I had wanted to make a final blog post on Cordelia’s first birthday, but summer and celebrations and travel kept us so busy I never managed to. So here we are at 13 months after that night she was born.

You often hear about “miracle babies” when a complicated pregnancy or birth has a happy ending. As someone who isn’t religious though, it’s often been a term I wasn’t very comfortable with. Until it happened to me, and Cordelia undeniably became our miracle baby. But it wasn’t a miracle like Jesus feeding all those people in the desert or the image of Mary appearing in a water stain. Cordelia is an engineered miracle, kept alive and healthy thanks to the real-time efforts of hundreds of medical workers and the accumulated knowledge of decades of medical science.

For a long time, I couldn’t believe that Cordelia would ever be the size of a full term baby. It was hard to believe she’d ever cry, let alone babble and coo and giggle and squeal. I couldn’t imagine her wearing clothes at all, let alone a rainbow birthday dress. I couldn’t imagine her eyes having any color. I couldn’t imagine her sleeping in a crib. I couldn’t imagine her with hair. I never imagined how it would feel to see her eyes light up and a big smile grow on her face as she watched me enter the room. All these things seemed impossibly far away. And yet, one by one, they’ve become part of our everyday.

To depart, I thought I’d share this note I wrote back on February 26th. Thank you all for following our NICU journey over the past year plus.

You’re deep in the midst of your long nap for the day, limp and sprawled across my chest. It’s bright outside but there are just a few little snowflakes tumbling and dancing in the air. I love so much the feeling of your limp bare little arm touching mine. Your mouth agape, breathing softly.
I had a cry when I thought about
How we almost lost you
How you almost didn’t
Come to be
How this moment
And all those that will follow it
Will only happen
Because of hundreds of strangers who saved you and your mom
How does one ever reckon with that?
It’s too much it’s overwhelming
The weight and touch of your little body
(Growing bigger all the time)
And the sound of your tiny little gentle breaths
Are pure perfection
We wanted you so badly, we almost lost you, and now you are here
I don’t ever want to let you go
Just one more minute