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It all goes by so fast.

I went to a friend’s house one night to indulge in a tea that she swore up and down would induce labor.  So done with being pregnant, I drank 2 cups of Blue Root. And nothing. We went home.  I really don’t know what I was expecting. Maybe some spectacle moment where your water breaks and you scramble in mass hysteria to the hospital dodging cars and weaving in and out of the midnight traffic during a torrential downpour. Nothing. And to bed we went to wait. Some more. And then a funny thing happened at about 3am.  The usual routine that I had been accustomed to wasn’t happening.  The jabbing of the ribs, the push on my bladder, the wiggling.  It just wasn’t there. Which was odd.  So, I started poking and poking harder and freaking out and hyperventilating and shaking Russell vigorously out of his deep sleep with an, “OMG! I can’t feel the baby move!  I’ve killed her with that stupid tea!”

She always moved at the sound of her father’s voice.  It was magical to her and she would move from one side of my belly to the other to hear what secrets he would have for her that day.  But on this night, nothing.  And so we rushed to the hospital and hysterically I started to describe what I had done.  They hooked me up to all sorts of monitors, doctors and nurses started rushing in and out.  At 19 and 21, we were horrified.  Parenthood had been thrust upon us…not even having completed our first year of marriage…and here we were…in the middle of the night, after dodging cars and weaving in and out of traffic, in a hospital, wondering if I had indeed killed our child because I was impatient and anxious.  And then a miracle.  There she was on the ultrasound machine, heartbeat strong, just laying there…drunk. Yes, my child was drunk. Apparently, whatever chemical was in this root did nothing for me, but totally intoxicated her.  So, with what seemed like a glorified oven timer on my belly, my midwife buzz our child out of her drunken stupor and ensured us that she would be fine.  That I had to just wait.it.out.

And I did.  I sat on the couch like a mother hen on her egg and waited.  I don’t think I drank anything other than water.

A week later, on a random Monday, in a West Palm Beach hospital, right as the Fresh Prince of Bel Aire’s closing credits were rolling across the hospital television screen, she arrived.  A very teeny 6lbs 12oz, 21in. long peanut.  She was quiet. She was pink…so very pink.  Pink to the point of inheriting the name Pinky from her beloved Aunt.  She was already enamored with life.  I swear she recognized her father’s voice in an instant. And she wasn’t hungover.

It’s been 15 years. An amazingly wildly fun 15 years.

Elia was named after two amazing people…her grandmother and her great grandmother.  And much like those women, she is a force to be reckoned with.  She’s vibrant. Gorgeous. Opinionated. Heartwarming and endearing. She’s magical. I looked at her this morning when I crept into her room to be the first to wish her a happy birthday and was in awe at the young lady that was curled up in bed…albeit drooling on her powder pink pillow.  As I moved her wild hair away from her face so that I could kiss her teenaged cheek, I realized that there’s a young lady in the house now and that it’s all going to fly by me even faster.

So, with a lump in my throat, I write this, not just to wish her a public happy birthday, but to remind myself to enjoy her while she’s still under our roof.  To laugh with her, to wholeheartedly appreciate her, to encourage her harder, to push her further, to remind her how beautiful she is inside and out.

Elia, on the day you were born, after everyone had left the hospital that night, your father came over to me and together we just smiled at you. And as I cradled you in my arms, he whispered so that only I could hear, “we’ve done good.” And, indeed, we have. You are all that is good in our life. You have made us better people, better parents, a better family.  You complete us a hundred, million times over. You are more than we ever imagined we could want in a daughter.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, BANANA! You are so very loved.

(the crown that Elia will wear next week for her Quinceanera portraits and the Swarovski pacifier given to me on the day she was born)