It does not seem like only yesterday. It seems like its full twenty-eight years ago when my eldest son came into the world almost three months ahead of his scheduled due date. Two pounds five and a half ounces. That half ounce was very important. No one knows why Adam wanted to come into the world earlier than his due date in June—but the little imp certainly made his mark.
He was so tiny in his closed incubator, which was his home for about six weeks. He was born an airplane ride away in a hospital two hours from our little town, and then transferred to a hospital a little closer to home after about three weeks. He came home on Mother’s Day in 1986 at the prescribed weight of five pounds.
He is smart and talented and athletic. He did not suffer from his early birth and today is a rock star (to me, and perhaps someday in reality). I have been made richer by his presence in my life—he is friendly and generous and, like his mom, he is a voracious reader.
I could go on and on and on, but suffice to say: Happy Birthday Adam! You are much loved!