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My daughter, my first born, will be turning 6 years old in a few days and as I do every year at this time, my mind wanders back to the years leading up to it, the frustration, tears, fear and elation of the day I became a mom.

To be honest, as a young woman, I never imagined myself having kids. I was my mom’s baby and had never really been around young children.  I was never one of those girls with natural mothering instincts, didn’t play with dolls, etc. etc.  At 25 I discovered that the “biological clock” was real and powerful.

Trying to get pregnant was brutal – it was six months of “let’s just see what happens”; another 6 months of scrutinizing calendars and temperature taking; and the final two months of those ovulation predictor kits. I felt like calling the makers of Ortho-Tri Cyclen and asking for 5 years worth of $20.00 prescriptions back – I could buy a lot of purses with $1200.00!

More honesty, as thrilled as I was to be pregnant, I HATED BEING PREGNANT!  I hated hearing women tell me how much they loved being pregnant (thank you, Mother!) and how their hair and nails and skin looked so beautiful.  My hair frizzed, nails split and I had pimples; I threw up every single day of my pregnancy, had migraines and sciatic pain.

I HATED being pregnant every day, until I was told I had an excess of amniotic fluid (polyhydramnios – Google it) and that there might be something wrong with the baby, or me or both. After a couple of weeks of delirious worrying and about 37 ultrasounds, the baby and I got the all clear, we were fine.  The biggest worry at that point was that the water balloon in my gut would burst and we’d have a premature delivery – at that point, I prayed every day for the privilege of hating pregnancy for one more day.

Sure enough, 33 weeks in, POP! GUSH! Water broke, in the car, thank heavens for leather upholstery. Nothing much we could do at that point, after a mercifully short labor, Madeline Elaine entered the world at 8:09pm on July 18, 2002 – nearly to months too soon.  The first time I got to see my daughter was in the NICU.  She was long, and skinny, with tubes in her nose, leg, and head, hated being swaddled and always had one of her long baggy skinned legs hanging out of her blanket.  As horrid as she looked, she was beautiful.

After ten days in the NICU, she learned to eat on her own, could regulate her own body temperature and no longer needed to spend time in the NICU tanning bed.  They released her on July 28th, and she was all ours. Nearly six years have passed and I still remember that day with remarkable clarity, as I’m sure most moms do, as I’m sure I always will.

July 18, 2002: I got a new name, a new job, a purpose in life, and the best gift I’ve ever gotten to open early.  Happy Birthday baby girl, I love you.