Eleven years ago this morning, I held my daughter for the first time. It was about 4 in the morning, and I hadn’t slept in 22 hours or so, so the scene has a hint of surreality about it. They handed me my daughter, and I carried her to the little glass room where they put her for observation. She was slightly premature, so there was a little concern, but I greatly resented them taking her from me, when I had only just met her. There was so much I wanted to say to her. She was tiny, and strangely colored, and absolutely perfect, and I was immediately in love. I knew I was in way over my head, but I determined to be the best father I could possibly be, whatever that took.
Eleven years doesn’t seem like very long. A lot of joy, and a lot of sorrow, in that short time. There are still times when I feel I’m in over my head, but I’m still very much in love with my little girl. She holds my heart quite firmly, and what’s more, she knows it.
I am always so very proud of her, and I am looking forward to continuing to watch her become a beautiful and talented woman, with interests and opinions entirely of her own, and her own idea of what she wants to do with her life.