My Three Stinky Little Miracles

Today it hit me, without warning or provocation: my children truly are miracles. They are precious gifts.

Sure, everyone says that. And it's true in every case: children are precious beyond measure.

They are gifts.

But when I say that mine are miraculous gifts, I really mean it.

You see, my sweet Professor was very, very sick for a few years when he was a teenager. He was sick with cancers and the side affects thereof; to put it mildly, he was a very ill little puppy.

(That's putting it very mildly.)

He took some specific medication that was nearly guaranteed (I don't even want to consider the percentage) to make him, well, sterile. I didn't know until after the fact that he had had himself tested before we were married, just to take a peek into our possible future. Before that, I had never considered a future without biological children; I suppose I didn't understand the scope of his sickness.

He did the test.

And it came back with very surprising results:

he was able to have children.

(I'm really only including this picture

because her hair cracks me up.)

And apparently I am able, too. We have tried only twice in our married life to have children; each time we have been pleasantly (and so blessedly) gifted with healthy and hale babies.

Two, in fact, on our first try.

Today it hit me: my children are miracles.

I am beyond thankful.