Time.

28 weeks. It seemed so far away when I was dilated and had the emergency surgery at 21 weeks, just 2 months ago. I thought it'd be a miracle if we made it to 24 weeks, much less 28 weeks. This morning I woke up - happy and ecstatic that my cervix had been doing well - and that we'd made it to this huge milestone. I feel like a weight has been lifted from my shoulders, a sack of worry that had been slung across me that I bore without ever noticing how heavy it actually was until it had been lifted.

I went for my regular checkup at the doctor's office today. And, again, was surprised at how much things can change in just a week. You'd think I'd have gotten used to being surprised by my cervix by now. I guess I don't learn very quickly that things could be going along just fine and all of a sudden there's a change - one tiny little thing is different, and your whole perspective on life shifts. One second I'm worried about if the doctor will let me begin exercising, and the next I'm left wondering if I'll go into labor tomorrow.

Today we saw that the only thing keeping our son from arriving now are the stitches. That's it. Just a couple tiny strings stand in the way of a preterm birth and months of visiting our son in the NICU unit. Nobody knows what will happen. The doctor tells me I am a unique patient - that pregnant women usually have signs of labor if they have an incompetent cervix like mine. Luckily, I've had no signs of labor thus far, and pray that this will continue to be the case for many more weeks. And I pray that the stitches will hold.

The doctor is giving me medicine that may or may not help my cervix to lengthen again, which would put less pressure on the stitches and hopefully buy us more time. The studies done on the medicine have inconclusive results, but it's our only option, and we have nothing to lose.

Time is a funny thing. It flies, so fast that you might be left dizzy or confused. But when you really want it to fly, when you want nothing more in the world than be 36 weeks along with all this worry and stress and confusion behind you, time stops and slows to a crawl. Everyday I'm thankful that our son is still with me, but I always find myself wanting more - more time with him in my belly, more time for him to develop, more time feeling his punches and kicks and rolls. I feel as if we're already running on borrowed time, and find myself reflecting on the completely different path our lives would've taken if our son was born at 21 weeks or if the surgery had failed. I savor each day of this borrowed time we've been given to let our son mature and develop - would it be so wrong to ask for just a little more?

For now, I have faith and I pray that the medicine buys us just a little more of this precious time.