My Brave Little Cupcake.

As I was getting out of the shower this morning, I heard a sweet little voice at the bathroom door. “Mommy, are you in dear?” My eyes welled up. I immediately answered her in order to calm her fears that I might have disappeared from the earth and let her know that I just needed a second. She said, “Okay, Mommy,” again with the most heartbreaking tone in her voice. She was just fine to stand there and wait. I, on the other hand, was overwhelmed. Not because something was wrong, but because she was totally fine.

One year ago this amazing little being was overcoming her fourth kidney infection within 6 months, and I was mentally preparing myself for her up-coming surgery. I was told she HAD to have the surgery in order to “make it.” So every day we prayed that the infection wouldn’t come back. She was down to miniscule kidney function and although her little spirit was never tainted, her body was definitely broken. And my world was shattering.

One day as I cried, my mother looked at me and said, “You will look back on this day when she is 16 years old and remember how much you prayed for her to walk and talk.” It was a much-needed sentiment. Those days were hard. I jumped at every sound I heard in the middle of the night. I studied her cries, her appetite, her diapers, her disposition with the precision of an X-Acto knife. I knew every detail of her day, and not because I am one of those moms that writes everything down. Because her life depended on it. Luckily at 12 months my daughter had bilateral re-implantation surgery and within days she was a different child. She was cured. But I was still a mess. How could this have all happened? Four hospital stays. Seven ER visits in the middle of the night. Endless nights alone holding her in her hospital room hoping she takes a turn for the better before the morning comes. Wishing I could trade places with her. But noticing every time she was sick that she was 10 times braver than I’d ever be. She never stopped smiling or trying to make me laugh. She was amazing.

Now, exactly a year later, she was standing at my bathroom door. She was walking. She was talking. She had no recollection of anything that happened. And she is perfectly healthy with a disposition as yummy as a pink frosted cupcake. It was truly over. In that moment…on this morning…for the first time…I knew…she was fine. And so I cried, wiped my tears, opened the door and turned on Dora the Explorer. “Mommy, are you otay?” she said. My response: “Never been better.”