The 4th

I used to hate the 4th of July. When I was six a spinner went around my ankle and burned my sock in half. As they ran me into the house my pinky got slammed in a metal door. Fun times. When I was 14 I tore my ligament on the 4th. There went my cheerleading career... (ha! I say this with good humor. I was a horrid cheerleader) And there was more. So anyways, the 4th is on record as being my least favorite day of the year.

But that all changed last year. (ahhh here I go. Eyes are tearing up) One year ago today we found out we were pregnant. Again. After 13 months of trying, we had a bunch of drugs, medical bills, and two miscarriages under our belt. When that faint (and i mean, hold it up to the light, I *think* I see a shadow faint) line appeared, we were terrified. And overjoyed. And terrified again. One year later, as I hold my perfect little girl in my arms (and I do mean perfect, this kid is a rare one!) I realize that the 4th is no longer a day I dread. It's a day that will always hold that precious moment where our little miracle made herself known. It's now one of my favorite days of the year. And as she stares up at me with those big blue eyes it's like I know her, and she knows me. One of those indescribable mama-feelings. I realize just how lucky I am.

And it's also abby's birthday, as Grace is currently reminding me. Off to make a whipped-cream-bacon topped dog bone dessert!