I don't take a single moment with my precious Finn for granted.  Not a single detail of his existance, either. 

I give thanks for every cry.  As soon as Finn was out, he cried. And cried.  And cried some more.  And I smiled.  I couldn't stop smiling. 

When Stella was born, she let out two tiny cries, and that was it.  I never heard a peep from her again. 

I give thanks for pee.  Minutes after Finn was born, before I even saw his precious face, he peed all over the nurse.  It was quite funny (and in the middle of a C-section, much unexpected comical relief), but even more than that, it was a sigh of relief for us.  His kidneys were working! 

We weren't sure Stella even had two kidneys; it turned out she did, but they were half the size they should be and were functioning at less 50%.  She hardly peed at all in her short little life. 

I give thanks for every diaper change.   Before Finn was born, Mike told me quite a few times that he was looking forward to changing diapers.   From this simple statement, I knew that my husband was just as grateful as I for a healthy baby boy and wouldn't take a single thing for granted, even something as mundane as diaper changes.  We are so grateful that all of Finn's parts work. :)

It probably sounds strange, but one of the regrets I have is that I never got to change Stella's diaper.  Mike didn't either. 

I give thanks for Finn's perfectly formed round little head and his adorable little ears.  These were the first two parts of Finn I examined when they handed him to me. 

Stella's head was lopsided, and her ears were malformed and low-set.  Not that I didn't think she was beautiful anyway, but these features were a constant reminder of her (fatal) genetic condition.

I give thanks for every little baby sigh, grunt, and coo. 

And I'm reminded of how very silent and still Stella was. 

I give thanks for being woken up at night by cranky squirms and lip smacking.  Seeing clear, bright dark blue eyes staring up at me as he nurses. 

What a comforting difference from half-open hurting eyes and tiny squirms of agony. 

I give thanks for being able to cuddle my newborn, warm and soft and content, against my chest. 

When Stella's tubes were removed on the last day of her life, and I lifted her to snuggle her close to my heart, she was swollen, stiff, and growing cold. There was no nuzzling of her tiny face or scunching up of her tiny legs beneath her belly. 

I give thanks that I can feel Finn gaining weight, outgrowing his newborn sleepers. 

The first outfit Stella wore was her last.  I had no beautiful gown for her to wear; only a preemie sleeper I bought secondhand at a consignment store "just in case."

I give thanks to God for our new little one.