I never thought we'd make it to our baby's first laughs. Now that we’re here and I have time to catch my breath and look back on it…Wow. I think being a NICU parent is hard, but you discover inner strength you never knew you had – more importantly, you get to see the inner strength the babies have. I mean, those little guys have an iron will!

Last year my husband and I were stoked to be having our first child - a girl! but ever the procrastinator I was taking my time making a birth plan, buying a crib and figuring out what the heck a Diaper Genie is and whether or not it changed my baby for me. To be honest I was just focused on eating healthy as (strangely) my morning sickness seemed to have returned full force with a nice side of acid reflux to boot. Made sense, though, to have trouble eating when my stomach's space was slowly being encroached upon by a small grapefruit that seemed to think it was the next Ronda Rousey. Looking back on it, it probably didn’t make sense to cry when my husband tried to get me to eat pizza at the mall, though…Just hormones! I told myself. (Boy, that must have been a weird scene for any passerby...A man dangling a floppy piece of pizza before a weeping pregnant woman caught between tears and giggles...)

It was kind of funny, but it was also unusual for me to feel that off-kilter emotionally.

Luckily (OH SO LUCKILY) we had a standing appointment with a specialist I was seeing. (I had uterine fibroids and they wanted to keep an eye on them). I told him I hadn't been feeling great but of course pregnancy is supposed to feel blah sometimes. He makes me wait in his office after checking me out. Well this is new, I think. I hear him on the phone with someone around the corner. Hubby instinctively holds my hand, trying to listen. I hear my name and I hear his tone. Something's off. He tells me I need to go to the hospital next door. "It's just precautionary" he says, and I'm not too worried. I just saw the sonogram of Baby, after all, and was told she looked great.

My husband and I spend an hour there talking about random things while we wait for labs. At some point they tell me not to eat anymore and I start getting a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach. Another hour passes and suddenly two doctors appear, telling me I'm in distress. "The baby has to come out now" they say. I listen calmly but my mind is screaming: NO!!! She’s only 26 weeks gestation!! Is this even possible?! They explain what an early delivery might entail for the baby: blindness, deafness, cerebral palsy, learning delays, respiratory problems and more. They tell me her odds of her survival if we delivered right then. Then they tell me mine if we don’t. The words wash over me and tears stream down my face, but there's no real choice; deliver within 48 hours or risk death. I had preeclampsia with HELLP. Me. The most boring person medically speaking. I've never so much as broken a bone! Now it appears I was *this close* to having a stroke and kidney failure. (Thank goodness for that appointment)!

The plan was to keep her in for forty-eight hours and give her steroids and magnesium to help her brain and lungs develop a little more. We only managed to get in eight before time ran out. My system couldn't handle the pregnancy any longer. I gave my husband all my passwords and final wishes as a precaution, because even though the doctors seemed to have things under control…It was all happening so fast and we were still trying to get a handle on our situation. It was the only time I've ever heard this strong man cry. He could lose both of us and it could happen at any moment. "We need a name" I said. Don’t think about little wooden boxes. Not yet. Think ‘fighter,’ think ‘strong!’

We decided Courtney was perfect. Courtney Elizabeth Costa: Champion in the microweight division!

The doctors come and get me, and in no time hubby is in his green scrubs and I've (weirdly) got Paul McCartney's Wonderful Christmas time playing over and over in my head as they deliver baby despite the fact that it was March. I feel things happening. Invasive things. Thankfully a curtain has been put in place so I can’t see. I clutch my husband’s hand. And then I heard it: the most beautiful sound I’d ever heard: Courtney was out! (And she was maaaad)! She sounded like a little lamb on helium, but when I heard her, I cried with joy. 'Boy, she's pissed,' I smiled as ten people took care of her. I couldn’t see this but Chris told me it was a hive of activity as she was transitioned to life on the outside. (Thank you for saving our lives, Dr. Maqueira!)

Since then she's had 2 surgeries, a hole in her heart (healed!), and is a 4 month veteran of Gulf Coast's NICU. She had three amazing doctors: The two (married) Dr. Tyrees, and Dr. Pena who toiled 24 hours a day to care for her. (Not to mention her nurses! You all have hidden capes under those scrubs, I swear)! And Courtney got a reputation for being FEISTY. She had no trouble throwing off her beany 'sandbags' and making mischief for her nurses. (She once pulled out an IV from her head. Try to imagine THAT mess!!)

During her time at Gulf Coast we have endured necrotizing entercolitis scares, illnesses, and the longest minute of my LIFE when her heart stopped one day (it was the first time I ever saw the nurses look frightened) but (Mr.) Doctor Tyree got right in there and saved the day! We’ve had blood sugar issues, and gastrointestinal issues, and even had to stay in a Ronald McDonald House once while seeking expertise out of town. (Always donate your spare change! It was a godsend)! But at every turn she was a fighter, and had incredible people cheer-leading her onward. Oh! I'd also like to thank all the breast milk donors. When I couldn't make enough of my own you were there (in spirit) supplying my baby with life-saving nutrients and anti-bodies! Even though we were dealt a crazy hand, there was so much goodness happening around us as well, and it brought so much comfort to focus on that.

Despite everything, at nearly eight months old she's a jolly little tater - and so tough! Those NICU babies are STRONG!! I’d spike her in a victory celebration if I could but, you know…Best stick to just dancing, ha, ha).

Her laugh is a reminder that even the smallest creatures can survive the toughest odds. (Even if she does sound like a squeaky toy when she does!) She's still got a few corners to turn, but we'll be right there next to her, reminding her she's a fighter. To all you moms and dads facing the same roller-coaster ride: Take it one day at a time. Just breathe. Celebrate every gram gained, every illness overcome. Celebrate your nurses and doctors. And remember: You're amazing.

Oh - and as for me? And I'm fine, too. I might have a few more grey hairs, but at least I don't sob when offered pizza.