Happy birthday, Olivia Kate!

Sweet miss Olivia, it's your birthday!

At this time last year, I was in bed, unable to sleep. Truth be told, I think I was also crying a little. I was to report to the hospital at 6 a.m. to be induced -- you were stubborn and cozy in there and didn't seem to be showing signs of wanting to come out on your own. I didn't want to go to a hospital. I was under the assumption that childbirth might possibly be the Worst Thing Ever and thought that if I could be the first woman to remain pregnant forever, I'd gladly sign up. I was sad that I would no longer be carrying around a little friend with me wherever I went. I knew I'd miss your crazy nighttime kicking and all-day-long hiccups.

I was also just plain petrified. Petrified about some big stuff, like that I wouldn't have any idea how to take care of you or that I'd be a lousy mom, but also about some silly stuff, like fearing I'd never get to go out to eat again. When I was nearing my due date, everything became a "last." Last dinner out. Last movie in a theater. Last night as a childless married couple. I worried that maybe your dad and I hadn't traveled enough, or that perhaps we should have spent more time being selfish (your dad assured me that as people in their mid-30s, we'd had plenty of time to be selfish).

As it turns out, I was wrong about a lot of things. Having you was -- after the epidural, anyway! -- exhilarating. Though I no longer had a built-in little friend, I had something even better: a tiny sweet bundle that I could hold in my arms. It's true that your dad and I had a lot of "lasts" before you were born, but now we have so many firsts to look forward to. Something is a first for you every day, and we get to go along for the ride. We somehow figured out how to care for you, with lots of help from grandma and books and even that first-night-home call to the hospital to find out why you were crying. Answer: have you tried giving her more food? Yeah, we were rookies in every sense of the word. And I laugh now, thinking that we'd never eat out again. I think you may have been in more restaurants in your first three months of life than I'd been to in a year. One of these days, daddy and I will get brave and travel somewhere with you. Maybe.

Though I jokingly called it "A day of indignities" after some of the things that happened during labor and delivery, February 7, 2008 was by far the best day of my life. I'm so happy you're my daughter and that I get to watch you learn and grow. I love seeing the world through your eyes -- how you point and grin at birds and squirrels and have been fascinated by butterflies even when you were only a few months old; that you hear an airplane and look toward the sky expectantly, as if it's one of the most exciting things ever.

I am so lucky, and I love you so much.