關於 17 weeks old baby in months ，我們在網路上蒐集到這些相關的討論、資訊與評價

To my daughter Fatimah,
It’s hard to believe you will be 7 years old today. I don’t want you to grow up. I want you to be my little princess forever. The day you were born seems like yesterday. I cried again like a baby. You were beautiful and innocent. I remember holding you for the first time, your eyes were looking at me full of love and I was looking at your mother’s eyes falling deeper in love with her.

Your mother and I have been waiting for this moment for 7 years and we knew we were lucky and blessed. We prayed for you everyday for 9 months and we haven’t stopped since. And my dream came true, I became a father again, this time to a little girl!! What more can I ask. Because of you, I loved your mother 10 times more than what I thought was possible. I can’t thank her enough for what she’s been through, carrying you for 9 months and delivering you to this world.

I learned more about fatherhood when we had you. You taught me time is the most important thing and being present when you first explored the world was the most precious joy of being a father. Those first weeks with you at home were challenging but exciting. Being a father to a little baby again wasn’t easy.

Seeing you develop and grow in front of me made me proud. I was there when you cried because you were scared of the dark, hearing your first laugh, watching your first step, losing your first tooth, and I won’t forget our first cooking video together - “jeput pisey”. I was proud of all your achievements in school, the good manners and your way with your siblings. When your Mamajee passed, you were at your lowest, and I was there to soothe your tears. My heart burst with pride when you came back stronger from these moments.

So, happy birthday my sweetheart Fatimah. May Allah bless you and protect you from the evil eye. Know this, from the bottom of my heart, I love you!! ♥️ I would climb and shout this from the mountain top near our home, but I’m afraid of heights, “gayat gitu”.

Luv,
Mr Dad
#WrittenByMrDad

p/s: My cupcake Fatimah, you have a miracle birthday this year because it started to snow again literally when I started writing this to you...
#FatimahOmarMukhlis
#MiracleNumber2

6.🤱My Baby #1

Two weeks after my C-section, I returned to the hospital for yet another spine surgery.

After spending three weeks in the hospital, I was finally let go and be the Mother that I have longed to be. Due to the lack of balance and strength of my limbs, I couldn’t bathe Andrew or hold him while I limped on. Other than that, I did everything myself.
The first six months that I got home, my legs were improving, I could even walk, unsteadily, on my own.

Without any doubt, Andrew was the only motivation that I got out of the bed each morning.

He slept overnight when he was three months old. Each morning, I was waken up by his coos and jibbers from the monitor. I washed up and swung to his room with my cane. “Good morning, baby,” I would always say. Andrew kicked his legs and waved his arms in excitement when he heard my voice. I then, steadied my step, held him up and put him on the bed next to the crib cautiously. I changed him, cleaned him and fed him. Then it was our reading and playing time. When the weather was good, his stroller would be my walker, we strolled around our condo, and enjoyed the sunshine.
On the weekends, daddy would take us out for a meal or just to saunter in the parks or malls.

He ate and slept well; he was all smiles and cuddly; he was a healthy baby. This is a miracle come true, no, it was beyond miracle! He was an angel.

My son was my wish-come-true. He made me a mom. His smiles and coos were my boosts every waking morning. I cherished every minute, every second with him. I was bathed in the happiness of motherhood.

Until fate took another twist.

When Andrew was seven months old, I was back to the hospital again.
Andrew was once again, deserted by his mother. I monitored Andrew with cameras in the house. When he was awake, I watched helplessly; when he took a nap, I napped. As if I had an alarm clock built in me, I woke up every night, every 2 hours to check on him.

On the first night, without mommy sitting by his crib, he tossed and turned from 9pm till 1am. Nothing the nanny did could make him sleep. I finally called back home, asked the nanny to put on speaker phone. I whispered, "Andrew, Mommy is here, sleep sleep now." Then I sang the goodnight song that I made up for him. Before the song was over, he was fast asleep.
I hung up the phone.
My pillow was drenched in tears. My heart was torn to pieces.

After that, I was in and out of the hospital every two to three months. I was never fully recovered, before the next surgery. When all the tubes were pulled out, I requested to go home. My surgeon would always ask me in sincere concern, “Are you sure you are going to do this again?”

I nodded in silence, my tears dropped on my laps. He wanted to persuade me not to torture myself anymore.
“If going through all this would only give me one day standing, I will still do it!”

I was right from the start, I wouldn’t make a good mother. There were no comforting words, there was no way I could let my self go. In my shattered heart, there were too many pieces missing.

Among all the surgeons and doctors that we’ve consulted, the answer were all the same, the tumor was more stubborn than I was, and there was no way to get rid out it. It will haunt you and torment you like a nightmare. A nightmare you will never wake up from.

2015, June I was destined to my wheel chair. That was my 16th surgery.

My world was crushed all over again.