How are you, Miguelito?
How are you, Miguelito? Are you clapping and dancing like the last time we saw you? Can you chatter away or sing a little tune? Are you eating well? Have you grown? Does your mama's heart fill with joy every time she casts a glance your way? Oh, Miguelito...it would be so good to hold you and to give you a squeeze, and to remind you that you are a miracle. You came to us before your first birthday. You were too small. You could not hold up your own head. Other little ones your age could sit and pull themselves up and babble. You were too weak. The cleft in your palate made it impossible for you to keep the milk from spilling out from your nose and face. The little trickles of nourishment which made it into your tummy had kept you alive -- just barely. Your mama prayed and willed you to live, and she brought you to us hoping for a miracle. The doctors had said you were too little and too weak for surgery. Without the surgery you would not survive. Dr. Z stroked your lit