I'm not sure I even have to write this entry. After all, this entire blog is essentially a paean to my daughter already, even though she's got her own.

We weren't ready for kids. I guess you never are. You keep making excuses, helping each other draw out your youth and irresponsibility as long as you can. Let's wait until we have more money. Let's wait until we're settled into our permanent location. Let's wait until the heavens and earth collide and wizards and unicorns fight balrogs and chimaerae for control of the universe.

So when Sed showed me that little testing stick with three lines on it late in August, naturally, the first thought through my head was, "Holy shit -- I'm not ready."

But then, swiftly behind it: "Yes, I am."

We weren't long out of Vancouver, so the memory of seeing Lourdess was fresh. But more directly related was the time we'd spent with Georgette. When your perfect older daughter is desperately sick, sometimes you don't have the energy or wherewithal to give the more demanding younger child all the attention she needs. So to help lighten the load on everyone, I jumped right in with Georgette. I played games with her, I scooted her around the floor on a truck, I read her stories, we watched videos. When her uncle appeared and offered to take her out for the day, she wouldn't go unless I came along, and I was then in charge of her allergy medicines and spare clothes.

Isn't that what being a dad is about? Being supportive, sharing the wealth, taking care of health concerns? I actually had the thought running through my head all that day while we trailed her uncle through shops and museums: "What am I waiting for? This is it, this is what I'm supposed to be able to do -- and I'm doing it."

So even though Lourdess is the one who got her own entry, it was Georgette who made me realize I was ready, who helped me not to panic in welcoming Avery into our world.

And honestly, how can you panic at the sight of this face?