It's been a year since my water broke. A year since that dinner date with Peter at the Greek restaurant. A year since I suddenly went from being half way through my pregnancy to being done with my pregnancy. A year. A solid year since I entered Chester County Hospital and left a part of me there.
Does it get better? Harder?
Do the appointments stop? Does the worry? No? That's lame.
It's alright. Deep breath.
I gave Miss Charlotte a bath tonight and her sleepy little eyes could barely stay open. Her chunky body relaxed in my arms as I wrapped her in a towel and dried her creases (there are a.lot.of.them.) She grinned at me and her bright blue eyes and uneven pupils faded as she slipped into her nightly slumber. She was happy, healthy, content.
She reminds me yet again, tomorrow will be another day.
A year and one day since everything changed. The day after that it will be a year and two days. And then a year and three days. And then two years and then three and then five and then "wait, didn't something happen on this date?"
So in those moments that I can't catch my breath, in those moments that seem to last for an eternity, in those moments that I hate the universe for the hand it dealt us, the pain it caused and the happiness it stole, in those moments, I will think about the years to come. The years that will be filled with late night baths, with tutus, with giggles and milestones, with trains and cars, and yes, even with therapy and doctor appointments.
But mostly, those years will be filled with gratitude. A little bit of pity,
Here's to those years. Here's to the last one and all that it brought us.