My girl, my miracle

Last night was a rough night for my youngest. So I whispered, as I often do, that I love her. And I called her my little miracle.
Because that's what she is.
"Why?" she asked.
"Well, because," I answered. And again began the funny story of her birth.
You see, I thought I was pregnant. But the doctor said no.
And of course, in the end, she was born. Against a few odds.
The story makes her laugh. But it isn't what she wanted to hear.

"But why?" she insisted. Why indeed? Simply because. Because she lights up my days, because she makes me laugh, because she completes our family. Because she's her irreplaceable self. There are too many reasons to count. That doesn't satisfy her, either.

"Did you know you saved my life?" I finally say, and she sighs and snuggles close. If she hadn't been diagnosed with a nut allergy, the pediatrician would never have thought to look for allergies in her big sister. And if he hadn't put big sis on an allergen free diet, I wouldn't have noticed I felt better on one too. And then I never would have seen the allergist who told me my "panic attacks" sounded like anaphylactoid reactions.

More importantly, I'd never have spent a full day out and about at Disneyland. I'd never have spent hours at the park, and sitting through a 2 hour play would still be painful. The possibilities fill my mind and make me shiver. "You won't survive a year," echoes in my head. I keep those thoughts to myself. I wasn't living when I was sick, I was only surviving five minutes at a time.

"You saved me by teaching me how to save you," I tell her and she grins, and snuggles close and tells me she's my angel. And she is.