If everything had gone to plan, then on this day three years ago, I would have been giving birth for the first time. Well, OK, I guess I probably wouldn’t have, because hardly anyone actually delivers on their due date — and I was pregnant with twins, so I’m pretty sure delivering on your exact 40-week due date probably has the same odds as winning the Powerball or something. But every year, my due date anniversary creeps up on me, reminding me of everything I missed out on when my twins were born three months premature. This year, in a twist of incredibly bad timing, the twins’ yearly developmental check-up was scheduled for the same miserable week as the dreaded Due Date Day.
As we made our way to the clinic, I couldn’t help but think that we’d dodged all the scary preemie bullets. Madeleine and Reid were doing so well, so much better than expected, that appointments like these were starting to feel redundant and unnecessary. I smugly explained to the doctor how miraculously perfect my children were, how lucky we’d gotten, and couldn’t possibly imagine that the doctor could disagree. Which was probably why I was completely unprepared when what she actually said was that my daughter has cerebral palsy.