When people hear that I am carrying, not my first, but my 4th baby, we are faced with responses such as "you're brave", or "you're crazy".. Neither of which, I feel I can really take credit for.

I wish I was so brave... To wake up each day, confident that this will be far greater then the last. Or to spend each moment with my kids thankful for the gift of each second passed.... But me, I am the furthest thing from brave...fearful of each moment that my kids depend on me, that I might just be the one to fail them.

These past few months have hit me hard with the reality of my role in shaping these little people, my responsibilities for them, and to them. It's a big job, and with it, admittedly, I grow afraid of getting lost. I see it when I meet people for the first time. They don't ask me what I "do" anymore, they take one look at the babies and suddenly it's all about being a mom. And it is...and I have to be okay with that for the next 15 years. But for the last 5 years, it didn't seem to matter to me...because so many years ago, I didn't even want to know who I was. But in recent years I have learned to even believe in this woman...who is now 29, and suddenly feels as though she is running out of time! Here today, and gone tomorrow, what little time we have with them....

And how do I balance? Me on the teeter, them on the totter. ...How do I meet them in the middle, without either of us taking a tumble? I don't. I hop down, and walk them over safely. Holding their hands, patient for a time that I am called to let go....