You've been a question mark. This series of storms has been an exclamation point. You know what people really mean when they start typing a bunch of punctuation marks together, don't you, son?
So you hang tight, as instructed. We'll ride out this storm, and then we'll talk. Everyone keeps telling me I'll have so much to tell you about; just look at the last few posts here to see pictures of all this snow. You've had a lot of people on edge. Your birth story will never be told without highlighting the Blizzards of 2010.
So, my love, my youngest, the One Who Shall Not Yet Emerge, this picture is for you. I'm 40 weeks and 5 days pregnant with you, and the snow on our back porch is over my belly button. It's over your still-inside-me head. This is your birth story, still unfolding: