OK, I'm not actually going to break out into prose. But today is my firstborn's birthday, and that marks the anniversary of a miracle.
My Andrew arrived much before he should have. He tipped the scales at a whopping 2 pounds, 13 ounces when he was born. Preemie clothes and diapers were too large. Luckily, his lungs were in good shape, so he was off a respirator and breathing room air within 36 hours. He had few health issues--mainly he just needed to grow. He spent the first 8+ weeks in the neonatal intensive care unit at Toledo Hospital. He was up to 4.5 pounds when he came home. (Once home, he thrived, and by the time he was about 4 months old, he was actually almost caught up).
He and I had several excellent adventures way back when. We journeyed out to the east coast one summer and spent a few days with my aunt and uncle. I had no radio in my car at that point, so we spent the 12 hour drive each way singing goofy songs and talking about nonsense. He turned into an excellent traveller--he's been in 43 or 44 states. The missing ones? Hawaii, Alaska, Colorado, Mississippi, Louisiana, Delaware (and maybe North Carolina).
Being a preemie didn't hold him back. He was an outstanding student through his elementary years. Actually, he was a good student all the way through college. He'll be going back next term to become a social studies teacher.
Andrew is busy planning his wedding to Brooke next summer. That, for me, is kind of scary since it means I'm getting old (plus I have to squeeze into a mother of the groom dress-ugh).
Happy birthday Drewser. Thunder, Thunder, Thundercats. Ho.