February 1st

This is our little guy. He's 10 today. Yes, he's in a tub full of water with a diaper and wooly-bear pajamas on. My wife and I will always remember that the docs weren't sure he'd get past his first few days.

I guess his story starts with us being dumb. We'd had our second child (Camille) in October of '99 and since she was still nursing we figured the chances of another pregnancy were slim. Whoops.

It wasn't a complete shock, OK? We're not THAT stupid. But, stupid enough, evidently. There's a circle here, and Bobby completes it. I'll get to that in a bit.

She carried him to about 35 weeks and the water broke just after the Baltimore Ravens crushed the NY Giants in the Super Bowl. We ran to St Agnes Hospital in Baltimore, where you could see the city's buildings (no, not skyscrapers, not in Bal-tee-morrrre) lit up in gauche purple lights. Heck, we'd had two babies, a third was simply repetition.

He came quick, like most of our kids have. But this was different. Here I was, waiting to hold my newly-born son and cut the cord and the nurses all gathered around him, cleaned him up and whisked him out.

And- worst of all- he never made a noise. Our daughters had wailed like banshees. He was stone silent.

So, I admit it, I was worried. My wife was left on the hospital bed feeling lousy. It was not a good place.

Some of you have experienced NICU, and this was our initiation. The Neonatal Intensive Care Unit, where no parent ever wants to have to visit and every parent who does have to thanks God it exists. The nurses were great. Bobby's lungs weren't developed, and the nurses kept joking about the weakness of white boy babies who - apparently- have underdeveloped lungs when they're not full-term.

So there he was in an incubation unit with hoses and cords and sh*t all over. He was a veritable giant in the room, what with all of the bona fide preemies clinging to life. There were too many to recall, my most vivid recollection is one of absolute wonder that the tiny beings in the incubators were still alive at all. It was near-miraculous.

The other thing I learned was that the nurses employ a kind of gallows humor. I think the success rate in a NICU is not even close to 90%, so death is very real and lurking behind every tick of the clock.

We stayed in the hospital for about 5 days, maybe a little less. My wife wouldn't leave.

Finally, we had to leave but he had to stay, as he was still suffering apnea episodes. My wife cried and cried.

The docs (there was one from the Phillipines who was a nice guy but not encouraging) administered a steroid to help his lungs develop. They were only going to give him 3 doses (any more than that apparently was a waste of effort). When the 2nd dose didn't work, the writing was looking fairly evident. The filipino doc reminded me that one of JFK's sons died from a similar event. A catholic priest blessed him. My LDS friends blessed him. I'd have hired a yogi and rabbi if it would've helped....

As for me? I felt as helpless as my new son. I was ever-present, but had to care for his 2 older sisters at the same time. The grandparents helped a ton.

The 3rd time, obviously, worked. We brought him home in a snowstorm. I'll never forget the day he caught a cold - about a month after coming home. I didn't sleep for days I was so worried he'd stop breathing.

But, it's Bobby, he was cool.

He's grown into a funny kid. As he hits 10 he's something of a "himbo." I've seen little girls at the pool giggle over him, squealing "he's so CUTE!" while he cluelessly runs off to dive into the pool. He really is a beautiful child, I don't know how the hell that happened. But yes, he is a bit of an absent-minded idiot ......just like his folks I guess.

After that start we had with him, he can jump in the tub fully clothed whenever he wants....Love ya, kiddo,

Dad