Eight years ago today I was arguing with a doctor about whether or not they should just up and take me to surgery or if they should check my cervical progress again. Around this time, I hit 10 cm and I told her (the doctor) off.

It took three hours of pushing, including taking a break in the nap to be given more pain meds because I was so tired I could barely keep my eyes open let alone push. I get why they wanted to operate on me.

Luckily while I was pushing there was a shift change for the doctors and the nurses. The new doctor on shift said, “You are a transferred home birth? Do you want the placenta?” then things started looking up.

When my baby was born she was put on my belly and she army crawled up to my breast, lifted her head and immediately latched on. It was a moment out of an idealistic-birth-story. If you ignore that it took me 49 hours to get there. The folks in the delivery room said they had never seen a baby do that before. I didn’t know how to tell them that I did expect that. It was what the books said would happen if you made sure you put the baby on your belly right away.

Ok, it doesn’t always look like that. But the books said it could.

My sweet girl. Born hungry. Born interested in going out and getting what she fucking wants instead of waiting for it to come to her.

I love you so. Every day with you blows my mind and teaches me new things. You are inspiring to me. You teach me who I want to be. Thank you for continuing to prefer my company above all others. I feel the same way. I’m so glad we agree.

Happy birthday my love. I hope we still love each other this much in eight more years.