I wasn’t paying attention.
In the frenzy of days between Type A last weekend and BlogHer14 next, it nearly slipped by without notice.
And then, killing time on the train home today, I was reminded.
That app people use, Timehop, pulled up my choices for today, and there it was:
Oh look, a baby! Oh wait, that’s Max.
The first time I ever saw his whole face. No tubes, no wires, just Max.
The moment I saw this photo and it registered in my brain, I remembered it exactly.
Station 17, where the nurse had placed him in the isolette after I had walked right past her, not even recognizing the sweet baby asleep in her arms.
I was busy balancing a duffel bag and my camera, because we were “rooming in,” spending the night in a family suite at the back of the NICU, a last step in preparation of his coming home.
Six years ago today.
That night we were surrounded by family. We toasted with champagne and played pass the baby for hours. Because the fear was gone and we could just revel in the rest of our lives.
And I almost missed it today.
Because with each passing year, those 91 days in the NICU become a smaller and smaller part of who Max is in this world, and we are able to focus on today, and look towards tomorrow.
Because six years ago today, he came home.