This day, Aug. 10, 2009, won't really stand out for most of you.

August, by nature, is a pretty bland month, really. No national holidays. It's the dead of summer and usually too hot for lots of outdoor activities. The kids are getting ready to trudge back to school. People are wrapping up their vacations.

To me, though, Aug. 10 is a special day.

On that day in 1973 in Fort Wayne, Indiana, Alfred Jr. and Nancy Barrand became the parents of a tiny baby boy -- a baby boy they had been trying for years to have and who wasn't due to be born until mid-October.

That baby boy was my husband, Andy.

Little Andrew Allen Barrand stayed in the hospital for several weeks, defying odds, getting stronger. To this day, his grandmother loves to tell the stories about the celebrations the family and medical staff would have when he took a full dropper or formula or when he would roll from one end of his incubator to the other.

Andy was home for the holidays that year.

That tiny baby is now a fine, strong man. He is 6 feet tall, handsome, intelligent and capable. He is a wonderful husband and a phenomenal father to our two children.

When Aug. 10 rolls around each year, I think about what my mother-in-law and father-in-law must have gone through in those first touch-and-go hours after Andy was born. Another story my grandmother-in-law tells is that the hospital medical staff wouldn't let Andy go home until his father had held him -- something he was hesitant to do because Andy was so very small.

I think about what a true miracle this man is. He was already strapping and healthy when I met him, but for his parents and grandparents, there were moments they weren't sure he was going to make it.

And now, here he is. He is amazing. I know that sometimes, when my in-laws are watching Andy with our kids, they can't believe it happened.

I think he was worth waiting for, and his parents and grandparents do, too.

Happy birthday, my sweet husband. Never forget what a miracle you are.