Seven years ago today, my grandson Henry was born prematurely (32 weeks, as I recall) at St. John's Hospital in Santa Monica. Seeing him in the NICU, where I had never been before, was miraculous. And when I look at him today (and his brother Fritz, also premature), it still feels miraculous.
That's Henry on the right and brother Fritz on the left. His sign was from earlier in the day. The school he attends has a tradition of parents putting up birthday signs at the main entrance to the school, right before you enter the gates. It was up when I went to work at the school today, but it is very windy in Southern California right now and by noon it had blown over. His mom retrieved it, fortunately. The boys are wearing their Civil War uniforms. Both boys love to dress up. All of us participated in a mock battle tonight. All the grown ups were apparently fighting for the South and we were conscripted into the Union Army. I was a nurse.