In about five minutes or so it will be Willow's third birthday, which is hard to believe because I can still picture her tiny form being cut from Jen during an emergency c-section. Never have worry and joy been so hopelessly entwined.

I went and picked up her big gift today - a large, molded plastic playhouse with a porch and various other bells and whistles (quite literally, I think). The guy who carted it out of the back room seemed skeptical about our chances of wedging it into the van, but wedge it we did. Of course we still have to assemble it, but that's another story for another time.

Happy birthday, Willow. May each birthday be better than the last.