small miracles.

there are moments, small brief wrinkles in this thing we call time, where one realizes they are witnessing something miraculous.  the moment a child is born.  looking back on something that very easily could've ended tragically, but didn't.
some pray for large miracles.  healing.  reconciliation with someone, that seems impossible.  conception to happen after a long stretch of infertility.  we sit at the foot of God and ask for the things we want.  often, we ask over and over in hopes that if we just repeat ourselves enough, we will be heard.  it's very similar to how my four year old interacts with me some days.
i don't often ask for huge miracles.  i have before.  and like many others, i can look back at events, things that line up, even walking out of the hospital last may with an alive little, and know that i experienced a miracle.  but, for the most part, my request are small and infrequent.
except one.  every day.  sometimes more than once in a day.  i ask.  i ask in the morning.  i sneak in after my girls are sleeping and ask at night.  i will keep asking, over and over until i get a yes.  because i want this for my little.
Jesus, please heal my little's inability to eat by mouth.  i just want this one thing for her.  i can handle deaf.  i can handle seizures.  but, i really want her to be able to eat.'
for most people, the process of eating starts with learning to breathe, suck, swallow.  shilo did that.  and then she couldn't anymore.  and if you forget how to do that, your body has a harder time with those next steps because they build on the first.
and a few nights ago, as i was rocking a little, she was sucking her tongue.  we have noticed this occasionally, and know that she did it a long time ago, before our tragic months where she lost the ability.  and when i hear it, my heart quickens, and i hold my breath.  'could this be something?  could she be relearning to suck?'  and then the next time i try to feed her nothing has changed.  i am unsure what any of it means, but because i've gotten good at being long suffering, i choose to hope.
and for the last four nights, i have tried something as she is drifting off to sleep.  something, that if she does it, would bring about hope in a bigger way.   something, that for so many parents might feel like an annoying habit to break, but to us, it is nothing short of a miracle, albeit small.
there is some chewing.  some playing, but as her eyes get heavier and heavier, i hear a sound.  a sort of smacking that can only be made by doing one thing.  sucking.  on a paci.

small miracle indeed.