Happy Birthday Licia!

My Licia, you were born one year ago. It was a Monday and your mama was bleeding in the hospital. You were inside me and my body was trying desperately to kick you out. I was scared, so I called your daddy and he came to the hospital. The doctor said that you needed to come out right away. I couldn't believe it. How could you possibly be safer outside of me? But it really had to happen. It could have been just a few more hours and we both would have died if you hadn't come out on that Monday. I think it was less than 20 minutes after the doctor made the decision that you came out into the cold air. Maybe 10 minutes? The doctor put me to sleep and sliced open my belly. He put his hands in and brought you out. He handed you to another doctor who brought you into the next room. They put a tube into your lungs to help you start breathing right away. Then they started putting lines into your belly button to give you medicines. Your daddy was there watching you. Before your mama woke up, you were ready to travel to Children's Hospital. Your pastor Doug came. He and Daddy jogged along with the doctors to the other hospital. Soon they had you in your new room.

I woke up two hours later. I wasn't thinking very well yet, but I could only think about you. I asked your daddy over and over, "Is she beautiful?" "How's Alicia?" "Is she okay?" "Is she beautiful?" I knew you would be beautiful, but I wanted to hear your daddy say it again and again. They wheeled me in my bed to come you. I couldn't even sit up yet and I could barely stay awake. We rolled into your room. You were in the middle on the right. Oh Alicia, you really were beautiful. You were all red like a new baby. You were sleeping on your back. The machine was breathing for you. I told you not to worry about anything. I told you that we would all help you do the things that your body wasn't ready to do yet. I told you just to relax and sleep. I told you that I was your mama. And that I was going to be your mama.

Oh Alicia, when you were born, you couldn't breathe on your own. You couldn't pee and poop by yourself. You couldn't eat. You didn't cry. You really could kick, though. Right now I'm watching you on your belly on the floor in front of me. You're playing with Toby's toys. You can do so many things. Today you ate lots of avocado. I put small pieces in your mouth and you chewed them and swallowed them. And just last week you started pooping really well all on your own. You haven't stopped breathing even once for a whole eight months now. You probably won't ever stop again.

You'll read this when you're ten and think that your mother is so silly and embarrassing. I wonder how much you'll be aware that we really didn't know if you were going to live. We really had no idea what your life would be like at age one. Some babies who started out like you can't hear. Some of them won't put anything at all in their mouths, not even their mama's milk. Lots of them never learned how to drink milk from their mamas. Some of them had bleeding in their brains and when they get older they'll have trouble learning or moving. Some of them can't see. Sometimes they need oxygen or a ventilator for a very long time.

I want you to know, my dear, that we would love you just the same if you had any of those problems. We would be just as proud of you. All babies are valuable people, no matter what kinds of issues they might have.

I love you Alicia Grace Fuller. I'm so glad that you lived. Thank you, my baby girl. Thank you for being my beautiful daughter.