It started to hit me yesterday. When I was sitting in a room meeting with two people about the trip to Sendafa. I will not be home for my oldest’s birthday. I won’t even be able to speak to her.
My heart sank. I could feel tears welling up in my eyes, but I kept them from falling.
When she was born, I didn’t get to hold her. It wasn’t supposed to be that way. But it was. She was wisked to the NICU. I was left to recover in a hospital bed with no baby.
I was living in my worst nightmare.
Obviously she is fine. She is a tall, smart, creative, beautiful girl. She is thriving. I sometimes sit and think “was I like this at 8?”
But every birthday, I spiral back to those first moments of her life. I cry. And then I go back to where she is now.
For I am thankful.