I tell you what...there is nothing more stunningly beautiful than a pregnant woman.
Audra is now six months along and (she swears!) is getting bigger by the hour. Little Hope is kicking up a storm, though I think she's being a brat (already! Sheesh...) by never letting Daddy actually feel the kicks. Stinker.
My wife. In between the seventeen servings of apple juice, the heating pad for the back and the think-fast mandates for dinner entrees, she is truly a walking miracle. I look at the small Theotokos of the Sign icon under our guest bathroom mirror as I get ready for school in the morning and I just think...the miracle of birth, of an independent, squirming person being borne by and delivered by a woman is proof to me that there's a God (and NOT just because it can actually, somehow, even be done!). The fact that it all--with tragic exceptions--goes so smoothly, and that instincts tie mother to baby in a tender dance (which looks more like a waddle in the later months) is a testament to God's provision for the human race that's wonderful to behold.