LETTER TO MY MIRACLE BABY

The Joy, experienced at the confirmation of your existence, although nothing seems malapropos, from that point, nothing remains the same. The overwhelming joy felt, and my marvel at the news. It was magical, and can only be understood by someone in a similar circumstance.

The first three months, amazingly uncomfortable but welcomed with elation, as the HCG levels increased and the various symptoms associated with it, were flaunted. The aches were the beginning of more to come, but there was never a dear prize without sometimes a dire price.

Weeks turned into months and soon, the little flutter of the limbs, the light and almost unobtrusive movements – “The quickening.” My first emotion was pride, at how well you fought to achieve this first feat. Then the joy and peace over the anxiety of losing you in the first few months, before I even got the opportunity of meeting you.

Followed were the not so vague gestures - kicks, jabs, rolls, and even the somersaults were amusing and enthralling, and the most surprising was the hiccups; I remembered being scared the first time. Also drank tons of water, thinking it will give you relief. I did well to savor every bit of those experiences, took note of them so I can recount them all to you when I finally hold you in my arms.

Although it was a trying time for me financially, I worked hard to ensure you are well provided with the comfort you deserve, when you finally make your princely entry. How I worked in the rain and sun for my baby to have a good life.

Then came your special day, it was on a Monday morning, I was making a joke of how you chose the first working day of the week, you must be one serious-minded boy. *smiles* All was in place to introduce you to the world. The labor was excruciating but was ready to endure anything just to get to see your beautiful eyes looking straight at your mama in all purity and innocence. Almost 7 hours of labor was borne with high hopes of finally meeting you, but my strength failed me.

Probably due to the stress I underwent, in those nine months. Not eating well, but hustling to ensure you do. The reason, why I was not operated upon, to bring you out, remains with the Doctor on duty that morning. I was becoming unconscious and you were probably too weak to wriggle your way out, but finally, you were pulled out with forceps. I was relieved!

Being my womb opener, I was told to expect healthy wails as it will do good for your lungs and body system. But the cries never came. I became frantic, even in my weak state asking the Doctor why you did not cry as expected. But he carried you out of the room hastily, trying all he could to save your life. I was practically ignored on the delivery bed, I did not mind one bit, in as much as you will be given to me alive. I was later to know you were taken to the neonatal ICU.

Lifting my eyes upwards to say a heartfelt prayer like I never did in my whole life. I told God to keep you, but if he didn’t I will still acknowledge him, because I know he is the author of life.

Soon I was cleaned up and the Doctor walked in. I feared for what his next utterance would be but waited in anxiety. Then he said- your baby is alive, but he is in a critical state.

The joy I felt was un-quantifiable, as I said a prayer of thanksgiving for the ray of hope. The doctor told me to be ready for the long haul and that I might have to stay months in the hospital. As you were suffering from severe asphyxia.

I immediately became firm emotionally and physically. As I was determined to carry you out alive from the hospital. I was wheeled to the recovery ward. The tears I shed when I saw other mothers with their own bundles of joy, in their bassinets right next to them.

But I held on to the hope, that you are alive. I did not hear your cries for hours but when I did, I knew that was my baby crying. Although there were other babies in the NICU your voice was distinct to me. I connected with you instantly. No wonder it was said that no one can understand the bond between a mother and her child- it is purely divine. I kept giving thanks to God for improvement in your health.

I did not see you for 48 hrs but it felt like forever. Finally, I was strong enough to see you, and you were also perhaps waiting for your mother loving arms around you.

Seeing your lovely face became my obsession. I wondered at your facial features. It transcends description when I finally met you. You were sprawled on your little bed. Your limbs, touching the sides of your cot, your beautiful nose defying the tubes passed through them for oxygen, stood out aristocratic like your grand pa’s. Your eyelids and lashes though shut in a restful slumber were long and dark. And your head swelled from what was termed cerebral edema looked beautiful and perfect to me.

I asked the health attendants if I could lift you, and I did. I wished that moment was captured. But even though it was not physically so, it will forever be impressed in my mind. You proved to me in that instant, how sensitive you will grow up to be. As your closed lashes fluttered opened to reveal your beautiful and very innocent eyes, immediately I held you in my arms. I wept for joy as my hope turned into reality. Here I am standing in the middle of the ICU hall, oblivious to the beeps of monitors and other life-saving equipment working away, holding my baby in my arms, definitely flouts human reasoning. It is indeed a miracle that cannot be verbalized or explained with any lexical semantics. Irrespective of how old you get, you will always be MY MIRACLE BABY.