Last night I remembered to be grateful

Last night I went to a function. An exhibition in fact. There amongst the beautiful canvases were some of the most, er “interesting” people that I have spoken to for quite a while.  People that I don’t know and will be unlikely to see ever again.

There was one woman in particular who took quite a fancy to me, I think that she could tell that I never run away from conversations with strangers. (I’m very polite like that.)  After she introduced herself to me – wait, she didn’t she just talked a lot and told me her life story, but she launched into a story about her grandson. And I have to say it was a very sad story – he’s only 8 years old and he has some awful medical conditions. I could name them and explain them in full detail like she did but I want to keep you here reading what I have to say.

The first million hours of her story centred around her grandson’s birth and the fact that he was in the special care nursery.  “The level that they don’t give babies much chance in” she said . The same level that my Little Pencil was in 11 years ago.

Maybe it is because she was really boring the hell out of me (she did mention her daughter’s farm at least once every 3 sentences) but my mind started to wander and of course it wondered to Little Pencil and the time that he spent in the special care nursery.

I know that I bang on about his prematurity and early years a lot, and I am well aware that he is so much more than his first year of life but God I am proud of him. And I don’t think I express my gratitude for the perfect person that he is often enough.
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He was just the size of my hand when he was born (and I don’t have particularly big hands).  A tiny, struggling little angel that wasn’t ready to come into the world. A baby that fought so hard and endured so much just to stay with us. A baby, that according to the thoughts of Ms Talk Till You Drop wasn’t expected to make it.

And last night as I listened to this lady ramble on I caught sight of him running around, making small talk with the adults and desperately trying to get his father to agree to let him drink Coke and I almost burst with pride. And gratitude.

He’s a feisty little boy, he talks NON STOP (but that’s a post for another day) and he is strong, intelligent, healthy and full of life.

He makes me proud every day of his life and I hope that when I bore people with his story I always remember to say how grateful I am for everything that he is.