a letter to my twin daughter

Sweet little Zaria,

This letter could almost be a book as I want to fill it and savor every small moment of your life.
I loved being pregnant with you, so excited and looking forward to your arrival:  holding you in my arms, watching you grow up with your brother and sister.
And then there were two, cuddled up inside of my womb; indeed these were exciting times.

On July 21 I felt so robbed.  You did not want to come out yet, but they opened me up, carefully took you out and whisked you down the hall to your new home.  Really you looked so alien to me that first day or two, surrounded by all the equipment and numbers and your nurse and care team.  I was still in such shock and seeing you so little and alone in your bed didn't help ease that shock.
I now have to look back at pictures to remember what you looked like and how small you were during those days in July.
And then the background fell away.  Not that I didn't pay attention to your machines and monitors and hear the chattering of the nurses but You, I so loved You!  Each time I approached the outer security doors of NICU the rest of life would leave my thoughts and an excitement of seeing you would build.  As I stood meticulously scrubbing my hands and arms and nails I would crane my neck and strain my eyes to catch my first glimpse of you.
Then there was the check in with the nurse to see what was the latest on your little body's happenings.  Eventually, many times I could then relax into my chair at your bedside and stare at you in your isolette.  I called to you and let you know I was there and loving you again that day.  The hours would mount and it would be so hard to tear myself away from your bedside.  I couldn't ever leave (even to go down the hall to pump or eat) until I was satisfied that you were doing O.K.  The only good thing about leaving you was that I could go see your brother and sister and bide my time until I knew your Papa would be with you and sharing his magic.