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As we got her ready for school, I told my girl it was Prematurity Awareness Day. She asked probing questions as she always does. I told her more. She knows, of course, that she was born early and tiny, and that she lived at the hospital for the first few months of her precious life. But the term “preemie” isn’t one we’ve used with her. I didn’t realize it until now. Perhaps it’s because I never felt the need to label her, or give her or anyone else the impression that she couldn’t be or do whatever she set her mind to. And, really, even before she greeted this world, she showed a strong determination to do just that. When she took out her own breathing tube before she was one hour old—while her birth weight and condition said she had no business doing so—I knew we couldn’t call her anything but strong. And she’s been proving us right ever since.

She went to school and told her friends about being a preemie, and she brought the little stuffed ostrich her NICU nurse at Massachusetts General Hospital had tucked into her isolette during her very first night. At the time, she wasn’t much bigger than the Beenie itself. But today…she’s not so tiny any more.

Thinking of all the other babies born too tiny, and wishing as many of them as possible have the strength of my little girl.

More?
Read my previous #fight4preemies posts:
My girl did the hard part
Early Arrivals (2009)

Visit the March of Dimes Prematurity Awareness Page:
http://www.marchofdimes.com/prematurityawareness.html