Growing up too fast

Chapter 17

Zola's POV
"4...3...2...1! That's it!" Alex says, after Isaac finished the car seat test.
It's been 6 weeks since I've been discharged, and Isaac is 8 weeks old. He's gained a lot of weight, and he's been breathing on his own for a while.
He had his first bottle feed yesterday, which means the last tube came out and he's a fully functioning baby, and behind all the other tubes and wires, I could see his little face for the first time.
I got hold my baby boy in my arms for the very first time and watch as he gulped down his formula. I never thought such a little thing like feeding time would be so important, until he was sick and I didn't get to feed him. His smooth skin on mine, warm and fragile, made everything real.
I sat by his side everyday, studying every detail of his face, memorizing every perfect little feature: the wisps of curly brown hair that where beginning to grow on his head, his creamy chocolate skin that was just enough lighter than mine to show a clear resemblance of his father, his blue green eyes that I could never get a good look at since he liked to sleep for the better part of the day. I just watched, because day after day I was reminded he was weak, that he had very low chance of survival. But I held on to the memories of each perfection once I left the hospital every night, Almost as much as I held on to him.
He was a miracle. Is a miracle.
Every day he survived was against the odds. Barely any babies born at 24 weeks survive, but Isaac was strong. Because he's got half the hospital waiting on him hand and foot, because everybody has heard:
Meredith Grey has a grandson, and he probably won't live to see another day.
But screw the odds. The odds where that I would carry to term, that I would have a healthy baby. So the odds don't seem to be playing by the rules.
The last step was this test, where he had to sit in a car seat for an hour without any issues. We all gathered around the seat, waiting, hoping, that he would make the cut.
And as we all stood here, marking off the final seconds before I got to take my baby to the nursery where his toys where, the home where his childhood was, the place where broken people go to get a little less broken.
That's what it is. My mom told stories of how she was always "taking in strays," her friends Izzie and George, uncle Alex, my dad, then aunt Amelia and Maggie, Micheal- even I was a lost cause until she brought me home.
Everyone hugged us goodbye, and we agreed they would all come over to "meet" the baby once we had some time to bond with him. I say meet because even though we've all spent the last two months with him, no one except me and Micheal have gotten to feed him, and Andrew and my mom the only others who've held him.
The second we left the hospital, baby Isaacs car seat in Andrews arm, some motherly instinct kicked in, one that made my mom chuckle and Micheal smile. And it made me check his seatbelt six times.
When we pull up to the driveway, Micheal helps me out of the car and takes the car seat with everyone else close behind, and hand in hand we walk into the house for the first of many times with my son, my gift, my love.
And who thought I would be saying that at 14?
Not me.