I have a two year old now. No longer a baby but a very strong minded toddler and I wouldn’t change it for anything.
Two years ago, I had the worst scare of my life. At 30 weeks gestation, Della decided it was time to come into the world. After spending two days in the hospital, while doctors tried to stop labor, I was rushed in for an emergency c-section.
I was there alone and scared beyond belief. I had sent everyone home so I could “rest” (like you can really rest in a hospital). I remember lying on the table, watching and listening to everyone rush around tying to prepare for the birth. I remember the nurses reassuring me everything would be fine. I remember shaking uncontrollably and my blood pressure dropping dangerously low. I could hear the nurses asking if I could hear them. Next thing I remember was looking over my shoulder and seeing my little lifeless baby lying on a table.
It was almost twelve hours before I finally saw my little angel. I woke up and her dad was in the room telling me he just left from seeing her and he was scared because she was so tiny and on a respiratory. The mom in me kicked in and I made him take me to NICU. I was still groggy from the pain meds as he wheeled me down to NICU. When I came through the door, there she was naked and so tiny in her little bed. She would spend the next two months in NICU.
The day the doctors came and told me when she could go home, she stopped breathing in my arms. The doctors thought it was nothing and said maybe her monitors came off. In the middle of the night, I got a call saying she stopped breathing again and they wanted to do a spinal tap. I cried like a baby because I couldn’t get to her. She had Group B Strep and would spend the next two weeks on antibiotics and very weak.
Della finally came home the Saturday after Thanksgiving. Her dad and I sat up all night watching her sleep (big mistake). Della spent the first two months of her life at the pediatrician’s office every week, as she monitored her growth and development. She had in home nurses and trips to specialists. She was finally released from the under the care of her specialists at 18 months.
Now, two years later, I have a healthy and beautiful toddler. I see myself in her. I see her dad in her. Every day I watch her accomplish something new and overcome all the odds the doctors said she had against her. I listen to her sing and talk to her stuffed animals and dolls. I watch her jump off chairs, climb on tables, and slide down the stairs.
I am thankful. I am thankful she is able to do all the things the doctors said she may not do. I am thankful she is a strong willed, rambunctious, funny, and loving little girl. I am thankful she is here. Most of all, I am thankful she chose me to be her mom.