It’s been a week for miracles. Then again, perhaps every week is, depending on your perspective.

I can’t help but think that the birth of every baby is a miracle in itself. Not the actual physical act of a baby being born – although that certainly seems to defy all physical laws in that camel-through-the-eye-of-the-needle kind of way – but the mind-boggling reality that a unique human being with all its diverse traits develops from a microscopic bit of matter.

One of our own – reporter Lachlan Labere – became the proud parent on Saturday of an eight-pound, nine-ounce dark-haired baby boy, as did his beloved Sierre, also an Observer employee, who works in the production department.

Our congratulations to both of them on their miracle and a warm welcome to the littlest Labere.

Miracles come in all shapes and sizes.

The dictionary definition of a miracle is fairly strict: an extra-ordinary event manifesting a supernatural work of God; or an unusual event, thing or accomplishment.

The Catholic Church has developed parameters for sainthood and miracles. Performing miracles is necessary in order for a person to be elevated to saint status.

Like the church, but in a less-structured fashion, most people seem to have their own ideas of what’s miraculous.

An item on BBC News Monday noted that a ground-breaking laser treatment could prevent millions of older people from going blind. Now that sounds pretty miraculous.

On a personal level, I experienced what felt like a couple of miracles last week.

First, I thought I was in the no-turning-back stages of a local version of the swine flu when, after a bout of my whining about craving healthy soup, He Who Can’t Be Ignored created a most delicious concoction that cured me within hours. He said it might have had something to do with the whole pouch of garlic he inadvertently dropped into the mixture, but it seemed moderately miraculous nonetheless.

My second brush with the miraculous was my first-ever goal scored in a soccer game. Never mind that my teammates in the women’s recreational soccer league fed me the perfect pass, but, for me, watching that ball settle into the back right corner of the net felt nothing short of miraculous. (Commercial alert – here comes a shameless plug for the league. It is so much fun. I highly recommend it to women of all ages who have a whim to hit the pitch but aren’t interested in super serious soccer.)

Although I’ve stretched the definition, miracles seem to be a bit like gratitude and good fortune.

Is the glass half full or is it a perpetual salt-rimmed desert?

The Internet is full of stories of miracles, many of them focusing on amazing medical occurrences. Oddee.com lists the 10 Most Fascinating Medical Miracles, including the window washer who fell 47 storeys but awoke from a coma on Christmas Day.

My favourite is Wikipedia’s reference to author C.S. Lewis. It states that “one cannot believe a miracle occurred if one had already drawn a conclusion in one’s mind that miracles are not possible at all.”

Those sound like wise words.