Wow... so many ways to begin this post.
I could start with the birth story, but I think I'll save that for another day. Maybe next Thursday, which I'm dubbing the Feast Day of Whoever Invented the Epidural.
I could start with boobs, but maybe I'll save that for a post in poetic form. It will start, 'Oh, Mother Nature. What in Sam Hill were you thinking?'
I could start with sleep, but maybe I should save that for a more creative post. Maybe an interpretive dance that starts on a Wednesday and goes on and on without a break for 18 years.
But instead I'll start with my baby girl. A woman in her thirties has so few moments in life where she knows-- right there-- what the purpose in her life is supposed to be. Anna, you are my moment forever. Thank you for choosing me.