I meant to write this on Saturday, but things got away from me. (I couldn’t find a baby picture.)
9 years ago on July 5th, 2005, I became a mommy for the very first time. When I found out I was pregnant, my first reaction was, “I hope my sister won’t hate me.” (Her and her husband had been trying for almost 2 years.)
I was past my due date, so I went in to be induced. After about 7ish hours of labor, the doctor tells me that her heartbeat was slowing down with every contraction, instead of speeding up like it should. He told me that he didn’t think she would last through the delivery and suggested a c-section.
I could feel the tears in my eyes. Not because I was scared of having a c-section, but because at that moment I felt as though I had already failed as a mother. My body was not able to have her the way it was supposed to. So I have failed. Once she was in this world, I stopped thinking that way. I had a beautiful 7lb 2oz baby girl. It didn’t matter to me how she got here. Just that she was here and she was healthy.
Now that tiny baby girl is a 55lb, 9 year old. She may drive me crazy at times, but I couldn’t imagine my life without my Monkey-Z. I love you, Mackenzie! Happy Birthday!
(She got tattoos for her birthday. She put ALL of them on her arms.)