I'm trying to think of something profound to write about, but let's face it, there's not much that is profound at 5:30 in the morning.
Last night though, I was half watching an episode of Extreme Home Makeover that my Tivo had recorded as a suggestion. I hardly ever watch that show because it ALWAYS makes me cry. This time it was about family who's mother threw herself on top of her two young boys in the basement of their home as a level 5 tornado directly hit it. The result was two children without a scratch on them, a house completely destroyed, and a mom with a paralytic injury to her back and two punctured lungs. She survived. I was in tears.
Mostly I think I was crying over the recognition in myself of the words this mother spoke. She talked of not feeling like a hero, of just doing what she had to do as a mother. Right away I knew what she meant. I've not faced anything approaching a similar situation, but I know I'd react the same. It's not heroics, it's not some unusual human trait or capacity for bravery. It's simple. It's love. Love is the matter and manner of miracles.
Just another step on the path of understanding who I have become since becoming a mother.