Today, at 2:45 am, you turned 3. (When you read this, I know you'll wonder, as I used to with my mom, how in the heck I could remember the exact time, but trust me. When your life changes forever, you tend to take notice of the time.) They dried you off and your dad and I waited for your first cry and there it was---thin, but annoyed as hell. You were a fighter---but then, after all we went through just to get you here, I knew that.
When I look at you now, the only sign of your NICU stay is the couple of IV scars you still have---you might lose them in time, but I sort of hope not. They're your history, symbols of how strong you had to be before you even knew what strong was. And, incidentally, how strong you made us. You were there for five weeks, and every day we saw you, every day we took pictures. I'm glad we did, because to look at those pictures now and remember, is to see a miracle.
You're walking and talking and trying so hard to figure out your world that you astonish your dad and I both with how much you're understanding. And you've discovered the fine art of pouting, lower lip and all. Your dad and I are doing our level best to teach you right from wrong in spite of the lower lip tremble, just so you know. (And by the way, it's very cute, that look. We can't give in...but it's cute, just the same.)
So this is my wish for you on your third birthday: that you continue to be strong and healthy, that you love carefully but fully, and that though you won't always agree with us (I can guarantee that) that you'll never doubt how very much you're loved.
Happy birthday, Roisin. :-)
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