I don't write poetry, but on this day, there was no other way to express my emotions. Dylan was sleeping on me in the rocker right outside of his crib, cords still attached to all of the monitors. I haven't shared it with one person before today, not even my husband, since it is so personal and emotional.
But I'm sharing it with the world today to support further research on the overwhelming problem of prematurity. Please support The March of Dimes.
I met you...
before it was time.
before your eyes opened.
before you had eyelashes and eyebrows.
before you could breathe by yourself.
before you had any fat on your body.
I watched you...
open your eyes for the first time;
first the left, then the right.
take your first breath on your own.
squeeze your tiny little hand around my finger.
recover from heart surgery that left a sickle-shaped scar on your side.
when you reached three pounds;
and then four,
and then four and a half.
when I first heard your little cry when you were extubated, after weeks of silence.
when the eye doctor told me your eyes looked great.
while telling you to be brave before surgery (when I was really telling myself to be brave).
while giving you your first bath.
while watching you struggle to breathe.
when I couldn't take you to Thanksgiving dinner.
when you first smiled - even if it was really just a twitch.
and when you were sitting on Dr Santa's lap staring wide-eyed at his beard.
I love you...
more than you will ever understand.