Developmental assessment

All is good. All is better than good, actually it's fantastic.

I remember so acutely being in the hospital the day Ava and Julia were delivered, getting prepped for the c-section and the Neonatologist coming in to discuss expectations for a 27 week delivery. As I laid there uncontrollably shaking, she listed off a number of things that we might encounter upon the delivery. It was the worst case scenario. "The best we can do" was echoing in my head, making all the other crazy scary things she was rattling off feel like a whisper of things to come. Her face was somber, and I feared the worst. In hindsight, probably not the best approach to take with me. I always fear the worst, so by saying all the things that can go wrong I automatically think it will go wrong. Imagine my surprise when Ava came out mewling like a newborn kitty. When Rick turned to me and said, "She looks really good." When instead of whisking her away to the NICU where machines were set aside for her, the team spent some time in the delivery room with her assessment and let Rick take a few pictures. From that day on, I was waiting for the other shoe to drop. I looked for signs of cerebral palsy, for sight or hearing issues, muscles too tight or too limber. I dreaded her first cold, fearing that it would turn into bronchial pneumonia and we would end up staying long past her release from the NICU--or if at home--back in the hospital. I waited, and I held my breath, and I feared and I worried. When everyone told me she looked great, she was doing great, she was better than great, I still feared and I still worried. But that voice inside my head told me everything is going to be OK. I just didn't want to really listen to that voice.

As of today, I actually believe everything is going to be OK. I still held some nerves going into this assessment, even after being reassured last Friday from Ava's pediatrician that she looks great, and that she will have no issues. Still, the glass-half-empty person that I am had anxiety about this appointment. Ava had no hesitation proving the miracle that she is. She was textbook perfect. She did everything that was expected of her and more. The Dr. and nurse repeated what so many had before, they couldn't believe she was born at 27 weeks. Leaving the appointment, I felt such relief. I know how lucky I really am (we all really are). I know how much worse it all could have been.

It's a head game, this baby making stuff. If you are one of the unlucky ones to have experienced a miscarriage or fertility issues, it's a constant battle of positive over negative thoughts. "I just want to be able to get pregnant" turns into "I just want to make it past the first trimester" and then graduates into "I just want to make it to 24 weeks" and if you are lucky to have that then you can pray that the baby has 10 fingers and 10 toes, is born healthy, you know...all that normal parental worry stuff. And the kicker is, it's just the beginning of worry. You don't really understand what worry is until that baby is now outside of your body and what little control you may have felt you held is now completely out of your control. With Ava, the stakes were higher, the worry was just plain harder. But I am starting to put that all behind me now. It's such a burden, this constant worry. It turns your hair gray, adds wrinkles, makes your muscles and head ache and your back stiff. And it's hard to let go of. It's not something you want to define you. You have to work to tamper it out. I'm working hard. Today boosted my resolve to another level. Maybe that other shoe doesn't have to drop. Maybe it's OK to feel like things are going to be just fine.