So, let's talk about the time I went in the card aisle at the grocery store to get a birthday card for my turning one year old tomorrow baby (I KNOW) and I started bawling.
The heaving breath, tears everywhere--I'm sure it was not pretty crying. This was no misty eyed, "Oh, my presshus baybee snowflake is turing one SNIFF" moment. This was tears, heaving shoulders, shuddering breath. Another customer and a worker looked at me, concerned, and asked if I was okay. I said it was hard to explain, but I was fine.
I was sad. I was relieved.
There were moments in 2012 that I thought we wouldn't be here. While I mean that in the "oh God how are we going to survive a baby and adjust sense," I also mean that in the literal sense. There were moments I--we--were terrified that we would not be here in 2013, celebrating Lis's birthday. From May until the end of July, when the threat of infection had passed from surgery, there were moments--minutes--hours--many many many nightmares where I had this horrible thought, daydream, conviction, fear, etc that Lis would die during that surgery.
So, as I was picking out a birthday card, well out of the danger zone of any complication from the surgery, it suddenly washed over me that the deepest darkest never spoken fear I had was in the past, and I was crying.
Happy birthday tomorrow, baby girl. You're a survivor, a fighter, a miracle, a rockstar, a blessing, a snuggler, a terror, a delight, a thousand laughs, and you don't even know it.