For the Mothers of Miracles

For the mothers of miracles...

This one is for you.

“You’ll never be able to have children.”

“There is something wrong with your baby.”

“He’s so early.”

“She’s so sick.”

“It is time to let go.”

“He is suffering.”

“We can’t say what his quality of life will be like.”

“She is not going to make it.”

We are different. We don’t always or forever fit into the medical mom category. We no

longer fit into the infertility category. We have, at some point, fought a hard fight for our children

to be here. We’ve questioned if they’d ever come to exist, if they would survive, what their lives

would look like. But now? We live in constant awe of our living, breathing children. Even when

they’re throwing a toddler sized tantrum. Even when they refuse to eat the food you used your

last bit of energy to make. Even when nothing is making the crying stop. Even when they won’t

sleep. Even when they are challenging us, testing all the boundaries, and exhibiting frustrating

behaviors.

We are different because we remember none of this was promised. In a lot of ways, it

feels easier for us to take the bad with the good. Maybe our trauma is a constant reminder of

how our children almost weren’t. Maybe we have some feelings similar to survivor’s guilt. Maybe

we suffered through loss or losses. Maybe we have witnessed an unspeakable amount of

suffering. Maybe we used all our savings and went into debt just for the chance to become a

mother. Maybe we begged and pleaded with God, with medical professionals, with anyone who

would listen, with world renowned specialists hundreds of miles away, to give our children a

chance. Maybe we fit all of these categories. I do.

This is not to say we only ever feel gratitude. That we are never tired and always say or

do the right thing during a hard parenting moment. That we never want or need a break. That

we never put ourselves first. That we enjoy every second. This is just to say that we do not

forget or take for granted what an absolutely precious gift a child is. We can’t forget. But,

whatever we went through to get our children here or to keep our children here or both, it made

us who we are. We are exceptionally and eternally grateful for every single second. None of

them were promised.

There were days, weeks, months, years, that I didn’t know if he would ever exist, if he

would make it through the next hour, if I would ever bring him home from the NICU, if I would

ever get to see him smile or even look at me, if his brain would heal enough for him to throw that

tantrum in the middle of the zoo. So, that giant mess? That dirty diaper? That hour long

tantrum? Those nights of very little sleep? The food all over the floor? The impossible-to-fix

meltdown? I’ll take it all, because I get to be his mom.

I could go on and on about all the different ways my son is a miracle, but this isn’t just

about me. It is about all the mothers of miracles. There is a unique fire inside all of us. It doesn’t

let us forget, and we are thankful for that.

Our miracles made us.

NICU Mama, Angela R. (NC)