Blabby

Dear Odessa,

This time last year, you were spending your last comfy night in my tummy. Well, maybe you were comfy; I certainly wasn't comfy. And upon reflection--judging from the way you were prodding me in the lung with your foot-- maybe you were feeling a little squashed.

So, our last night as one person was a tad cramped, and I remember lying awake on the couch, thinking about what kind of person you were going to be. I wondered what color hair you were going to have and whether you'd have any funny moles and whether we would get along. I remember practicing saying "This is my daughter, Odessa." I practiced saying it over and over in my head until it sounded to myself like I was speaking Hungarian. And then I fell asleep.

We woke up at dawn the next morning, and your Daddy made me an egg sandwich, and we got in the car and drove over to the hospital, and I checked myself in, and they put all the bracelets on my wrist.

And a few hours later, YOU were born.

I'm one lucky lady.