hqdefault.jpgThis reflection was written in July 2016.

We have a small baby countdown in our living room that I find myself looking at every week or so.

This morning it read: “84 days.”

It felt like yesterday it was 103. Where did those 19 days go?

The baby room is still holding on to its previous title of “crap room.” The furniture needs another coat or two of paint. And we have some big purchases left to secure so we can be “ready.”

I write this after some cleaning and breakfast, before a shower and some last minute shopping.  We will spend the day at my grandmother’s (who is a Yankee Doodle Dandy, turning 86) and my uncle’s, who puts on a show that gives Macy’s a run for their money.

Much of the conversations will surround baby names, pregnancy stories, and that relative who will tell us how to spend our money. We will politely smile as my wife will wish she could soothe the pain with a refreshment or two.

This year, the 4th of July takes on a different feel. It is the last major holiday before our baby is here. How amazing is that?

Earlier this morning, while my wife was still sleeping, I put my hand on her belly. The baby started to kick. Each time I moved my hand, the baby followed. My laughter woke up my wife. It was our first game that my daughter and I ever played (even though she may not have realized it).

Each 4th of July that follows will forever be different. She will cry when the fireworks go off, only to come to countdown the hours to sunset as we all did at one time.

In a few weeks, I will look back at July 4th and ask, “where did those weeks go?” In that reflection, I will recognize the miracle that is my life and the life my wife and I created.

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