When Aaron was born via emergency c-section at 28 weeks, each hour, each moment, each second that he survived and thrived in the NICU was a miracle. Every day, we held his tiny fingers and gazed at his tiny toes behind the heavy plastic walls of the isolette. We counted the days until he could come home and join the family, while simultaneously being scared to death about taking care of his tiny, fragile body without the ever-present monitors beeping through the night and the dim computer lights casting a glow over the tiny room that was his home for his seven week NICU stay. When he finally did come home, Josh and I rotated shifts through the nights, making sure he was still breathing, still moving, or simply fighting our own sleep to tend to the tiny cries from a five pound body as he suffered through gastric reflux and colic and a bout of bronchiolitis within the first few months of his homecoming. The nights were long and tiring. We argued and we cried and we had more love in our hearts for our tiny fighter than we even knew what to do with.
At some point we blinked, and our tiny little NICU graduate is now an energetic almost 18-month old. Full of energy, full of spunk, more tiring than ever but more loved than he could ever know.
One and a half is rambunctious.
One and a half is mommy and daddy trying to reach into a tiny mouth full of razor sharp baby teeth to make sure whatever he’s munching on is safe for human consumption, or at the very least incapable of choking him.
One and a half is laughing at toots.
One and a half is making sure the dog gets extra portions each night as mountains of spaghetti noodles and carrots go flying by the handful over the edge of the high chair.
One and a half is strong-willed.
One and a half is thinking sissy is the funniest person in the world, especially while she’s playing Just Dance on the Nintendo Switch.
One and a half is curious in the most wonderful way.
One and a half is learning to find his voice in a loud and sometimes overwhelming world.
One and a half is loving daddy more on Tuesday, but crying for mommy on Wednesday.
One and a half is funny.
One and a half is making sure anything within an arm’s reach finds its way to floor level, including shoes, remote controls, DVDs, and diapers.
One and a half is sharing toys, only to want them back immediately.
One and a half is splashing and kicking in the tub with a look of fascination in his eyes as he smiles up at mommy.
One and a half is sippy cups during the day but one last bottle at night while falling asleep in mommy’s arms in great-grandma’s old rocking chair.
Two will be fun. Four may be better.
But I know one thing…I’m going to miss one and a half.