My boss and his wife recently had a baby who was about 8 weeks premature. He was born at just under two pounds, and isn't expected to leave the hospital for about 4-6 more weeks. Hearing about it is so beautiful that it brings tears to my eyes: "The nurses describe him as "very feisty," though I can't imagine where that would come from. He's breathing on his own and is beginning to be fed milk through a tub that goes straight to his stomach. He's still too small to eat on his own. He's perfect in every way--all his little fingers and toes are there, my wife believes he has my nose, I believe he has her feet, and he is capable of crying quite loudly for a little guy (which the nurses say is actually a good sign). Last night I held him for the first time. They recommend that premature babies spend time "kangarooing" with their mom and dad--which means holding them so that their skin touches yours. So you sit and hold the baby with your shirt off, covered with little blankets. Besides giving mom and dad the joy of a lifetime, this practice apparently also helps the baby to grow faster and become much healthier than babies who are not. . .I don't know, "kangarooed," I guess."
I imagine these two people experiencing the utter terror of the possibility of losing not only one another but the life they created together, and then having the relief and love of a newborn child flood over them all in a matter of hours, and I am utterly amazed.