The other night as Tyson and I were sitting on the couch after dinner, going through our nightly ritual of admiring our favorite chubby parts of little Everett sleeping on our laps, the responsibility of raising this boy suddenly hit me. Not the responsibility of having a baby, but of having a boy. A little boy that will someday grow into a man. Someone who's kind, good, loyal, trustworthy, confident, hardworking, nonjudgmental, happy and loving. Right now, with the way he looks at me, grabs my hair, cuddles close on my chest and smiles when we make eye contact, I feel both overjoyed and overwhelmed that he really belongs to me. That he's mine, that he recognizes me as his mama, and that I get to be the primary influence that will shape and mold this sweet little boy into a man that contributes good to the world and to his family. That's huge. It's the greatest, scariest thing in the world. And while I'm not entirely sure how I'm going to do it yet, this intimidating thing they call parenting, I'm so thankful that the man I chose to marry is the kind of person I want my son to grow up to be like. And that we get to do this together. Everett and I are both really lucky that way.