There are lots of different phases of time that, when I was in them, seemed endless; 15 days, our honeymoon. 3 years, how long we dated before Jamie proposed. 10 weeks, when we publicly announced that we were pregnant. 3.5 minutes, the length of Max's time outs these days.
91 days. The time between the day Max was born and the day he came home from the hospital.
Born 12 weeks early, weighing just 2 lbs. 4.8 oz and 14.5″ long, my body was unable to sustain him any more and reacted violently, when I had a stroke while sitting at my desk at work, and very nearly died.
91 days, not knowing if we would be one of the “lucky” ones, or if our sweet baby boy, this loved and wanted boy, would ever come home to the bedroom we'd prepared for him, to the home we'd made, waiting for our son.
November 17 is Prematurity Awareness Day, and I am sure to take a moment to give thanks for all of these miracle babies, born too soon. I also want to stop and send up a prayer, for the babies and mamas and daddies who are still fighting this battle. It's a tough road, that of a NICU parent. So please, if you have a moment, say a prayer, send a thought, or just positive vibes to these babies born too soon.