Thirteen years ago, I entered the hospital to be induced with my first child. Scared and excited, and so ready as I was huge and uncomfortable. My best friend came up to support me in the labour room for communication, as my ex is Deaf. Seventeen hours of labour, and she was deemed to big to fit, so off we went for a Caesarean section.
She was pulled out, red, head full of dark brown hair, and squalling at 3:15 am, May 21, 2001. It was Victoria Day that year, so the lucky girl has a long weekend on or around her birthday. I’ve been a mom since I found out I was pregnant, but that moment made it real.
The time has gone by too fast, and my daughter has blossomed into this beautiful, smart, caring, loving, young woman. She is a terrific big sister to her two brothers (we celebrate the middle child’s next week, and he will be nine) and always helping with the youngest. I am so proud of how she has matured, and she is mature for her age. She is turning out to be exactly what I had hoped, and imagined as I carried her.
I have no trepidation a about her teen years even though I tease her endlessly about it. I’ll be one of the lucky parents to never have to worry about their teen. Knock on wood!
So at 3:15 am, I will send her a text, and wish her a happy birthday. I’ve always woken up at that time, and either kissed her as she slept if she was with me, or sent a text.