Microcephaly does not define my daughter, nor does it define our lives.
Microcephaly is a diagnosis, a written word.
I had a choice to make, I could let that word consume my world or I could take my daughter and push her to be everything that I was told she never would be.
I cuddled her in my arms, kissed her little cheek and never looked back:
I thought I just would have had to teach my children about the world.
It turned out I have to teach the world about my children and what true love means.
I have to teach this world about the stigma of Microcephaly.
I have to teach this world about my daughter, with a heart so full of love, about the pure joy of her laughter, how she has little arms that give the tightest hugs.
I have to teach this world that a baby who some saw as imperfect, is the closest thing to perfection, with the smile of an angel and a heart of gold.
I have to teach this world about how she started out with the odds against her and how it is necessary to move forward even in the darkest hours.
I have to teach this world that the life we live is priceless and the experiences we have are cherished.