Happy Day After Mother's Day!

I will never forget Mother's Day last year. My Aunt and cousins were in town, and my mother planned a huge seafood feast, complete with my favorite food of all time: lobster. Lester and I couldn't get to Mom's fast enough.

But I was heavy with two babies and downright miserable. I couldn't sit for long periods of time or stand without tiring. Climbing stairs was out of the question. And that day, I realized that eating was also a chore. I barely touched my bowl of sweet lobster meat, sprinkled with fresh lemon juice and soaked in melted butter. Mostly, I just laid on the loveseat in the family room, grumpy and uncomfortable. I couldn't wait for that coming Thursday, when I was going back to the doctor for my 35-week checkup, so the perinatologist could tell me if one of the babies was lodged under a rib and the other one stuck in my pelvis. 'Cause that is sure what it felt like.

My cousin -- who has three children -- watched me toss and turn on the loveseat, and said to me, "Honey, I hate to tell you, but you're not making it to Thursday."

I ignored her. I HAD to make it Thursday and to the following Thursday, too. I was determined to make it to 38 weeks, but if not, then 36 weeks was the absolute floor for gestation. Anything else would be a failure! I wanted that lobster, but if I had to suffer without it (and without sleep) for two more weeks for my babies' sakes, then I would do it!

Two days later, in the middle of the night, I woke with a start, feeling like I had wet myself in the bed. So I got up to go to the bathroom and water GUSHED down my legs and onto the floor. I screamed out to Lester, "Babe, wake up, my water just broke!"

As he rushed around getting the hospital bag (which was packed and ready for days) and calling the doctor, I stood in the shower, with my head against the wall and cried.

I was 34 weeks, 5 days. I hadn't made it to 38 weeks. I hadn't made it to 36 weeks. I hadn't even made it to 35 weeks!!! My babies weren't ready; they were too small, too young! I had failed as a mother -- and they weren't even here yet!

Later that afternoon, Cary was born at 4 lbs., 4 oz. Dean followed 90 minutes later at 4 lbs. 10 oz.
They stayed in the NICU -- mainly to eat and grow -- for two weeks and one week, respectively.
I worried about them fiercely! What would happen to them, having been born so early? Would they struggle? Suffer? I prayed that God would protect them and grow them, and help them develop normally -- despite my inability to keep them protected, growing and developing inside me.

Yesterday, my first Mother's Day, I looked at my two big, healthy, active, smart, hysterical babies and my heart smiled.

God had done it.

And I had not failed. These two precious nearly-1-year-old boys are proof positive of that.