Playing catch up with Houston

I'm attempting to make up for over 5 months worth of pictures in one post. It won't happen. But here are the first couple of weeks, and one to show the difference.

Miracle 1: Baby Houston was born May 05, 2010, Cinco de Mayo and Great-grandpa Fredrickson's birthday.

After nearly a decade and a half of being told by doctors, experts in their respective fields, telling me: "Your body won't be able to support a baby" or "You'll never have children," more than 2 years of trying (a hiccup compared to that of others' infertility experience, really) and the agonizing loss of 4 precious souls... I held proof in my arms that doctors don't know everything and miracles do happen.

Grandma Holland held him for the first time. Beautiful. Perfect. The phlebotemist pricked his tiny heel as she held him for a glucose level. It was supposed to be 40 at the lowest. Instead, 14. She rushed for the nurse, they rushed him out, I barely got to say goodbye.

Daddy followed them to the nursery and stayed with him all day. Daddy and Grandpa Holland gave him a blessing. They gave him glucose through an IV to try to get his sugar levels up. Houston kept forgetting to breathe on his own and with a decreasing temperature they contemplated incubation. At 7, when they typically kick parents out for shift change meeting, they decided to try one thing first. They brought him to my room. I held him for the second time in his short little life, skin on skin. After the fastest 30 minutes of my life, a nurse came to my room and took him back to the nursery. Miracle 2: He never stopped breathing again and his temperature went up and stayed up.
First in the left hand, then in the right, nurses were running out of places to put his IV. Friday, 3 days old: Heavenly decided (at my urging) to go to work for the day. After all, we were both well taken care of and stuck there. I'd call him if anything changed. I went to the nursery for the first morning feeding. His IV had leaked once again and they informed me they may need to put one in his precious little head. I turned to see a man in an Airmed flight suit and knew instantly my little one was in capable hands. Still, I was alone. Surrounded by hospital staff. But all alone. I glanced over my shoulder and saw the most beautiful sight, my mom. He turned him this way and that, trying to get a better angle with which to place the IV into his tiny vein. Houston wailed and cried. The flight nurse finished with the IV and secured it with tape. He picked him up, I thought to hand him to me; instead he held him to his chest, patted his back and kissed his tiny forehead, "Let Grandpa love you better," he said. I'm sure this was done more for his own benefit than for Houston's.

After 6 days in the intermediate nursery, the ankle monitor was off, we were going home. Three of us. Finally.
Home at last!! Babies are like kittens, it takes them a few weeks before their eyes really stay open.
He fit sideways in the basinette. Sideways! So tiny.
Here's the "newborn" onesie his Aunt Karen bought for him. As you can see it's a little loose. I miss those scrawny little legs. And check out that binky!!
He finally fit into it at 3 months. And just last Sunday, he wore it again. He's 8 months old now and squeazable, chubby legs have replaced those loose, elephant-skinned, scrawny ones.
This still leaves me 5 months behind. Be patient, I'll get there. Someday.