Ten years ago my son was born weighing just 1 pound 6 ounces. He fit from the top of his head to his rump perfectly in my hand. I know this because the day he was born I was his nurse who admitted him into the NICU where I work. For better or for worse, his bio parents walked away after he was born fearing that because of his extreme premature birth he would be damaged. Two days later I realized that I had fallen in love with my patient. Two weeks later my husband declared that he too was in love with this baby boy. Two months later we held him in our arms for the first time named by the court as his foster/adoptive parents. He weighed just 2 pounds then. Two weeks after his 1st birthday the adoption was final and he completed our family circus. To celebrate I had my very first tattoo, an exact replica of his inch long footprints taken at birth to represent the saying “Not flesh of my flesh, Not bone of my bone/But still, miraculously, my own./And never forget for a minute/You weren’t born under my heart, but in it.”