It's been ten years since I pushed my round-headed, broad-shouldered, silky-haired girl into the midwive's hands and let out a loud gasp of relief and joy.

My son's birth had been a bit of a drama. Without warning I'd gone into labor almost two months early and delivered a baby that immediately had to leave my arms and go to intensive care.  This made the quiet aftermath of my daughter's birth even more satisfying.

We locked eyes immediately, and she knew I belonged to her and she belonged to me. We held that gaze for the longest time. When I put her to my breast, her little rosebud mouth did a perfect latch and we were on our way to 18 months of nursing.  Unlike her brother, there was no pumping, no feeding tubes, no brain scans, no worries. Unfortunately, there were lots of stitches--it took me a really long time to recover physically from her birth.

Today she's one of the biggest kids in her fourth grade class. Fair-haired and blue-eyed, her delicate coloring denies that she has a drop of Italian blood in her. She's built exactly like her father, but oh my, when she opens her mouth and talks, she's entirely her mother's daughter. Animated, funny, and with a quick wit, she's also a thinker, planner, and academic all star with a tender heart. We look at her and think she got the best our DNA has to offer.

The last week has been a whirlwind for me, getting ready for her birthday, cleaning the house, and handling all the usual school and extracurricular activities solo. E arrived in from the States early this morning after nine days of traveling, and this afternoon I led a group of bubbly girls in a scapbooking workshop before serving up ice cream and home made cake. When the last kid was picked up and the party was officially over, I took a long walk and then flopped on the sofa.

Ten years after working hard to bring my girl into the world, I'm once again exhausted, happy, and blessed by her presence. A day to celebrate that some things about being a mother never change.  

September 30, 2007