Today is my daughter's birthday - my youngest. Twenty-six years ago I gave birth to someone who didn't want to come into the world. Or at least, wanted to make a big stink about it.
The C-Section team was on stand by. Every time I had a contraction, her heart rate plummeted. Finally, the doctor just decided to go in a get her with his hands (I think I might have pushed once - I wasn't even fully dilated).
He's the one who called her a little stinker. Everyone was afraid the cord was wrapped around her neck. Instead, her hand was wrapped around the cord. Everytime there was a contraction, she had grabbed it, cutting off the heart rate monitor and any other vital signs that were being monitored.
We like to tell her she's been ornery ever since. I think she likes to hear it, too.
Yes, she's her father's daughter. And I love her very much.
Happy Birthday, Steph!