3 years ago, while eating dinner at our favourite restaurant in Killeen, TX, I went into premature labor at 32 weeks pregnant. In the early hours of the following day Mikey was born, weighing in at 4lbs 6oz. He was whisked away by the NICU staff into an isolette on the ward, where he would stay for a further 4 weeks. He stopped breathing on that first night and had to be resuscitated, dropping to 3lbs while he learned to eat instead of being fed through a tube, learning to hold his own body temperature and then putting on enough weight to be taken home.
Now my tiny baby boy is 3 years old. He is amazing, he drives me crazy, he wipes off kisses and says “Mummy, ewww!”, he snuggles with me on the couch when it’s cold outside. He loves dogs, cats, elephants, airplanes, bananas, Buzz Lightyear, bunnies, cars, spiders, trains and buses. He counts “two…. five…” when I ask him, but I have heard him secretly counting all the way to twelve. He says no to cleaning up his toys, loves going on little adventures, likes to jump on our bed, pretends to snore when he’s laying down with his stuffed animals and keeps his secret stash of pokemon cards inside the drawer of his CD player. When I ask my husband if he would like some tea, Mikey yells “Mummy, help tea, help tea!” runs to the kitchen and helps me put the teabags in and the sugar. He draws hearts with his crayons on pieces of paper and says “Look mummy, heart! I see heart! Mikey drew heart!”
This morning his daddy is taking him out for breakfast while I wrap gifts and bake his cake. This afternoon we’re going to the circus and tonight we will be blowing out candles, eating cake, opening gifts and drinking hot chocolate.
Happy third birthday Mikey!