This is Emma's hand and foot next to my hand. Tiny, but perfect. Her perfection amazes me. Each day is a tense uphill battle, filled with so many possibilities of things that could go wrong. And yet she perseveres. That little heart keeps beating strongly, those tiny lungs continue to fight for life. And I long for the day when I can be on the other side of the glass, in the main NICU, where transition to home begins. I know that day is far in the future, and the future is very uncertain. But, today I held her against me, and she was warm and content and ... alive. And I believe that one day, I will hold her on the other side of the glass - minus the IVs, minus the ventilator, minus whatever machinery is assisting her today - and I will only be hours away from having my baby home with me, where she belongs. The NICU is an amazing place, staffed by angels on earth. And the isolette that does its best to mimic my womb is keeping my baby warm and oxygenated and safe. But there has never been a place I dread going to more, a place I fear more, a place that sends my heart racing with trepidation and panic, while yearning for stability to return to my life ... I want to never need that place again. But, Dear God, thank you for its existence.