A Preemie Grows Up
A mother contrasts her teenage daughter's preterm birth with the present.
By Sue Kinney
My, do the memories rush back!
Twelve (yes, twelve) years ago today,
I was told they needed to deliver my 26 week baby in order to save my
life.
Twelve years ago today,
my daughter's head fit in the palm of my hand. A rolled up washcloth served
as a backrest for her 12-inch long body.
Twelve years ago today,
I wondered how such a small baby could possibly survive.
Twelve years ago today,
I wondered if my daughter would ever breathe on her own.
Twelve years ago today,
I wondered if my daughter would be alive in twelve hours.
Yesterday,
I bought my twelve year old daughter a new bra because the old ones were
too small.
Yesterday,
I sat and played the piano while my twelve year old daughter played her
flute solo.
Yesterday,
I sat and listened while my twelve year old daughter whispered about the
boy she liked
Twelve years ago,
today I cried tears of desolation that my body had rejected my first born.
That my baby had to suffer so much.
Today,
I cry tears of joy that my daughter is beautiful, healthy, alive. And
that my baby has brought so much joy to so many people. Especially to
me.