Sixteen years ago this morning I was preparing to leave the hospital after recovering from a scary bout of pre-term labor. An hour before they checked me out, the labor started up again and the doctor decided to let the baby come.
Six and a half weeks early.
At 5:14 pm on June 22, 1995, little Tesla came into the world. At 6lbs, 5.5 ounces, he was the biggest baby in the NICU – and also one of the weakest. He could not breathe without a ventilator. He could not really cry.
The doctors could not tell me if he would live. They hoped so, but premature babies don’t follow the regular rules. I would have to wait and see.
And I did pray – alone and with nurses, with family and friends, and with anyone else who would lift their voice on little Tesla’s behalf. I appreciated their prayers then, and remember them gratefully now.
Because Tesla did live. And thrive. And grow. I have the tales to prove it. (We can no longer bathe him in a sink, and he’s wary to habaneros now, to name just two.)
June 22, 2011 – my son is 6’1″ and handsome both inside and out. He’s not without the obligatory herd of snarks, but he manages them at least as well as a teenage male can be expected to. My husband and I are proud of him, and proud to call him son.
Happy Birthday, Tesla. May your future be always as bright as it appears today. And be glad I didn’t name you Wolfgang Tiberius, as I threatened to.