Miracles

While I am not good at science, I have always considered myself a scientific person.  When encountered with a question I don't know the answer to, I trust logic, do my research and ask the experts.  I believe in things I can see and hear.  In fact, the first words that came out of my mouth when I saw the first images of our baby and heard its heartbeat were, "Now it's real." It wasn't until I could see hard evidence that I truly believed what was happening inside me. 

But this morning as I was getting dressed, I looked down and realized something.  I do not know where the spleen is located.  I couldn't point it out on a diagram.  Nor could I tell you where the kidneys are, or why the left and right sides of the brain are different.  To my mother's dismay I never paid attention in biology, and learned most of what I know about anatomy from this guy:

 Despite that, I have still managed to create tiny working replicas of every vital organ in the human body and put them exactly in the right place.  Some may call it science, but to me right now it just feels like more.  Today, I started believing in miracles.

I know this means every mother who ever existed has experienced a miracle.  There are billions of them in the world, so that must make them less special. But does it?  I think about all of the couples who struggle with infertility or for whatever reason simply can't conceive.  All of the people out there who have to wait so long or fight uphill battles or work so hard to be able to enjoy parenthood.  Here I am, dumbfounded by the process, thankful that building a person doesn't require an engineering degree.

I'm sure that most mothers think of their children as miracles. And I will be no different.