Eleven years ago today I welcomed my daughter into this world. She made me wait for her arrival. She was four days late and then I spent many hours in labor. But when she finally made her entrance she was a beautiful little girl. We were instantly smitten - and have remained so to this day.
She has grown into a lovely young lady. No longer a little child, she has a splendid character and a great sense of self. I am very proud to be able to call her my daughter.
So today was her birthday - and we celebrated by attending her brothers first penance ceremony and then with a gathering of the family. She got lots of blank books for writing in (and is thrilled by all the paper she has to fill now) and the greatest surprise gift was the pocket knife from her aunt and uncle.
Apparently when I was fifteen and returned from my first visit to Germany, I gave my little brother a Swiss army knife. He was seven at the time. That same little brother told that story to my daughter at Christmas. And Pippi told us all how what she really wanted was a pocket knife. I immediately said no - because she has a habit of stabbing herself with sharp pencils, and a knife didn't seem like a wise choice for her. But she insisted that she hadn't stabbed herself with a pencil in over a year.
But her aunt and uncle were much more sympathetic to her plight. They gave her a pink pocket knife for a birthday present - though they were sure to tape bandages to the back of the package - just in case.