Happy Birthday Adam!

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!

Published in: on March 8, 2014 at 2:20 pm  Comments (35)  
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Life is Not Pure Bliss-But Surviving Is

Happy Birthday

Happy Birthday (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I find I cannot do this post justice today as there are so many emotions that bubble to the surface, but I still felt I had to commemorate the day:

Twenty-seven years ago today I welcomed my first-born son into the world. Welcomed though is such a calm and happy word and in this context it does not tell the whole story.

Adam was born 11 weeks prematurely. He was obviously in a rush to come into this world, but in his rush, I did not get to hold him for at least a month after he was born. I visited him in the NICU (Neonatal Intensive Care Unit) for those four weeks, and was only able to touch him through the holes of his incubator. And then it was only to brush a finger along his tiny arm, or touch his leg ever so lightly. I decorated his incubator with cards and cut-outs and little stuffed animals.  My mom knit him the tiniest of hats and booties to wear with his cut in half diaper (whole diapers were huge for his 2 pound 5 ½ ounce little body).

So many memories—some frightening, some wonderful—but the end result is that today he is a healthy thriving 27 years old. A basketball player, a musician, a reader, a boyfriend to a lovely girl/woman, a man with so much potential—and it is potential he will reach and surpass.

Of course, I am his mother, and I am proud of him. I remember the journey to get here—and though life is not pure bliss—having survived and come through to tell this happy story today is.