“It’s a small one. Smaller than the others, but it’s staying.”

These words filtered through my window as the repair guys measured and argued outside my office. Despite the fact their discussion was infinitely more interesting than the invoices I was paying, their words lingered because it’s something my parents might have overheard at the hospital 35 years ago.

I was a small one. (2lb 6oz) (3 months early). Smaller than the others (other children born at that time, my other siblings). But I was staying.

Windows and babies. Two things not normally paired together. Unless, I guess, you were at a hospital and peering at the babies in the nursery through a window. Or you were my parents (or any parents) and your newborn was in the NICU and you studied the babe within the plastic bubble cradle.

Or you had two men with salty language outside your day job window and eavesdropping lead your mind down this twisty path of memories both real and hearsay.

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