Miracle

Scott and I are 60% sure baby said her first word this past month: "Dada." We're more than halfway convinced she understands what it means when she says it. But there's more than enough room for doubt on that. She babbles a lot of syllables these days. Granted, every time he walks through the door, I point and say "DADA!" as obviously as anyone could. So even if she doesn't say the word, I'm pretty sure she understands the word "Dada."

Why am I saying all of this?

Two nights ago, at 5:13 a.m., out of a stone silence, a little voice from the crib cried, "Dada! Dada!" Scott rolled over and mumbled a response, barely conscious. A second later, he bolted straight up and looked at the alarm clock. Army physical training started at 05:50, and he'd forgotten to set an alarm. "What time were you going to set it for?" "5:15," he said.

I don't know if any of you have ever been late for Army PT, but I'd advise against it. Little girl had her daddy's back that morning. We still don't know for sure if this is her first word, because she hasn't said it since. But we do know, with even greater gratitude than before, that she is our miracle.