Preemie poems

~How Preemie Moms Are Chosen~*~
(Erma Bombeck)

Did you ever wonder how the mothers of premature babies are chosen?
Somehow, I visualize God hovering over Earth, selecting his
instruments for propagation with great care and deliberation. As he
observes, he instructs his angels to take notes in a giant ledger.
“Armstrong, Beth, son. Patron Saint, Matthew.
Forrest, Marjorie, daughter. Patron Saint, Celia.
Rutledge, Carrie, twins. Patron Saint…give her Gerard. He’s used to
profanity.”
Finally, he passes a name to an angel and smiles.
“Give her a preemie.” The angel is curious. “Why this one, God?
She’s so happy.”
“Exactly,” smiles God.
“Could I give a premature baby a mother who knows no laughter? That
would be cruel.”
“But does she have the patience?” asks the angel.
“I don’t want her to have too much patience, or she’ll drown in a sea
of self-pity and despair.
Once the shock and resentment wear off, she’ll handle it.
I watched her today. She has that sense of self and independence so
rare and so necessary in a mother.
You see, the child I’m going to give her has a world of its own.
She has to make it live in her world, and that’s not going to be easy.”
“But Lord, I don’t think she even believes in you.”
God smiles. “No matter, I can fix that. This one is perfect She has
just the right amount of selfishness.”
The angel gasps, “Selfishness?! Is that a virtue?”
God nods. “If she can’t separate herself from the child occasionally,
she will never survive.
Yes, here is a woman whom I will bless with a child less than perfect.
She doesn’t know it yet, but she is to be envied.
She will never take for granted a spoken word.
She will never consider a step ordinary.
When her child says momma for the first time,
she will be witness to a miracle and know it.
I will permit her to see clearly the things I see–
ignorance, cruelty, prejudice–
and allow her to rise above them.
She will never be alone.
I will be at her side every minute of every day of her life
because she is doing my work as surely as she is here by my side.”
“And what about her Patron Saint?” asks the angel, his pen poised in
the air.
God smiles. “A mirror will suffice.

___________________________________________________________

It’s the little things that make life worth living,

It’s the little things that help us make it through.

I never knew how true those words were,

Until I first set my eyes on you.

 

I feared because it was too early;

I cried because it was too soon.

Yet I underestimated

The strength in one as small as you.

 

You were born a fighter, a warrior;

You would not quit nor move on.

You strove, you fought, you tried,

Until your battle was won.

 

When hope might have faded,

When the trial seemed too great,

A tiny child, despite the odds,

Fought what was thought fate.

 

And a little baby triumphed,

A baby thought too small to live,

A baby knew that life

Is the most precious thing to give.

 

–Ashley Rae Barnes

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