Birthdays are for Moms

Whelp, she did it to me again.

She turned another year older.

I've had lots of thoughts running through my head for this post, and I'm not sure how to bring them all together, but the main thought is this: birthdays are for moms.

Some of you very intelligent people probably figured this out long ago. I'm still a newbie when it comes to motherhood, so I'm just starting to figure it out.

Scott was excited when I told him we were going to dial back the birthday celebrations this year. And when they concluded on Tuesday evening, he just gave me that look like: "Dialed back, eh?"

Okay. So I may have ordered one last present and paid extra for the one day shipping. I may have insisted we get her that one toy she absolutely didn't need but had her heart set on. I may have broken a few of our house rules and said yes to things I normally wouldn't have all for the sake of "it's her birthday." I may have let her eat way too much sugar (although, it must be said, she's been sick and not eating much as of late, so I was just happy to see her eat anything at all). We may have spent four days doing birthday things even though last year we only did three days and this year was supposed to be a smaller celebration.

The sum total of all those thoughts is this: I have no regrets when it comes to Kevin's third birthday.

About six weeks ago, my friend delivered her baby five weeks premature. If you want to tug at my heartstrings, simply string the words "preemie" and "NICU" together. As Sly has grown older, I've noticed that there are many things about Kevin's babyhood that I have forgotten--but those NICU days? They are always at the front of my heart, even if they have moved to the back of my mind.

The sounds of the monitors. Softly stroking her skin while the nurses weren't watching because they insisted she didn't like it and I insisted that she did. The feel of her fuzzy, downy hair. The process of not getting tangled up in her wires while I changed her diaper. The three hour care schedule. The frustrations of pumping, pumping, and more pumping, and then trying to get her to nurse. Three weeks without TV, just watching the screensavers on the nurses' computer monitors. How the days stopped being measured in hours but by progress and I only knew there had been a change when the nurses came in wearing different scrubs.

Those early days, when we were in parenthood initiation boot camp, still leave me with a tenderness. While I never want to repeat them, I am supremely grateful that they happened.

Just as I am grateful for all of the days that have happened since.

We brought her home, knowing that her challenges weren't over. While I am not part of the Special Needs Mom Club, I have been through that first little bit of terrror and fear and because of that, I have a special gratitude for my friends that are special needs moms. I look at the ones who were with us in the hospital and Ronald McDonald House and wonder at how we've been so blessed. Kevin probably should have come home with more than oxygen, but for some reason, God saw fit to heal her and give her a normal life.

And that healing continues.

They say that it is not uncommon for parents of NICU babies to have some PTSD. I'm one of them. I had a lot of flare ups during my pregnancy last year. As Sly grows, those PTSD moments are growing away again.

Every time she uses a new word or masters a new skill, I am healed a little more and so is she. I used to worry that she would have trouble hitting developmental milestones--but we've noticed that with Kevin, while it might take her a little longer than most to acquire a new skill, she is very quick about mastering skills. She didn't speak very well for a long time, but a month or two after her second birthday she started rattling off words and hasn't stopped chattering since.

So when March 10 rolls around, we celebrate more than just a birthday. We celebrate a passage of time that distances us from where we were and shows us where we can go. We celebrate that we have had her for three years and will have her forever. We celebrate that I haven't been desperate enough to actually put that ad on KSL yet.

We celebrate that we survived her birth, and little by little, we will survive her life.