Two months. Eight weeks. Fifty six days. However you measure it, Lila is two months old today.

Time is a funny thing. The past two months hold so many memories, so much emotion, it’s hard to believe we’re where we are now. It feels as if time has both flown, and stood almost completely still, all at the same time. It feels like yesterday that I was at the hospital, in labor, awaiting our little life-changing wonder. And yet, if I think about all that has happened over these last eight weeks, it feels like a lifetime ago. I don’t know if that makes any sense, or even if I want it to. It’s just how it feels.

Jon and I took hundreds of photos of Lila while she was in the NICU. You’ll notice that there are very few on here from the first few days. It’s not because we didn’t take, or don’t have, those photos. We do. They are our darkest moments, and bring back almost unbearable memories of just what those first days were like for us. But we will be glad we have them, someday.

We decided tonight to share a couple of them. Not for pity, or for sympathy. But for joy, and love. To show not only all of you, but to show US, just how far we’ve come. It brings tears to my eyes to see where we were eight weeks ago, and to see the photos I took today. Lila has been through so much, beaten so much, and we couldn’t be more proud of her.

Day 1. Jon sent this to me, to show me how she was grabbing his finger.

Day 1. Jon sent this to me, to show me how she was grabbing his finger.

About 4 days old here, complete with vent, and on her cooling mat.

About 4 days old here, complete with vent, and on her cooling mat.

You can see the cooling mat in both of these photos. Along with a very swollen Lila, due to all the fluids being pumped into her. You’ll also notice the Duck making his first appearance–she still sleeps with him and the giraffe. We swap each night, to this day. I have a feeling we will for a very long time.

Eight weeks later…

Lila now looks for me or Jon when we enter a room. Her whole face lights up, and she breaks out into a gigantic grin when we smile at her, talk to her, sing to her. She coos and “talks”, to us, the TV, her toys. She will grasp my finger tightly if I place it in her palm, and follow a toy if I move it in front of her face. She has hungry cries, tired cries, hurt cries, and we can differentiate between them. She loves bathtime with dad. She’ll curl her little body over towards me if I bring her in bed to get her to sleep longer, and nuzzle her head underneath my arm. She will almost always nap in her carseat in the car–as long as there are no red lights during the journey. Her witching hour seems to be shortening, and her cries almost always have purpose now. Roxie now considers her part of the family, and her cousin Gracie loves trying to grab her hands, as if to say “hey, come play with me!”.

Smiling, even late in the day

Smiling, even late in the day

It's hard to catch this on camera, trust me!

It's hard to catch this on camera, trust me!

Beautiful, serious girl.

Beautiful, serious girl.

I’m not great at the sappy stuff, ask anyone. So here goes.

Little girl, your dad and I love you so much. You are a true miracle to us, the strongest person we know. Our lives have completely and totally changed because of you. And we wouldn’t have it any other way.

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