December 14

Six years ago this morning, I gave birth to my fourth child. My baby, my little muffin, my Brady. The one who, while in my womb, traveled to and from and to and from and to and from the hospital where his biggest brother underwent treatment. The one who, in some ways, saved me more than once. The one who makes me laugh with his hip-swerving ("because 'swerve' is a cool word, mom!") and makes my heart swell with pride when he's preternaturally kind or polite. This guy.

He celebrated his big number six at kindergarten with his friends; it happened to be Pajama and Polar Express Day, so he even got to put on a brand new pair of Paw Patrol PJs and sip hot cocoa during class, in addition to conducting a rendition of the silly birthday song, leading the Days of the Week Song, and sharing some photos of his siblings.

After pick-up, we had lunch at home, picked up Abby and Isaac, and headed off to take birthday photos. And then it was off again, this time to swimming class, before we headed home for good to have dinner (In N Out), presents, and cake.

A full day. A busy day. But a blessed day. Happy birthday, Brady. I love you more than I can possibly express with mere words.