giving credit where credit is due.

i feel i have gleaned a lot of unnecessary credit for these last two plus weeks.
let me try to explain.
many people have praised me for my strength.
others have expressed sorrow for my suffering.

i don't feel like a particularly strong person. i take each day as it comes with an attitude of choice. if i choose to lie around and feel sorry for myself and "milk" this, what good does it do me? what good does it do my family? what good does it do my baby girl? the only other choice is to face each day head on and do everything i can to get better.
each day is one step closer to complete recovery.
each day is one step closer to baby girl arriving.
each day is a gift.
that may seem cliche, but there has never been a truer truth for me.
so that being the case, why on earth would i think it's okay to mope along and whine about the situation i'm in?

which brings me to suffering.
i will not lie - the whole thing sucks.
but each person's suffering is different from the next.
each person's hell is different than their neighbor's.
this is not my hell.
my baby is moving - even now. this is a miracle.
i am wiggling the toes on my right foot and bending my right knee less than two weeks post-op. this is a miracle.
i am held up by more hands than i can count. this is a miracle.
i have discovered people in my life that before i had never considered. this is a miracle.

i am happy that my words have reached others.
it is every "writer's" dream to touch one person with their words and based on the feedback i have received in the last few weeks, i think i've succeeded in that.
this makes me happy.
this pushes me forward.

but i can't take the credit for any of it.

my husband is to blame for never leaving the hospital, cookies and cream ice cream, playing uno with me when i felt the lowest and telling me every day i'm still the cutest girl he knows.
my parents are to blame for getting up with me in the middle of the night to use the restroom and fetching me coffee at 6:30 every morning to go with my cinnamon toast.
my sister is to blame for supplying me with smut and terrible music.
my co-workers/friends are to blame for the mountains of coloring books, magazines and chocolate in addition to daily e-mails about absolutely nothing.
my dogs are to blame for curling up next to the recliner or my bed and keeping watch.
my baby girl is to blame for surfing my bladder and reminding me she's on her way.
the church is to blame for the prayers they lift up every sunday morning.

you see - it is you, the reader that has carried me this far.
any strength i may possess or suffering i have overcome has more to do with each of you than it does with me.
i'm just a pregnant girl with a broken leg.

"Never to suffer would never to have been blessed." - Edgar Allan Poe

today was a heavy post.
i'll make the next one lighter.
go well.