Tomorrow my first baby turns 9
Nine years ago, I was being induced at just 32 weeks, terrified and broken, told my baby had heart failure and a failure-to-thrive diagnosis. I didn’t know if I would survive, I didn’t know if he would survive. I didn’t know if I’d ever get to hear him laugh, or see him grow, or watch him become who he is today.
He’s had his struggles, and he still does. Every single day I carry the weight of worry as his mom. But every single day, he also reminds me what it means to fight, to push forward, to rise above what was expected of him. He has exceeded so many milestones that once felt out of reach, and he continues to surprise me with his strength.
He set the tone for my motherhood. He made me a mother—something I never thought I wanted—but now I cannot imagine my life without it. Without him. Even on the hardest days, I am so deeply grateful for the chance to experience this journey, to love him, to watch him grow.
Tomorrow he is 9. My miracle. My fighter. My firstborn. My heart walking outside of my body
He’s had his struggles, and he still does. Every single day I carry the weight of worry as his mom. But every single day, he also reminds me what it means to fight, to push forward, to rise above what was expected of him. He has exceeded so many milestones that once felt out of reach, and he continues to surprise me with his strength.
He set the tone for my motherhood. He made me a mother—something I never thought I wanted—but now I cannot imagine my life without it. Without him. Even on the hardest days, I am so deeply grateful for the chance to experience this journey, to love him, to watch him grow.
Tomorrow he is 9. My miracle. My fighter. My firstborn. My heart walking outside of my body
