Cherish

It is right now 8:19am on Friday March 20th. In approximately 7 minutes my daughter will turn 2 years old.

2 years ago at this very moment, I had not started to push yet.

2 years ago at this very moment, I had no idea whether my daughter would be ok when she came out.

2 years ago at this very moment, I had only met one of my children.

My daughter was born on the first day of Spring and when she came into this world she brought with her endless energy, abounding laughter, occasional tears and incredible love.

She brought new life with her, just as Spring brings new life each year.

During the evenings before both of my children's birthdays this year I have been keenly aware of their birth experiences. Last night was no different.

I wanted my daughter's birth to be so very different from my son's. I wanted an experience that I could cherish because it would not be laden with medical worries and professionals.

That was not the case, but I continually cherish the experience.

As my husband and I prepared our children's lunches last evening I looked at the clock, it was around 11:15pm, and I said to him, "Do you realize two years ago at this very moment I was in the midst of a practically natural childbirth?"

"Yeah, except for that pesky pitocin." He replied.

He was right, both of our children were aided by pitocin. But regardless of that fact, I had a pretty incredible birth experience with our daughter.

I was induced at 5.5 weeks early due to major complications and I was convinced that my baby would suffer because of it.

I labored under the assumption that she would be quickly shown to me and then taken from me so as to be cared for in her preemie state. I listened as doctors and nurses talked about dropping heart rates and applied oxygen to help keep me and my peanut stable.

I heard emergency c-section more than once and neonatologist a handful of times.

There was no quiet in my room that night. My labor began at 8pm on March 19th and it ended at 8:25am on March 20th.

And in all of the chaos that was the last ten minutes of my labor (my OB was nowhere to be found and we had to pull a random doctor in off the floor to deliver my daughter) I found that the birth experience matters very little. I cherish every moment of it because it is mine and my daughter's, but in the end it is the final product that makes the difference.

My daughter was perfect. She was tiny and reminded me of raw Perdue oven stuffer, but she was perfect. She rarely cried those first days and weeks. She mostly slept and ate.

And she defied all odds placed against her.

Every single child is a miracle.

My daughter is no exception.

There are days when I want to take her little red head and put her in room, because life would be easier and, well, cleaner, but those are the days that, later on, make me laugh the hardest.

There are days when all I want is for her to crawl on to my lap and sit there with her head on my chest so I can feel her breathing fall in rhythm with mine.

There are days when all I can see is that teeny tiny chicken laying in her soothing motions glider, aka my LIFESAVER for the first few weeks, fast asleep.

My daughter and I are not defined by our birth experiences but we are joined by them.

For a very long time I could not fathom what life would be like with two children. I was not ready for my daughter when she came along.

Now, I cannot fathom life without her.

2 years and 15 minutes ago my daughter came into this world an scrawny little thing and I have tried to cherish every moment that I could since then.

Happy Birthday My Devilish Little Peanut!!