Change of Life

Katie as a newborn, still in the gown the hospital put on her.
Don't you just want to sniff her?

Twenty-three years ago today, I gave birth to Katie, a 6 lb. 11 oz. little girl, on Easter Sunday in 1988. I was 25 years old.

I became a mother, at last. It was something I had yearned for for as long as I could remember. Seems my biological clock started ticking when I was about 15. I wanted a baby the way some politicians lust for power: it was a drive, a compulsion, an obsession.

I was so certain of wanting a baby that I used to declare it to university friends (à propos of what, I can't imagine) and had offers from volunteers to help me out, made in jest, of course. We all know that babies come with strings attached.

Eventually, of course, Steve and I chose those strings and tied the knot at an unimaginably young age (I was only 21, for heaven's sake!). Wisely, he insisted we wait a few years before starting a family.

So, thank you, Katie, for helping my dreams come true. I hope we can do the same for you.