Happy birthday, Old Daughter
Nine years ago today, I was in a hospital in Northern Kentucky, watching the miracle of new life unfold for the first time ever. A 2-minute-old baby is a really remarkable sight.

Few moments of triumph I have ever felt have matched that moment. Yeah, I saw it happen two more times, and those were special in their own ways.

But she was the first, and she'll always be the first, and something about that is sublime.

She's not a baby anymore, and hasn't been for a long time. She's 9, not too far away from Judy Blume books, her first curse word (and her first mouthful of Ivory), and trials and triumphs yet to be conceived. She's a little person now, with opinions and concerns and everything. She's starting to learn that the world around her isn't perfect.

My life began anew on July 4, 1994, the day before I turned 26. And it begins anew every year on July 4, thanks to the wonder that she brings to our lives every day. The world's a better place because she's in it.