Sometimes, on really bad days, I remember when they wouldn't guarantee I would even be able to take him home. I remember praying by a baby on a ventilator for two weeks because he wouldn't breath on his own. I remember how they wouldn't let me touch him because it was too much stimulus. I remember finally holding him again after several weeks.

I remember not wanting to take pictures of my baby because he was so swollen and sickly. I remember not wanting to remember any of it.

And then I remember saying I would do whatever I needed to do to keep him. I knew I was signing up for a battle.
His swallowing is getting worse; there is more deteriation...
but he knows how to smile.