t celebrate your triumph over prematurity just yet.

This year, the what-ifs will dance in and out. They will try to hurt me – they always do – but two years have given me more peace than I thought possible. This year, I’ll chase the what-ifs away with What Is. Prematurity will continue to threaten certain aspects of your growth and development, but those risk factors are less terrifying than the mountains of possible diagnoses you’ve eluded. For all intents and purposes, you beat prematurity.

Take that, What-Ifs.

All my love,
Mama