I sit here, writing in the dark so as to not wake the girls.  I’m showered and dressed, having chosen to wear a shirt that my sister gave to me as good “luck,” because she’s one of the toughest people that I know.  My bag is packed, the carseat is in the truck, and in one hour we’ll start the process of introducing Baby Tad to our family.

I’m pretty calm under the circumstances.  It’s not really the birth that I worry about.  It’s the aftermath of sleepless nights and raging hormones and a body that, despite NOT being pregnant anymore, doesn’t look anything like it did 9 months ago–not that it was anything to brag about back then, either.  I worry that Bryan’s schedule and the demands on his time and attention will leave me feeling like a single mom.  But amidst the worry, there is a peace that comes.  Somehow . . . even though my head tells me that it is not possible . . . somehow in my heart I know that everything will work out.

Happy Birthday, Baby Tad!