I count each breath, I count each heartbeat, I count each step. I wish I can just transport myself to the end goal

IN

the beginning, the website describes my baby as big as a grape, then we progress to a peach. It feels cute and whimsical.

Seeing that what I feel is normal is validating, and the knowledge of what to expect next is empowering. I love to check it out every week and tune in to the miracle that’s growing inside of me.

Then a worrisome scan changes the experience. Now each day gets a big red mental check. The calendar is filled with appointments, asterisks, and numbers. Every star denotes crucial developmental milestones that I look forward to check off.

The focus now is on the date at which the doctor says that survival is likely. The nightly shifting from one side to another side becomes a celebration of another day completed in the mission.

Every tumble sauce within brings reassurance. With every kick I try to breathe in a message of strength: “You can do it, baby.”

Then the day dawns, and I breathe more easily. I congratulate myself and celebrate this tiny being who has the fortitude it will need.

The next visit has us hoping to make it to the date at which I’ll be given a shot to help develop the baby’s lungs.

I count each breath, I count each heartbeat, I count each step. I wish I can just transport myself to the end goal.