Nothing went as we had planned.
Essentially, it came down to this: Charlie was so eager to get here, his heart was racing. One emergency C-section, seven episodes of supraventricular tachychardia, and twenty-three days of intensive care later, we brought him home.
And still our plans keep playing tricks on us.
We had never planned on loving him this much. This hard. This baby. This little beating heart. This little Charles. Charlie. Chuck. Chuckles. Spitz. Fitz. Mr. Spitz. Spitz ’n‘ Fitz. Nut. Nutter. Ginger. Red. Fox. Foxy. Mr. Fox. Mr. Excitement. Mr. Incredible. Mr. Man. And Chico, who his dad hoped would be born on Cinco de Mayo.
Some things come close enough. And some things you simply cannot plan for.
