Just Make It.

I laid on the medical bed clutching my stomach. A sharp pain pushed to the surface. I kept my eyes closed, asking the doctor's to removed whatever the cause was.

I looked at my bloated stomach, the fear washed away instantly. Like a deflated balloon with an object inside, I could see her.

The small infant wiggling, kicking her tiny feet.

"She's not ready," I said quietly, clutching my stomach, tears falling freely. "She's need a little longer."

A few months passed, but I could hold her to my chest. Her frail cries reminded me of a kitten, her size so miniature.

"Look at how beautiful she is," I wept as I watched her wail. "She's here," I cried.

My heart kept swelling the longer I held her, a wave of love I had never felt before.

The doctor's came, and placed her in an incubator. I stayed by her side for three months, watching her fight for her life. Her full head of black hair reminded me of her loving father, but I could only wonder if she would make it; if the strain on my heart was what my mother felt watching over me. If the tears that fell were because I was worried, watching the tubes, the IVs, the monitors. I wondered if she felt any pain, if I could hold her again, if today was the only day she would live.

At nine months, I held her in my arms again.

"Look at how healthy you are," I smiled to her, "So beautiful."

She was quiet, swaddled in a soft blanket, a little pink beanie on her head.

She smiled, my heart melting.

Author's Note

This was a dream I had a few nights ago. I don't have dreams of being a mother often, but this one stood with me.