I had a boring OB appointment today—ya know, just pee in a cup, get weighed, have my blood pressure taken and fundal height measured—and when the nurse, Maria (she must work every single day, because I've never had a different nurse), was taking my blood pressure, we chatted about how amazing it is that I'm already over 31 weeks along and how far we've come on this crazy journey. She told me that time is going to fly from here on out, and I'll be holding my miracle before I know it.
Then, she said, "I'll never forget you, you know. I've been doing this for a very long time, and there's just a handful of people I know I'll always remember. You and your sweet husband are two of them."
She went on to tell me that she often thinks of Danny crying all those months ago, and how she was so touched by his compassion—and that she remembers thinking, "What a lucky lady to have a husband like that. And what a lucky baby."
I didn't ask her which baby she was referring to—or whether she meant the time we cried hysterically because our second baby's heart had stopped, or if she meant the time we cried tears of joy upon hearing Guido's heartbeat for the first time. She was there both of those times.
It didn't matter, I guess, because she was right either way: Guido's lucky beyond comprehension—and so was our second baby, because she may not have been with us long, but dammit, her daddy loved her.
And I know I don't even have to try to explain to you how lucky I am.