My wonderful daughter is 29 years old today. From the moment she made herself known in the summer of 1991 (I have never been so miserable for the entire 7.5 months she was in utero and I still have to fight the urge to feel sorry when I hear someone is pregnant and just congratulate them instead of giving them my sympathy, although the outcome is worth it!) until this day, she has brought the same character traits to her life journey that made her the survivor she is.
I hadn't planned on a second child. Oh, I wanted one, wished for one, tried for one. But after a series of miscarriages, I had given up and was grateful for the one child I did have. I knew I was missing out, but you can't really miss what you have never had, so I didn't understand what I was missing, and I was okay with it all.
Then she showed up. And I realized that my daughter was going to have to be strong and brave and bold and fierce, from the moment of her premature birth. And I also realized pretty quickly that she was totally up to the job, and a spunky survivor, just like another woman I know and admire so much, my mother.
