Four years ago today, just hours after the turn of Leap Day, my sister called me from my parents' bathroom. She was nine minths pregnant, and her husband, hesitant to leave her alone for any period of time, had dropped her at my parents' house while running his daughter to the airport.
"My water just broke," she said through tears over the phone.
Grabbing my keys I excitedly replied, "Call for Mom, I'm on my way."
"Mom's not here," she warbled back, "just Dad."
Now, Dad is not without experience in this sort of situation. Mom has given birth three times to four babies (she is efficient), and Dad has seen his share of amniotic fluid. Still, Kari was hesitant to let Dad in on the less glamorous and highly intimate details of imprending grandparenthood.
But her track record for quick births left her no time to wallow on the toilet, lest she give birth in it.
"Suck it up," I firmly advised, "and call for Dad."
I met Kari, Mom, Dad, and eventually Chris and his daughter at the hospital just in time to wait eight hours for Charlie to enter the world.
And the excitement he has provided our family has not stopped since.
Happy birthday, Charlie!