Fourteen years ago today, at the ripe old age of 22, my husband and I welcomed our daughter into the world. A full week and a half overdue, she gave us several clues to her personality even before she was born. We found out that we were expecting a girl a month before she was born. Excitedly, we gave her the name we had picked out and our doctor and his staff were pleased to use it during tests and exams. Following her unofficial naming, our precious daughter commenced a prenatal noncompliance campaign - leading one ultrasound technician to comment that perhaps she did not like her name. A few more similar incidents led my husband and I back to the baby name book. She kicked so hard when we came to her name that we knew we had the right one.
She protested her surroundings loudly and with gusto from the moment she was born. She slept little and screamed much. Our baby was an intimidating little mite, but fortunately we were young enough to survive the sleep deprivation and assault on our hearing.
Fourteen years have flown by. I cannot believe that the precious little bundle that was handed to me then, now has her own income from babysitting, flew across the country by herself and has a terrific talent for music. Apparently all of that screaming as an infant made for a powerful set of lungs.
Happy birthday! (And good luck at your band competition today!)