On January 13th, my Mom was a full two weeks past her due date. She was, in her words, “as big as a house” and extremely uncomfortable. It was too icy and cold for her to walk outside, so she went to the old Dallas Apparel Mart, where she was a reporter and regional editor for Women's Wear Daily, that night and walked laps while the guys watching the security cameras probably doubled over in laughter.

I still wouldn't come. The morning of January 14th, my Mom went to Baylor Medical Center and the doctor told my Mom to take this medication to make me come. But that if I didn't come, to come back at 4PM that day.

As soon as she got in the car with my Dad, my Mom felt terrible. She made him pull the car over in the middle of the street (on Swiss avenue, a fairly famous Dallas street) so she could walk instead of sit in pain.

She was uncomfortable all day, and I still wouldn't budge. To get her mind off of things, she painted while my Dad paced. My Mom happens to be a very talented painter, though she'll never tell you that. But what's amazing, is that without ever seeing what I'd look like, she painted a blonde girl with blue eyes. Even though she has dark hair and brown eyes and my Dad (from what hair he has left) has a reddish brown color. But she painted a short, blonde haired, blue eyed, overall wearing girl, and that's just how I turned out.

Anyway, I still wouldn't come out, so it was time to go back to the doctor for a C-section. My parents were early heading to the doctor, so my Dad asked if they could stop to get something to eat. They stopped in a restaurant in Snider Plaza, known for their decadent chocolate chip cookies, and despite the doctor's warning not to eat before the procedure, my Mom had to have one. Not 10 minutes later, after they're back in the car, my Mom asks him to pull over so she can throw up. She still says she doesn't regret having the cookie.

Finally at the hospital, an anesthesiologist comes to give my Mom the shot. To distract her, my Dad starts telling her a story. She's confused as to why he's telling her this right now and it wasn't until later that she realized it distracted her from what was happening. (I always love this part because I can just picture my Dad going on and on and my Mom rolling her eyes.)

When it's time for the procedure, my Dad holds my Mom's hand and the sheet is pulled over her stomach because she didn't want to see a single drop of blood. (I wonder where I get my fear from …). But she can see what's happening in the reflection of my Dad's glasses and she freaks out at him to take them off or move away. He's cool, calm and collected and shifts so she can't see.

I still wasn't coming and Dr. Straugther tells the nurses to push down on her chest to get me out. (What can I say? I was comfortable). Finally, I'm out and my Dad, suddenly realizing what's happening, screams at the top of his lungs, “SHE'S BEAUTIFUL!!!” stopping all the nurses and the people in the hall in their tracks. (This part always makes me tear up.)

My Mom holds me briefly, and the nurses whisk me away and my Mom orders my Dad to, “follow that nurse.” He didn't leave her side until I was back with my Mom.

That night I slept near my Mom as an ice storm happened outside. She was too nervous to drive with me home, so she stayed in the hospital one more night. The following day, my Dad drove home at roughly 5 miles per hour, while our neighbor paved the driveway and walkways with kitty litter so they wouldn't trip.

They didn't sleep a wink for a few days. Too nervous to know what to do with me.

And that's the story of me. Now excuse me while I go put my party hat on.