Evidently, a midnight call was insufficient, and to be fair, this oversight was a slight, well...slighting. Nevertheless, I did spend all day, from said midnight hour to 6:20 pm yesterday, recalling every pang, every insecurity, every indignity of 23 hours of labor that brought forth my beloved first born.
If she complains that she suffers the indignities of all my anxieties with a first born, i.e., a reluctance to let her do things on her own, the fearful cutting of the umbilical cord (it's still attached, although she comes at it with a chainsaw), and my own misgivings about watching her grow up and become the lovely young adult that she inevitably has become, she should be somewhat consoled by the fact that I loved her first.
Happy Birthday, Vic!
here she is, the center of attention, as it should be (no doubt she thinks it)