The meaning of it all.

It's been said time and time again that "Life isn't measured by the number of breaths you breathe, but the moments that take your breath away..." And while I'm not a sucker for overused quotes, I have found this to be so extremely true.

When you're a parent, life just kinda blurs from one crisis to the next... from one skinned knee to the next one. Days of counting down the minutes until nap time. Cleaning up 12,353 Legos, only to turn around and find that they multiplied like rabbits in the Springtime. Cutting crusts off of sandwiches, trying to poke the straw into the Capri-Sun pouch, and working with all your might to eradicate the smell left by the dirty diapers you forgot about in the bottom of your trash can.

You know what I'm saying.

Recently in church, my dad (best pastor ever) said to us parents, "Enjoy every day... Because you'll blink and wonder where the time went. It goes that fast." I looked at my mom and said, "Does it? REALLY??? Because if this is fast, I sure as HECK don't want to see slow."

But you know what? I know it's true.

My nephew is three months old. He's only been on the outside for about 12 weeks. So brief a window of time, yet his mommy can barely remember him when he was seven pounds. And when I think of Abi being three months old? Yeeeeeah. I don't think she ever WAS three months old. There's been alot of moments between then and now. Moments that have meshed into one big lump sum of life.

Along the way, I've tried to take mental snapshots of moments that matter most. You know the moments as they're happening... Moments when your heart is full and your senses are tuned into what's happening. And while I don't have pictures for all the moments that have stolen my heart, here's a few that on days when I'm overwhelmed and sucked into the undertow of the mundane, bring me back to the things that should be focused on. (Pictures have captions after them.)

I love her face. When I saw this picture, it sobered me to the fact that my baby isn't so much "baby" anymore. Time is passing quicker than I realize. This picture brings me back to that fact.

I fell in love with this baby in Africa. I'll never forget his face. Such haunting eyes. His mama carried him with such love, close to her heart. When I took this picture, I remember thinking that whether we live in the USA or in a third world country, we love in the same language. We bleed the same. We would all lay our lives down for our babies. Love is love, no matter the country of its origin.

Seeing my husband dance with my baby sister at her wedding. I don't know what he was saying to her here... but I know his heart was full of pride and love for her. He loves her like she's his. I love that.

At the wedding, while the bridal party was getting pics made on the beach, we turn around, and sweet Abigail is writing "DAD" in the sand. All the hustle and commotion around her, and she's just seeing an opportunity to write in the sand. **sigh**

Rod had just gotten his Red Ryder BB Gun and was showing his Annie Oakley how to be a cowgirl. She was a pretty good shot.

A bath time with Abi. She was about three months old. I remember her sweet cooing like it was yesterday. LOVE her face. I froze this in my mind for days when I want to lock her out of the house.

Need I say more?

Spring Break, a few weeks ago. I was laughing at something Lori said (as usual) while feeding her babe. That was a wonderful week, filled with the people I laugh best and most with.

First picture we have with our men and our babies. I loved this moment because each man loves the other's child like his own and it was nice to capture it on "film". These are two good men right here. And our children are blessed more than they will ever know because of the fact that they have them to lead them.

Snow. It was divine. And nothing makes me happier than feeling Rod's cheek on mine.

An answer to prayer and a testimony to the healing power of God for a little boy. I love the joy on Lori's face. That week, she looked so "old" to me. Here, her youth was restored. She knew her boy was okay after all.

My sweet man with his two girls. I love it that Abi understood the love between us that this moment and wanted to be a part of it. After all... it's what got her here!


SERIOUSLY??? Yummy city, this boy. I had gone over to have lunch with him like I do at least once a week. He immediately turned on the charm. My heart melts when I'm with this little tater tot. He makes my soul dance.

I was sitting on the porch with my dad and his dad. I looked over and saw this. I knew it was a moment I wanted to freeze forever. If you only knew the depth of these two men. The world will forever be better because of them. It already is.

A family game night. LONG STORY SHORT- I yelled "Windex" at the wrong time, and out of control laughter ensued. We all remember it to this day, years later. Notice my Dad with his arms crossed in the background. And I love my Mom's face here while she's laughing.





I could go on and on. I get lost in time while I look at these. Here's the deal. Life is more than the sum of its parts. It is the actual parts themselves. Each moment, dissected down, represents skin to skin contact with the things that matter most. It's about laughing while we feed babies. It's about the freckles on her nose. It's about feeling the safety of the moment when you're holding his hand. It's about peanut butter sandwiches, band-aids on bumped elbows, and answering questions all day long.

One day, our homes will be quiet and we'll long for these days. Savor them while they're here.

That's what life is.

It's my blog and I'll be gooey if I want to.

It's no secret. I love this man.

Don't get me wrong. We've been married almost 15 years. We aren't newlyweds. I'm not oblivious to his humanity, nor are we floating on clouds of fluffiness, rainbows, and lollipops about reality.

He is odd. In at least three dozen ways. At least. He also does things that drive me insane. These things include, but are not limited to: leaving clean dishrags in the kitchen sink with cracked egg shells. Saying, "That's a good question," when he doesn't know the answer to the question. Leaving his shoes under the kitchen table. The boat that is sitting in our garage.

But he has good taste in food, in music, in movies, and certainly in a wife.

(And trust me- he puts up with WAY more than his fair share of things that get on his nerves about me. But this is MY blog and I don't want to write about those things... heehee.)

Anyway. Tomorrow (March 31), is my husbands 46th birthday. Yessir. 46. As in 4 away from 50. (I ain't gonna lie... I think it's smoking hot that I'll almost be 38when he hits the big 50. Yep, you do the math.)

I love to celebrate. St. Patrick's Day, Thanksgiving, the 100th day of school, National Pink Bracelet Day, you name it. But my family's birthdays?

Those are the days I live for.

And since it's the single most important person in my life's turn, I can be as dad-gum gushy and ooey as I want to be. It's MY blog. :-)

What makes this man so great? I'm so glad you asked.

He's not perfect. And he knows it. I like that.

He has NO problem admitting he's wrong. Unlike his hard-headed woman.

He can fix ANYthing. ANYthing. For real.

He doesn't try to hug me when he's sweating.

He's stronger than a team of Swedish bodybuilders all named Sven.

He grew his beard out really thick for me because I like the way it feels against my face and I LOVE the gray patches.

He makes me laugh until I snort.

He's brutally honest.

He loves my parents and shows them.

He has let me work through my "I need a dog" phases. With patience and mercy.

He knows when enough is enough.

He trusts my leadership as the mother of his child.

He follows my lead on walking through the emotional landfields of raising a girl since I am one.

He holds my hand alot.

He wakes up and prays for me throughout the night. And I often fall asleep with his hand on my back. That's my favorite way to sleep.

He warms my van up on cold Florida winter mornings.

He stopped complaining about the three thousand bottles of Ranch dressing in the fridge.

He loves people. Geuninely loves them.

He created our "family punch" in a fishbowl with giant straws for family nights.

He has the best smile lines around his eyes.

He thinks he's a cowboy. And I'm pretty sure he's right.

He spent three weeks in Africa, sleeping in a tent and eating whatever he could get... and he plans on doing it again and again.

He knows me better than any other soul on this planet. He's the only one who sees the really real me. And he chooses to love me still.

He looks into Abi's eyes everyday and affirms her as a person. Affirms her beauty. Affirms her girlhood. Affirms his love for her.

He won't let Abi talk smack to me. Not even a little bit.

He's cute. Like a rugged teddy bear with an Elmo t-shirt and a holster on.

He writes the best birthday/Valentine's Day/anniversary cards EVER.

He's spontaneous.

His laughter is ear-rupturingly loud. It comes from his toes.

He cries when he talks about Jesus. Or hears a beautiful song. Or sees someone's life changed.

He loves to hear me sing.

He saved my life. Literally.

He listens. And remembers. Most of the time.

He knows I am his equal, and he is mine. We are partners. In every way.



Oh, there's more. But I can't tell it all on here, can I? That would be so unlady-like of me! ;-)

Rodrick Avery Paul Windham, this little girl loves you. With all my heart and soul and mind. My life began the day I met you, and I didn't even know it yet.

But I know it now. And I'll always know it.

Happy birthday, sweet Rodrick. The world is a better place because of you. And believe me... no one could ever love you more than me and a certain little freckle-faced green-eyed princess do. You're our sun, moon, and stars.

SHMILY. .

Rules for Abi's Boyfriends.

As parents, we are rule makers. We are also rule enforcers, rule adapters, and rule explainers. We have rules for inside behavior, outside behavior, school behavior, and car behavior. We make rules for roadtrips, field trips, and errand trips. In our house, the rules are pretty crystal clear for just about everything.

I was just sitting here, thinking about Abi. My romantically bent, idealistic, ooey gooey love child. She is constantly thinking about romance- how it feels to be in love. How people kiss. Flowers. Holding hands. Fairy tales. Being nurtured by a man. Letting him carry her backpack and put his arm around her as she walks down the sidewalk. It's an innate need in her, to be cherished and adored.

Granted, her Daddy has fed this in her.

He is loving, doting, affectionate, kind, and thoughtful- with both Abi and me. He is big and strong, scruffy and rugged. Yet his heart is tender and squishy. He rarely calls either one of us by name... we answer instead to "Babe," "My Sweet," and "Love." We are his girls, and he treats us well.

Back to the rules.

Abi's poor boyfriends. Poor, poor fellas. Not only will they have a giant uncle with gauged ears and tattoos to step around, a grandpa who looks pretty imposing even with his white hair and white beard, and Abi's big, strong daddy to watch their every move... they will also have "THE RULES" to abide by. Isn't it a little early to make these rules? Nope. I need all the time I can get to build the fence around my little baby rabbit, because the wolves will circle. Not that the wolves are bad... they're just wolves.

Here's some of the "rules" that will be in place for CinderAbi and her Prince(s) Charmings as I see life right now. I am very aware that they are subject to change and that we'll cross these bridges as we get there. But I'm a planner. So here they are.

RULES YOU WILL ABIDE BY IN ORDER TO BE ANYWHERE AROUND OUR DAUGHTER.

1. You are a boy. Not a man. You will not be a man until you are holding a steady job, pay the majority of your living expenses, and are able to provide for our daughter emotionally and physically.

2. We are watching how you treat your mother and sisters. If we don't like it, you're out the door.

3. If we don't like your language, your attitude, or your friends, you're out the door.

4. We are not Abi's friend, therefore we are not your friends.

5. We do not trust you. That's just the way it is.

6. We MIGHT trust you, if you earn trust. You can earn it by hanging out in our house, being genuinely interested in our lives, being responsible, and acting like you have common sense.

7. If we would not let you drive my car, we will not let you drive our daughter. So be aware that your driving record is very much my business. And God help you if we find out you speed through school zones.

8. My daughter's body belongs to God. And in all honesty, she belongs to me and her Dad. So keep that in mind.

9. We will not allow our daughter to dress in a way that would keep you from being able to honor her body. We promise.

10. If church isn't a part of your life, it better become one. Period. This is what we call a "non-negotiable."

11. You will not be alone with our daughter until you can put a ring on her finger and marry her (and not one of those three year engagements that kids do in tenth grade). And even if you're engaged to her, be aware that both her Daddy and I are SUPER aware that you aren't married and we will not treat you like you are until you are.

12. You won't be spending the night at our house. If your parents are suddenly injured, sick, or suddenly relocating to Panama and the rare need arises for you to need lodging at our abode, I will be rooming with Abi, and her daddy will be rooming with you. And we will have alarms on the doors and windows. You'll have to check out a hall pass for the bathroom and have an escort. You think I'm joking, I can tell. But I'm not.

13. If you want to score brownie points, help us around the house sometimes.

14. You have a place at our dining room table anytime you want a good meal. We will also welcome any chance we can get to play games with you, watch movies with you, and hang out with you as much as possible. We are actually alot of fun to be with.

15. If we don't have a good feeling about any given night's activities, Abigail will not be going. It's that simple.

16. Manners are HUGE to us. Answers like, "Huh," "Yeah," and "Whatever" will guarantee you a tougher time gaining access to our daughter.

17. I will know more about you than you could ever imagine possible. And I won't have to ask you a single question. I have friends every where. In low and high places.

18. I will also ask you endless amounts of questions, and welcome you to do the same to us.

19. Break curfew, break what little trust we have in you.

20. That little girl is priority number ONE to us. Not priority two, not even number one and a half. NUMBER ONE. Be aware that we may act irrational at times. We will not apologize for the great love we have for her. She is fragile, she is small, and she is beautiful. But she is fierce, fiercely loved, and there is a mighty woman inside her. Our main objective is to guard her, protect her from herself, but at the same time, to equip her for the world she will live in. You cannot imagine what we see when we look at her, nor can you ever love her the way we do. She is her Daddy's princess, her Paw's heartbeat, and her Uncle Seth's best girl ever. You're not on the same playing field with us, little man. So if you value ANY time spent in her presence (which you should), you will print out, memorize, and live by these rules.

21. Oh yeah. We reserve the right to make new rules whenever we choose. And both of you will abide by them.


Poor guy. But oh the joys if he abides by our rules well! I laugh when I think of him. Somewhere, on this planet... unaware that I'm preparing myself for him.

He better be gettin' prepared for ME! ;-)

Close Call.

If you know me, you've probably heard the story by now. Or at least pieces of it.

If you don't "know" me, you probably have no idea. And as many times as I've relived this story, it never stops getting to me. So, to kinda explain my most recent absence from blogland, I'm reliving it again. But mainly to tell you about the healing power of a magnificent God.

I recently lost almost 90 pounds. Pretty big accomplishment, and I'm pretty stinkin' happy about it. However, what no one tells you (or rather, what I didn't want to hear) is that rapid weight loss can cause gallbladder issues. So, off and on for the last six months or so, any time I would eat a greasier meal than usual, I would have stomach and back pain. I'm a quasi-nurse kind of mom, and I've known enough to diagnose myself with gallstones.

I had no idea they were going to wreak the havoc they ended up wreaking.

On Valentine's Day, we went for wings as a family, as we do every single Monday night. I went home, and my stomach was hurting mildly. I finally went to sleep and woke up at 4:00 am with pain that was becoming more and more uncomfortable. When it was time to get Abi up for school, I couldn't move. Rod got her dressed, took her to school, and came back to find my condition deteriorating rapidly. (I'm not being overly dramatic... it really was bad.) All day, I lay in bed, pain intensifying, nausea building, and so my sweet husband comes home with the ingredients to begin a gallbladder flush for me. The first step was eating boiled potatoes. I did.

Then it ALL fell apart.

I am going to spare you the not-so-lovely details of what happened next. But, suffice it to say, it was ugly and it involved a toilet and a girl on her knees. Yall, I was wishing for childbirth. Labor. A house to fall on my head. ANY pain but this pain.

At 4:00 pm, Rodrick brings Abi home. I am weeping in the fetal position in bed. My calm-as-can-be husband takes one look at me and says, "Get dressed. We're going to the hospital. Now." I will also spare you the details of the next few minutes, which involved many tears and pleading.

So, there I was. Always healthy, rarely even sick with a cold, NEVER been a patient in an emergency room in my life- sitting in triage. Then on a ER cot, IV line in place. Ultrasounds. CT scans. Endless amounts of bloodwork. The diagnosis- pancreatitis and a gallbladder four times the size it should have been. Liver enzymes and pancreatic enzymes through the roof. White blood cells elevated. Not going home for 4-5 days.

ARE YOU KIDDING ME?

I pouted. I cried. I bargained. I begged.

But I wasn't leaving, and that was certain.

See, this wouldn't have been as big of a deal, but most of you know, I'm on pastoral staff at our church. A week later, we were having our biggest, most anticipated event of the year- a three day ministers' conference, where men and women literally come from all over the world to attend. I would have a house FULL of people for the week, and I was scheduled to lead worship for our band (which is an awesome rock band... not the typical church band, I promise. We're tattooed, pierced, gauged ears, etc.). This was the absolute WORST time to have a health crisis. Seriously. The worst.

All week, I was in that hospital. You name the test and I had it done. They starved me for a few days, as my pancreas had to rest to heal. Then came the great news (sarcasm) that I would not be leaving unless my gallbladder was removed, and it had to be done within the next two days. (More tears and fit pitching ensued). So, Friday, February 18, my gallbladder was removed, full of stones and severely inflamed.

I got home on Saturday. On Sunday, my family talked to a family friend who is an ICU nurse, and she couldn't believe how incredibly close I was to developing sepsis with the enzymes out of control like they were. In fact, she couldn't believe I was not admitted into ICU upon my arrival.

This knowledge hit me like a ton of bricks.

Here's the deal. Every day, we are a day closer to eternity. Every breath a breath we won't retrieve. But to actually know you were possibly headed for Heaven? Well, it's sobering to say the least.

I've had alot of time to ponder in the last few weeks. I got the flu while I was healing (not recommended), and spent much time in my recliner, coughing and thinking, thinking and coughing. And I've settled on three things that I know for sure.

1. Nothing matters to me as much as my family. NOTHING. Those guys pulled me through the scariest days of my life.

2. Very few things really, really matter.

3. God is able to undo great damage, even damage caused by our own hard headedness and stupidity.

I'd like to say I grew a new gallbladder and walked out with all my organs intact. I didn't. But I walked out. And I cannot praise God enough for medical science. For doctors and nurses and technicians who were Jesus with skin on to me while I was injured and frail. Healing is healing, regardless how it comes- and anyone who tells you otherwise has never been sick enough to see this truth.

Oh, and that conference? I led worship the whole time, had 7 people in my house, and crashed like a beast after it was over. That week, I was proof the grace of God is real.

Who needs their gallbladder anyway? Geesh!

It's ALLLLL About This Girl.

Seven years ago right now, this was me.



It was not a pretty sight.

But let me tell ya. After 6 LONG years of wanting, praying, waiting, hoping, doubting, and trusting, I was about to burst with child and my heart was happy as a pig in the mud (tho my body felt like it was at the gates of hell). Then, on February 11, 2004- this moment came.



I blinked my eye, and this moment was here.



Then, I turned around, and here's what was there.



One day, I blinked a little too long, and this was in front of me.



And I swear to you, while I was sleeping one night, this day snuck up on me.



There have been other magical days, sure. Like this one.



This one....



This one....




And this one.



I have no idea where seven years have gone. But three things I do know.

It has flown.
It's been a delight.
I'm glad I'm her mom.

Thank you, Lord, that seven years ago, I ushered your promise into this world, kicking and screaming. (She was screaming, too). May I raise her to serve you, to love you, to honor you- in all she endeavors. I pray she takes risks when she should, plays it safe when it's best, and challenges the world around her every day. Let her life be a testament to your graciousness and favor. Help her to season her words with salt and always remember to apologize when she fails at that. Thank you for her sweet nose that I kiss every day. Thank you for the freckles you have dotted her beauty with. Thank you for the red streak that shows in the back of her hair in summer sunshine. Thank you for the perfect lips she wears, which smile endlessly- may they cherish the kiss of her husband for many years. I'm so glad you made her hands so beautifully... May they have plenty of babies to hold when her time comes. Thank you for her brassiness- May she always hold strongly to her opinion, even if she's the only one who has it. But mostly, Lord, thank you for her heart. May it always beat with compassion for the underdog the way it does now. May it know how it feels to be warmed by your healing touch after it breaks with sadness. May it burn with passion for the souls around her who so desperately need you.

And may she always find her way home. 'Cause that's where I'll be.

I love you, Abigail Ruth Elaine. Every breath. Until I leave this world. And even then.

Love, Mom.

You want some SKIN?

Just when you think you've been shocked by liberal media advancements toward our children. Just when you think we've danced as close to the line as is humanly possible. Just when you think your jaw could not drop any further without touching the ground...

MTV tops itself again.

First of all, let me say to all teenagers who will read this and think, "Thanks alot, Jill. You made my life infinitely harder after my parents read your blog." You're welcome.

I remember the early days of MTV. Conservative parents everywhere were freaking out (mine included) because now their children would be exposed to the likes of Madonna (when she wasn't so Maddona-ish yet), Michael Jackson (when he was still the color he was when he was born), and rock stars with purple hair and neon guitars. I had better not even THOUGHT about trying to sneak a peek every now and then because somehow, my parents would find out, and let me tell you... it would not be pretty for me.

But I recently have come to realize that it wasn't so much what was on MTV then that bothered them. My parents knew where it was headed down the road. Fast forward to today.

Part of the intention of this blog is to expose you, as parents, to what's in front of your children. I spend hours (and I do mean HOURS) reading articles, watching videos, listening to music, reading reviews, etc., so I can stay informed, for my kids and yours. See, I don't want to be caught completely off guard, nor will I trust my children (or yours) to be up front about what's going on in their culture and world. So, imagine my reaction when my brother-in-law (who is a PHENOMENAL youth pastor) told me to investigate MTV's newest rage, the teenage-geared show called "Skins." The meaning of "skins" from urban dictionary is "parties usually involve large amounts of drugs, alcohol, sex and loud music. After the skins party, the guests usually wake up in somebody elses house/garden completely disorientated, naked and covered in puke/piss/blood."

I. Am. Angry.
I. Am. Shocked.
I. Am. Grieved.

Here's the deal in a nutshell. Skins is an hour long show about teenagers. Or at least what the world WANTS us to believe/see about teenagers.

That's not the problem.

The problem is, MTV has actually employed teenage actors to play their true-to-life roles. That's right. In Skins, you will see fifteen year old girls in NUDE sex scenes. NUDE. You'll hear sixteen year old boys DEMAND sexual favors of girls, in great detail. You'll see seventeen year old children making drug deals, popping pills, and committing grand theft auto.

And your kids are watching it.

See, MTV is clever. They are billing this as "true to life" and "just showing the world where teenagers really are." ARE YOU KIDDING ME? First of all, I know PLENTY of teenagers who aren't living like thugs and fools. In fact, the majority of them are not. Secondly, SHAME on MTV for using MINORS to play these roles. The definition of pornography is "The explicit depiction of sexual subject matter, especially with the sole intention of sexually exciting the viewer; The graphic, detailed, often gratuitous depiction of something." Bingo. Third, WHERE ARE THESE BABIES' PARENTS? (Let me at 'em). Fourth, just because it's on TV and not a pay-channel does NOT mean it is permissible in our homes! Just because it's "legal" for these children parade around in prostitution and drug-related scenes does NOT mean it's okay for my daughter to learn that she can or should allow boys to demand vulgar and explicit actions from her. Just because it's on "primetime" TV does NOT mean that I should allow my son to think it's ok to use the F-word whenever and however and to whomever he chooses, or describe girls' body parts as if they are objects found in a landfill. And just because "all the other kids" watch it CERTAINLY does not mean that MINE WILL.

I know, I know. Some of you are literally saying, "Well, you can't control every thing they watch." I agree. They go to school. They hang out with friends. But let me tell you this. I CAN CONTROL WHAT IS WATCHED IN MY HOUSE. Even if this means there is ONE TV, ONE computer, and ONE smartphone, and they are all in MY room, under lock and key! Furthermore, I can instill in my children a heart filled with self-respect and dignity, where they instinctively turn their eyes and their hearts away from filth when they are exposed to it. Don't tell me it can't be done. I can show you family after family who's children didn't fall into this trap. Families that I admire and look up to because they produced children who aren't perfect, but who soared above the traps of garbage that others fall in to.

Need more reason to understand why I am angry? Watch this. (you'll have to click on this link, as I couldn't post it to my blog.)

http://abcnews.go.com/Entertainment/controversal-mtv-skins-porn-teens/story?id=12728614


Has this given you a heads up? I hope so.

So, where to go from here? Be up front with your kids. Going in with guns blazing will cause a freakout and will be counterproductive. Sit down with them and ask them if they've seen it, and why they like this show. Ask them where their own moral compass is regarding these issues. Try to lead them to follow the chain of events to where these destructive lifestyles are headed. (Pregnancy, STD's, suicide, prison, minimum wage jobs for their whole life, poverty, etc.). Then, PULL THE PLUG. They don't have to like it, nor do they really have to even understand your reasons right now. That's the beauty of parenting. We have to protect them from themselves. And I know you're like me in the fact that you want your adult children to look back and now EXACTLY what you stood for.

And one more thing. I'm now a Taco Bell fan for life.

Yo quiero Taco Bell.

Where to begin?

How about here?



Or here?



Definitely here...



That's right, blog friends. My sister has had a baby boy! His name is Legend, and since day one, he's living up to his name. I had the privilege of being right at Lori's side as she ushered her heart into this world on January 3, which was three weeks before his expected arrival. When he came out, his cord was TIGHTLY wrapped around his tiny neck. He was purple and didn't make a sound. He struggled to breathe off and on for the first day or two, and was taken to a bigger hospital in Orlando, where he spent the next nine days. The verdict was that he had a paralyzed vocal cord on his right side, and a condition that alot of preemies have called SVT (his heart would run very high heart rates off and on). Thanks to a medical team that I cannot brag enough about and the power of a magnificent healing God, Legend has a heart that is perfectly healthy, and his cry is getting (MUCH) louder every day. He is the first boy in our family... first in four generations on my Mom's side... and we are over the moon about this little seven pound bundle of chewiness.

As I sit and hold Legend every day (my office is not even one minute from his house... the perfect lunch getaway), I cannot help but think of my own girl and wonder where in the HECK the time has gone. I reflect back on her early years, and I literally feel like I'm trying to see through a fog. The memories are blurred and I only see bits and pieces of time. I want to pin Lori and Seth to the wall and somehow force them to understand how quickly this tender phase of their lives will pass. But I know that even if I could, they won't get it until they go through it. Days of diaper changing, spit up, rocking, and worrying turn into weeks and months, which all add up to one magnificent adventure.

One of the ten million wonderful things about Legend being here is how his very existence has forced me to hold Abi a little closer... squeeze her a little tighter... bite her sweet cheeks a little more often. Her birthday is fast approaching, and for some reason, I cannot bring myself to say the word "seven" when asked how old she'll be. See, the fact is, she's not in little powder scented diapers anymore. She doesn't require me to rock her to sleep, though on the rare occasion she asks, I gladly oblige. She can wipe her own rear end, pick out her own clothes (haha), and get her seatbelt on without my assistance.

But she's still a baby. MY baby.

My baby, who still says things like, "Mom, I have so much fun with you." MY baby, who asks, "Will spiders crawl into my mouth while I sleep?" MY baby, who would eat pancakes 24/7 if allowed the chance. MY baby, who cries while watching Animal Planet. MY baby, who hasn't outgrown running to me when the bell rings and kissing me right in front of all her friends. MY baby who at her young age is already so hormonal, I think I'll lose my own sanity BEFORE she starts her period.

We ooh and aah over the tiny ones, the new ones... and understandably so. But Moms, Dads... we have babies that are tender, albeit sometimes hard to love, at seven, twelve, and seventeen.

Take a minute today and smooch on your baby. I'm already counting the hours until I chew on my girl when she gets out of school today.

But first, it's only an hour and a half until lunch. And this is where I'm headed.