She's Nine

Last night, Em began asking me questions:

"Nine years ago, right now, what was happening?"

"How did you feel about becoming a mommy?"

"How did you know I was ready to be born?"

As the questions got more detailed, I finally just said, "Hey, you know, I wrote a birth story after you were born. I reprinted it my blog a couple of years ago, on your birthday. Would you like to read it together?"

And so we did. Once again, Em's ability to comprehend the subtleties of situations well beyond her years came through for her, and she listened with only a few quiet questions, tears in her eyes, a smile on her face. When I was done, teary-eyed myself, she hugged me for a long time.

"Do you still have those pictures you were talking about?" she asked, finally. "The ones that made you think I was going to die?"

"I do," I sniffled.

"Can I see them?"

"Sure."

And so we looked, together, at a photo in which I was stroking my newborn baby with one finger, as several medical professionals waited impatiently to get her to a NICU four miles away.



"Are you going to write about my birthday again on your blog?"

"Probably. I may even write about this, and include this photo."

She considered that for a minute. "Well, if you do, you should also include a photo of me from today, to show that everything turned out OK."

And so I give you Em in a photo from our Mexican cruise last April.



Clearly, everything turned out better than OK.

Happy birthday, baby. I love you so much it hurts.