Yesterday, my second daughter turned five.

She is slightly tall for her age, but skinny enough that when I fold up all her limbs and hug her tight to my torso, it's almost as if she is being reabsorbed back into my womb. I wonder how much longer I can do this -- swaddle her into my body so that she still resembles a fresh newborn bundle. 

Very early in my pregnancy, there were three embryos. Two did not survive past the first few weeks, but the third, who would become our daughter, kept growing. Though we were worried sick, our fears were quieted over the months when we watched her development during ultrasound after ultrasound. First, there was the heartbeat, then suddenly, arm and leg buds. Then, I could see the shape of a face. Before long, we saw our active, thriving baby sucking her thumb.

Yesterday, in an attempt to describe to her how wonderful her birth was to our family, I sat her on my lap and we watched the ticking of the second hand on the clock, counting down to the time of her birth. 

60 seconds until you were born -- Mommy is pushing really hard, and is excited you are almost here.

50 seconds -- Daddy tells Mommy he can't wait to meet you.

40 seconds -- Mommy says, "I think the baby is coming."

30 seconds -- Mommy wonders who you will look like.

20 seconds -- Daddy squeezes Mommy's hand.

10 seconds -- Daddy says you're almost here.

0 seconds -- You are out! Mommy is holding her beautiful baby girl at last.

My daughter giggled, not quite understanding how it is that life begins -- the miracle of existence. But perhaps in this brief retelling of her birth, she can imagine how much she was loved and wanted.

"Yea! I am born," she said triumphantly. "And I love you more now that I'm five, than when I was four."