This year, Becky started celebrating her birthday a bit ahead of time, with a now commonplace invasion of her schoolmates for a sleepover. I customarily holed myself up in my study, trying in vain to ignore the squealing that permeated the house.
Today started very similarly to that famous day fourteen years ago – Natasha was making an omelette. As she likes to tell it, when she woke me up at 4 in the morning on that day and informed me that her water broke, I responded that there was plenty of time – hours and hours – before she’d be close to delivery, and that I’d rather not go to the hospital hungry.
I don’t remember it exactly that same way, but I don’t mind. Becky was born at 6:17 pm, and I spent the intervening hours pacing around the labour and delivery room in a state of heightened agitation. Never got myself another bite to eat. I could have fainted or something if not for that omelette, you know.
Anyway, Becky is a year older and more grown-up in every way. As I suppose all teenagers go, she can be both a pleasure to be around and a royal pain in the posterior. More importantly, she is growing up to be an amazing person. I hope I can take some credit for that.
Happy Birthday, Becky!