But today, Charlie is doing very well. He is just now sitting up on his own with gusto and handling his seizure meds beautifully. He smiles, laughs, communicates with sign language and plays all sorts of marvelous games. To put it plainly, he's kicking ass.
When I was little and my birthday rolled around, my parents would tell me the story of my birth. I always loved hearing it. I hope that Charlie will love hearing his birth story as well. I also hope that the difficulties and concerns of Charlie's birth will be a distant memory, almost unimaginable to the ten, twelve, fifteen, thirty-year-old Charlie of the future. He'll think, How did I grow into the man I am with such an impossible and rocky beginning? We'll all just shrug our shoulders and say, We don't know, but we're so glad you did.