When I gave birth to Emma at 26 wks gestation, Paul and I struggled to know whether or not to celebrate our new baby or face the fear of what the future might bring for us as new parents of a preemie. She was 1 lb, 12 oz, looked like a little wrinkly old man, and scared the heck out of me. I had been warned that she would probably be whisked away to the NICU the minute she arrived, so it came as a surprise when she was breathing on her own, and I was able to hold her for a few cloudy seconds. When she was whisked away, I remained in my cloud until the nurses pushed my hospital bed through the NICU so I could see my baby again. It was then when my faith was re-ignited. Those months in the NICU were difficult; we were restless, feeling out-of-control, and forced to lay our burdens down. We prayed, many of you prayed, the nurses prayed. We busied ourselves with home renovations after ten-plus hour days in the hospital, and never missed a call to learn if Emma gained any weight. We celebrated ounces, cried with weight dips, and continued praying for Emma’s future, hopeful we’d be able to bring her home sometime soon. We fought exhaustion, embraced kangaroo care, and prayed when we left her every night. The day came, 71 days later by the grace of God, when Emma was officially our responsibility. We were scared. To this day, we try to live our lives by His grace and ultimate guidance. This fantastic kid is His, and we are here to raise her. What a blessing she is!
The tiniest blessing
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