Almost 10 years ago, one of the scariest moments in my life happened.
My wife was pregnant with our second child. Twelve weeks before she was due, fluid started to leak. The doctor told us to get to the hospital.
A few hours later, my wife gave birth. She was under 3 pounds and spent 5 weeks in the NICU.
The doctor at the NICU told me one day that she would surprise me and that I had nothing to worry about.
The first few months I was still concerned, and slowly but surely, I grew confident that she was doing well.
Now she’s an amazing young girl, a little stubborn, and follows her big sister too much. But does her own thing.
She’s the one who wants to be the YouTuber.
Now and then I hold her hand and look at the scars on her hands from the IV needles back when she was in the NICU. I’m reminded of how close she was to not being here, and I am thankful that the nurses and doctors worked to ensure her survival.
I still worry about her, but for different things now.
Will she do well in the world. Will the world be a safe place for her. Will she be happy.
But she’s proven that she’s a survivor.
Ten years gone, and many more to come.
