Six years ago in October I found out I was pregnant with Julia. I had only just met (and been impregnated by) the man who became my husband. I was thirty and had lived my whole life doing things "the right way," so telling my parents was tough. When I told my dad, it was especially hard. It took him awhile to adjust to the idea.

We went to my parent's house a few weeks later for Thanksgiving and I knew he had adjusted. Out came a present for us: a boy's bike, bright yellow with flame decals covering it. Apparently he was readier to accept the news if he could imagine me having a grandson that would one day become his little fishing buddy.

We kept that bike, I married Julia's dad, and we had her that June, a beautiful blessing of a baby. Fast forward nearly six years and the only thing that's changed is that the little yellow bike no longer sports flames but instead tiny butterflies. Julia has ridden it and moved on to a bigger bike and it waits in the wings for Avery to ride soon.

Last Friday we were dinking around outside and I took the training wheels off the little yellow bike, thinking it might be easier for Julia to learn to ride than her larger bike. A few trips with me pushing her around the cul de sac and she was totally riding all by herself! I think I used to be anxious that it would take her a long time to learn, but here she is, a five year old who can ride a bike without training wheels. It's especially fitting that at this time of year, she learned on the bike that my dad, her Bumpa, got her before she was even born.