Then my third.
Three times, doctors warned me.
Three times, the world waited for tragedy.
Three times, I heard a newborn cry.
But every time everyone thought the real shock was my tiny body, the true shock was somewhere else.
I was not afraid of dying.
I was afraid that one day my children would think their mother had been too weak for them.
But that never happened.
I could not run with them. I could not lift them the way other mothers could. I could not promise that I would always be by their side.
But I could prove every day that love is sometimes stronger than the body.
And if my children ever ask me:
“Mom, why did you take that risk?”
I would say:
