Throwing a birthday party every year

Is it really necessary for parents to throw birthday parties for their children every year? I’d say yes as a parent of a child who was born premature. It is a reminder of how far my child has come since being born prematurely. Premature birth can be a very difficult and stressful experience for both the mother and the baby, and celebrating their birthday is a way to acknowledge the strength and resilience of both. It is also a way to celebrate the milestones that the child has achieved, such as reaching certain developmental stages or overcoming health challenges. For mothers of premature babies, every birthday is a special occasion that represents hope, love, and gratitude for their child’s life.

Here’s my daughter’s story.

On the day she was born, (too little, too soon) I lay in denial until about noon. I prayed and I cried for the baby I needed to stay safely inside. Twelve weeks before due, her heart rate kept dropping and my blood pressure kept shooting up. I wore a fake smile pretending to be happy. Nurses, doctors and daddy, looked at me with worry. Almost no time for steroids, she was in such a hurry. My world came crashing down. There was nothing to do but deliver her now. In the light room I went for the C-section scar. There she was, so little and so fragile, nothing like the norm. I thought I would lose her. They whisked her away. Family came to say hi, I spent the whole evening, trying not to cry; but as soon as they left me alone in my room, I mourned for the baby I had failed from the womb. On the day she was born, Mommy just couldn’t cope. I desperately needed, to see signs of hope. She was just a kilo, and I wasn’t sure that good things could come, from blessings premature. I didn’t go meet her, heartbroken and torn. Waited 24 hours, from the day she was born. And then I went walking, Motherhood in suspense, happiness fleeting, the sorrow intense.
Before I went in I said to the worry, she deserves a proud mommy, no matter how early. I walked to her “NNU”, to my delayed joy. Yes she was really little, but MY little baby girl waved that small hand, calling for me to take it. From that moment on, I knew she would make it. I sat there for hours, committed to see just a hint of the miracle waiting for me. I replaced my new faith with the guilt I had worn on the beautiful, magical day she was born. Here we go on our journey, no time left to doubt, for the first time in her life, I wanted her out. Released from the NNU and home in her room. Laughing and playing and sleeping till noon. After 2 painful months, I was able to take her home.

We often look back on the day our lives changed, and it is hard to recall how we did it. While most mums went home with their bundles of joy, I went home with the biggest test of my life. My faith hanging by a thread. Without question, without hesitation, without pausing, there was no time to rest. Something fragile and yet so loved, she took over both our lives. We learnt medical terms and we read monitors while others read bedtime stories and lullabies. We learnt to listen to ventilators coding instead of our sweet baby’s soft cries. While most mothers dreaded all the vaccines, colic’s or baby’s first fever – we dreaded that one of those fittle breaths our child took would be her last. We shared our baby with her nurses instead of friends and family. We prayed like it was the last thing to do. Because it was the last thing to do. We watched the days pass as we watched our child grow in a fake womb, for we had to leave her when the day ended. We tried daily to make the best of the situation while in our minds we were screaming, there is nothing normal about this!

We prayed a lot and cried a lot – well, I did cry a lot. I never thought so much equipment would ever be hooked up to such a small child. I was told, “Babes, stop crying too much, we don’t want God to think that we doubt Him, for He promised that He’ll answer all prayers and we dare not go through this without Him”. One day I just started noticing her fragility seeming to be coming to an end, she was growing! Those 30g, 10g, 5g she gained every other day were now making sense! We celebrated every weight gain with ice cream. The nurses had become family. The other day I held her for the first time ever! It was literally a kiss from the heavens – that is how I felt. I was now allowed to feed her, even noticed a little smile while on kangaroo care. Cpap was no longer needed, the monitors no longer rang. She had decided in her own time that she was done with the NNU stay! And determination was with her the rest of her way! Yes, the months were long and weary, emotions were so out of hand. A feeling I never imagined. One no one will ever understand unless they went through it. My special journey. My experience. My child and I both healed and accepted that God chose us for this miracle, and we know that God is real, we felt His presence. He touched us.

So here goes this mother, together on this journey to grow. My baby, gave me far better than “norm”. My child, a survivor, from the day she was born. She gave us Hope. And we named her Hope. Every year we throw a nice party for our little angel of Hope.

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