In December 2001, when I was pregnant with our first son, I carried around a tangled mess of emotions — excitement, gratitude, hope, fear, joy, anxiety, and a certainty that the smell or sight of cooked chicken would make me gag. (Thankfully, the chicken thing was a temporary aversion, which is why I now make almost daily trips to Chick-fil-A.) But what I remember most about that pregnancy and the subsequent pregnancies with his younger brother and sister is that I loved walking or waddling around, knowing I was part of a miracle.
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