Happy Birthday, Annie.

She's 4. And for the first time, I didn't wait up terrified and unhappy because of what I did to her 4 years ago by not being able to stop a delivery that was 10 weeks to soon. I know, it's not my fault. Blame the uterus, not the Mother. Man, it's tough to be a uterus. But, every year, I have, in all honesty, hated this day. It represented my greatest failure as a mother, not my greatest joy. Today, is different. She is four. She has this face that lights up a room, a laugh that bubbles over and infects everyone around her, she loved princesses and pink. She is healthy. She is my joy. Today, joy has trumped sorrow, disappointment, and fear. She is truly the stronger of the two of us. Her strength has finally won out over what I saw to be my failure. I am so grateful for her in our lives. Annie will always be feisty little Annie. She has fought harder and overcome more obstacles then I could ever imagine. Today, she goes to school, stomps her feet, and runs around with all the big kids. She is growing and her need for therapy is abating. The girl who couldn't be plotted on the growth charts is now in the 75%. The girl whose developmental delays were the topic of every conversation reads, runs, and shouts at me from two stories away (that takes breath support, folks). What a gift. What a shame that it took me 4 years to realize what Annie has always known. Who the hell cares what day she was born? The fact is, she's here.