Six months with the "fiery one"

     Aiden celebrates his half birthday this week. I know, I know. Half birthday? Don't we already celebrate too much as it is? Normally, I'd agree with you, but there just seems to be something special about this one. Maybe it's because from the beginning of my pregnancy, I felt that I was doomed to suffer a miscarriage. Maybe it's because when we found out he had a growth restriction and might need to come super early, and I was worried he'd be a micro-preemie, until he passed each week's test until the 36^th week. Maybe it's because I was told unexpectedly in an ultrasound room by the lead doctor of maternal fetal medicine that he would likely have to have open heart surgery 24-48 hours after he was born. Or the fact that I held him for 30 seconds after he was born before they whisked him away to a team of doctors to help stabilize him. Or that I didn't get to hold him for three days after that because he was on a ventilator.

    All of the hits kept coming. I felt myself trying to distance myself from him in a way because I wasn't sure if something happened to him, I could handle it. I didn't want to get attached to him. But it was impossible. So, I prayed. And I asked everyone else to pray, too. And lo and behold, a few days after we were told he would probably need surgery, his heart defect had basically healed. He had a small trickle in his mitral valve, he was taken off of the ventilator because he started to breathe better on his own, eventually weaned off of oxygen and had his feeding tube removed....and we went home.

    He's been here for six months, and in a way it feels like he was always here. That PCICU stay seems like a lifetime ago. But those feelings are still real and they come back from time to time. When I hold him in the middle of the night because he woke up hungry (doesn't happen much anymore, thankfully!), and he falls asleep, it's quiet and still and I think about how the odds were stacked against him, I cry. I cry because we missed out on the first few days of our lives together. I cry because I imagine he was in pain and scared. But mostly, I cry because God came through for us. For him. The doctors said they weren't sure how his heart looked one way one day and different the next. I know how, and it brings me to my knees every time I think about it.

    My little fiery one. That's what Aiden means. And it fits him so well. He's sweet, but

stubborn and everything is on his own terms. This week, we will celebrate six months of his life. The very first photo I took of him breaks my heart, but it also makes me smile because I see how far he's come and how fiery he really is. I've never shared it, but I think maybe it's time. I'll share it because it's the image that pops into my mind when I hear “Way Maker” or when I hear “Another in the Fire.” I know we were not alone there at MUSC. God was with us. He heard our prayers and answered them. And honestly, if that's not something to celebrate, I don't know what is. A year. Six months. Heck, every single day we should celebrate what a miracle worker He is.

    Aiden's birth will always be part of my testimony. Hopefully one day, it'll be part of his too.