I had a casual 1:1 catch-up with one of my colleague friends over Zoom today, and I finally told her that I was pregnant. We talked about the female body in general and how resilient and amazing it is, and she revealed to me that although she’s never had a baby herself, she always marvels at mothers and pregnant women for going through the pregnancy and birth process because of how beautiful she thinks it is… particularly because in her own case, she was born at 27 weeks gestational age and had to stay in the NICU for almost three months before being allowed to go home.
I was so shocked that I could barely contain myself. My colleague is two years older than me, which means that science and hospitals were equipped to keep her alive and healthy in 1984 at a super premature stage. TWENTY SEVEN WEEKS? I thought to myself. That’s just over six months of pregnancy!!!!! What a miracle baby she was, I told her. I don’t think I can look at her the same way ever again. And now, she’s a 37-year old woman who is accomplished, extremely smart, and so thoughtful. Thank goodness she not only survived but thrived. She told me that the hospital filled her up with so much formula in her three-month stay that she was super fat when she finally went home, and no one could tell that she was originally born so premature!