Two years

Today marks the 2nd anniversary of the day that I evicted my second-born child from, well, myself.

It was horrendously unpleasant, came with a pelvic separation that took my breath away mid-contraction (as if those weren't painful enough already), and left me getting stitches, with no freezing, in places where stitches aren't meant to go.

So why is it that she gets all the presents and I'm left to bake a cake??

Happy Birthday child.  I'd do it all over again for you.  (Not for anyone else, but for you.)