Infinite love

April 17th of 2010 kind of disappeared in a blur for me. Between the pain, the fear, the drugs, and the euphoria, there are only a few outstanding moments that remain in my most reachable memory. And even those, I generally chose to overlook. When I think of Piper's birth, I immediately recall how I spent the night before, and how I felt the week after. Fortunately, I have been able to focus more on Piper's present than I have on her past. The PTSD still rears its ugly and violent head, and I didn't recognize its crafty form until this morning. I've been more sensitive and weepy than usual (I used to cry once a year, and now I'm brought to tears on a daily basis) but I haven't felt the anger or pain that I encountered last year. And I'm grateful for that.

St. Vincent's can breathe a sigh of relief as tomorrow we exceed the statute of limitations. Despite the advice of many, including those in the medical and legal fields, I simply could not bring myself to take action against them. Do I absolve them of their responsibility in the critical mistakes during Piper's birth? As my beloved girl Whitney said, Hell to the no. But I can't put any more energy and action into being angry and negative. I have come to peace with the way things transpired, and I hope that everyone understands that. If I ever see Sally Talbot in a public place, my foot might slip off of the brake and hit the accelerator (and I might accidentally put it in reverse and do it again) but I can't put myself or my family through the drama and turmoil of a law suit.

The last year, and the last 15 weeks in particular have taught me a great deal, which I won't fully go into tonight. I have been blessed and lucky to have such an amazing support system, especially since it sometimes comes from the most unexpected places. I have several close friends and coworkers who have gone out of their way to help me, two besties who would go to the ends of the earth for us, and an amazing husband who sacrifices so much to keep his ladies happy and cared for. I have an overwhelming number of people who have been following our countdown on Facebook, and as silly as it sounds, their attentiveness and “likes” have helped me get through nearly four months without ever truly being alone. So thank you.

As I got Piper ready for bed tonight, she kept asking me to read more books. At one point, I told her “Just one more, and then we're done.” I realized that I had no real reason for rushing her off to bed, other than my own selfishness. Okay, and my sanity, too. But mostly it was selfishness. And I immediately remembered those first twelve hours when I wasn't able or allowed to hold her. I then told her to get all the books that she wanted, and pulled her into my lap. I snuffled my nose into her crazy toddler hair and gave her furry-purry kisses on her big-girl head. I listened to her say the words that she knows from her books, savoring her voice, reminding myself how lucky I am to hear it. I recalled those first moments after they pulled her out of my belly, when she wasn't conscious or strong enough to cry. I admitted that the words “mine” and “no” are far better than the bone-chilling silence that followed her birth. I understand that every day I have with her is a gift.

Maybe that's what gets me through the toughest of times. You know, when Doug is gone and the dog has the poops and I tear my rotator cuff and Piper throws up for 24 hours and I have to be at work the next day. Perhaps my subconscious reminds me “It's all good, chica. It could be a lot worse. It could be just you and the dog.”

But I digress.

Tomorrow we wish our amazing, bright, funny, strong, goofy, beautiful girl a happy two years. Piper's earned each bite of cake, every single gift, all the kind wishes that come her way. She continues to amaze me with her infinite love, her capacity to explore, and her joy in simplicity. I hope that I can reciprocate the ridiculous amount of happiness that she brings to my life, and pass some of it on to all of you as well.