That’s how I’ve come to think of this time of year. After all, four of our five children were born in late spring. It’s fitting: at the season when the world is bursting forth with flowers, grass, leaves, and deliciously warm weather, our family added a new member (or two, the glorious day we had twins) to its ranks. And it was perfect: I did not need to wait for a balmy day to take the little one(s) out for a stroll.
But those happy, hectic days are in the distant past. Those spring babies (and their autumn sibling, born on a picture-perfect October day) are adults now, and there are parents among them. Our most recent grandchild is a springtime baby, and we will finally meet her this week. So, even as we again celebrate the miracle that each of our children is, we rejoice in the even more amazing one: the children of those children.