Babies are clogging my inbox and filling my facebook feed. Childbirth seems to go in cycles and everywhere I turn lately, someone is announcing a baby welcomed into their world. Oh, baby. Soft, warm, snuggly baby. Sweet, nice-smelling, perfect baby. Bright eyes, tiny fingers and toes, looking like an old man or woman. I see beautiful pictures of baby wearing a hat, wrapped in a comfy blanket, in the arms, and surrounded by, all the people who love that baby more than it will ever know. I savor every picture, re-read every snippet of the birth announcement. Seven pounds, 8 pounds 4 ounces, 10 pounds 11 ounces, 21 inches, 18 inches, 2 hours of labor, 10 hours of labor. As I learn of the news, I look at my own miracles. My little miracle, who last night applied Chapstick to her own lips, yeah, not those lips, the other lips. My big miracle who is learning to write her name and reminds me that turd is not a nice word. Five years have passed since we welcomed our first snuggly gift to our h...