Oliver is two weeks old today!

Having spent two weeks in the NICU, perspective should be easy to come by. Oliver has made steady progress and the doctors and nurses providing his care are consistantly positive about his prospects. We are surrounded by other little fighters, some of which are facing longer odds than our mini Joe Lewis. Not all babies have parents that come around often (or at all), and many parents that we do recognize look increasingly weary and sad.

We know we should consider ourselves among the lucky ones because we are confident our boy is going to make it. However, it certainly does not feel that way when Oliver cries in pain or experiences a drop in heart rate (Bradycardia) or a drop in oxygenation (desatting). Emotionally, we experience any lack of progress as a "setback" against Oliver's quest. Try as we might to intellectualize this experience, our guts are tied in knots.

Oliver is big and strong, but his gestational age at birth was just over 31 weeks and as of today he should still be facing 6 weeks in the womb. His size and his triumphant battle with collapsed lungs convinced everyone that he was ready to take on the world. As a result, he's been pushed a little farther than a typical preemie (if there is such a thing).

For example, Oliver was not quite ready for the bassinette and has been moved back into an incubator to make it easier for him to maintain his body temperature without expending too many calories. Intellectually, we understand this and want him to stay in the isolette as long as he needs but, emotionally, it feels like our little boy failed a critical test.

We are similarly anxious when it comes to his breathing assistance and his early attempts at bottle feeding. Oliver hovers ever-so-cose to having his nasal cannula removed but he hasn't quite made it over that final hump. As for feeding, the majority of his food is still delivered through the tube down his throat and we expect a slower-than-originally-expected transition to the bottle. Never mind that normal babies are not meant to use their lungs or their suckling instincts until they reach full maturity, this is not a normal baby! Our boy can breathe, he can eat, he can kick a soccer ball into the top corner of the net from 25 yards and he can play the violin, damn it!

As we celebrate Oliver's triumphant first two weeks, we find ourselves dwelling on the challenges he still faces. We made it this far by fighting for every day and every hour. We set the bar high and adjusted it higher at every milestone. We will continue refusing to accept anything short of perfection for our little guy. We beg your indulgence as we fret over every wrinkled forehead and each setback, real or imagined.

I know the day will come when young Oliver complains that his dad is too protective, that his dad won't stop reminding him of "all that we've been through." (My vocabulary is not robust enough to suggest the appropriate words to describe just how protective his mom will be!) In light of that, I would like to issue a blanket apology in advance to all the teachers and coaches that will be asked to participate in the challenging experience of raising Oliver the Great. We understand that every child is special, but this is OLIVER THE GIANT, Champion of Preemies, Future World Cup Hero, Editor of the New Yorker, Cures Cancer, Better Looking Than George Clooney and Volunteers to Save Orphans Around the World, Our Precious Little Baby Bird.

He sure has some handsome sideburns, doesn't he?