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.


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