October, 1997
“Happy Birthday Anna Faith!” I plant a kiss in her baby fine hair, as she smears through the icing on her cupcakes. I quickly grab the candles, before she tries to eat them too.
“Mama?” Jake asks. “Can I have another cupcake?” He’s already on his toes, reaching for the tray. I can’t believe he can reach the counter; but then again, he will be five next month. Time has moved so fast. Will is in third grade!
Sometime later, as my husband Matt wipes the icing off of Anna’s face and I’m curled up in a chair, having the last cupcake before cleaning the pan, I have to pause and think of these past two years.
Chocolate crumbles in my mouth. The kids helped make these and it was fun. It doesn’t really matter that there are icing smears to kingdom come and the cake is a little dry. All of us made them together: even Anna helped.
Anna…Anna Faith. I close my eyes and tilt my head back. The day she was born has been stuck in my head all day, replaying like a movie. I can’t wait to tell her that story. If I can. No. My headvoice screams at me. Today is her birthday. We’re not going there.
But the truth is, I’m more than grateful for this birthday. I want her to see many, many more. At this rate, I’m not sure if she will.
It started with a cold, a stupid little cold. She was five months old and after a couple days of some extra TLC, she was fine. But then she got an ear infection, another cold, a random fever, a sinus infection. She was tired all the time, and started to get one infection after another. At ten months, she landed herself in the hospital for a week with pneumonia. Her first birthday was uneventful, but within a month, she was back in the hospital with another case of pneumonia.
She cannot walk. That is my biggest worry. She was okay until she started getting sick, crawling at seven months. Then she stood up late, just before her first birthday. She’s lost weight, she coughs all night, her fine-motor skills are crap, and she is twenty-four months old and she can’t walk. It’s heartbreaking to go to the park and see kids younger than her running laps, while all she can do it crawl and waddle and cruise. She does those like a pro, but still can’t walk. Test after test, her pediatrician can’t find a cause for such severe delays. Physical and occupational therapy twice a week are helping, but he doesn’t seem concerned about it. I am.
I’m broken from my thoughts with a light touch on my shoulder. Matt gives me a sad, empathetic smile and slides Anna into my lap. I run my hands through her silky hair. It’s so soft and brown; so perfect.
“You have such pretty hair, Anna Banana.” I tell her, taking her hands. Her rough grasp has developed a dangerous habit of reaching for my earrings.
“Mama.” She says, her dark blue eyes shining. “It my birday.”
“Yup that’s right.” I smile. “How old are you?”
“One, two.” She holds up two fingers. I know that’s about all she can do with her fingers, though. But I can’t be sad anymore…it’s impossible to be sad with a beautiful baby in your lap.
“How are you princess?”I poke her round tummy and she giggles. “Full of cupcakes?” I poke her again, feeling for cupcakes. She giggles again and I hug her tight. “Feels like you’re pretty full.”
“I blowed out my candles.” She reports.
“Two candles for my two year old.”
She giggles. I tickle her, because I want her to keep laughing. I want just that little giggle as she races around. But she stops to catch her breath, and starts to cough. Damn. No such luck yet.
