My Baby

It’s my Mackenzie’s 8th birthday today.  It’s hard for me to even say that because she’s supposed to still be my little one, the baby.  I suppose every mom feels that way about her youngest.

I hadn’t intended for her to be my last baby.  When we found out I’d have to have a c-section delivery with her we were given the option of having my tubes tied at the same time and I said no.  I was 27 years old and I just wasn’t ready to say I was done.  I came from a big family and I thought I’d have at least 3 of my own.

After she was born I dealt with a variety of issues in my recovery from the c-section from blood clots to infections.  My thyroid began failing and I ended up hospitalized and scared.  I experienced debilitating postpartum depression that was later re-diagnosed as another, more long-term mental illness.  I was told by more than one doctor that 2 was a fine number of children, and that any more would be ill-advised.

Mackenzie is adorable and tiny and I can still pick her up, even though she’s too old for me to do that.  I still find myself babying her far more than I should but I’m trying to get better about it.  She’s fun and good-natured and makes me laugh more than anyone else I know.  Her uniqueness is a gift and while I’m not ready for her to grow up, in many ways I can’t wait to see who she will become.

God has something big in store for her, and I am grateful every day for my place in her life.

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