Are eight cookies enough?

It's been another year. And when I woke up this morning I wondered if I should recognize this eighth year, or if I should just go about my day like it's any other day. And I tried that. I did all the things parents do before 7 AM, shower and tea and lunchboxes and breakfasts and wiping noses and sidestepping and distracting and potty and ponytails and singing and finding shoes and getting more breakfast and dancing and coats and hats and mittens and keys and kisses and waving and, finally, coffee.

But it's not just any other day. I kept thinking about it. This day literally would not have happened if January 30, 2009 hadn't happened. I don't know where I would be if my MVD hadn't been successful. I don't know who I would be. I certainly wouldn't be doing all of that before 7 AM. Not even close. I wouldn't have my babies. I wouldn't be wiping my own nose, much less theirs. Would I even be getting up to go to work? Would I be sleeping in a bed? Would Chad be tired of taking care of me? Would I be able to shower? Would I still be pretending that my tears were simply watery eyes in the wind? Where would my pain have progressed to, 8 years later? I would not be dancing. I would not be singing. I know I would have forged ahead. I just don't know how.

I don't ask those questions very often, or even at all, anymore. I sometimes wonder if there are any new studies on post-MVD patients, on how long their pain-free lives last, but then I think I probably wouldn't read them. I can't live that way. If there is anything I learned 8 years ago today, it is that every day is a gift. And yes, each Nerversary is worth noting and celebrating. And singing about.

Here is Grace, with "Sing"

Happy 8th Nerversary.