Dancing queen, young and sweet.

They say having a child irrevocably changes you. They have no idea.

I can't really put into words exactly how my life was drastically altered three years ago the day Daughter X was born. I can say that nothing went according to plan.

Labor = pains, water breaking. Meg X version of labor = vomiting and flu-like symptoms, and then the excruciating pain.

Delivery = walking around, heavy breathing, support from dedicated spouse, serious pushing for a given amount of time. Meg X version of delivery = Doctor says no amount of pushing is going to get that big-headed baby out, baby starts stressing out, Dr. X gets totally fah-reeked as equally fah-reeked mother-to-be is wheeled down the hall for last-minute operation to deliver baby where evil anesthesiologist threatens to totally put her under.

Post delivery = Mom and baby cuddle, breast feed and coo their way into familial bliss. Meg X version of delivery = Baby sprinted to neo-natal intensive care unit due to fever, mother also has fever and cannot see baby for 12 more hours, Dr. X also comes down with really bad cold.

A less than auspicious beginning, certainly. The first time I saw Daughter X she was strapped to a bunch of machines and wires. She also was the fattest (almost 9 lbs) loudest baby in the neo-natal unit. And I said to her, "I know this hasn't been a great start, but I promise you it really does get better from here."

And, boy, it has. I hadn't counted on being the parent of the goofiest, most loving girl who ever lived. Who is smart as a whip, with a stubborn memory like her mother's, but with the disposition of her father. Who already loves Abba; who loves books about as much as her next meal; who likes to listen to one-hit wonders over and over and over and over; who wants to dance every night after dinner; who already can cook better than her mother; who constantly runs up and down the driveway almost as fast her father; who can't be separated from the dirtiest rabbit in the whole world; and who is a gentle, kind, sensitive soul, and funny as all get-out.

So, no. No one can tell you how it changes you. But I can somewhat describe it as both painful and pleasurable. Pleasure because every moment really is pure joy, even those that are less than hygienic (and, yes, here I do mean the time she smeared poo all over the crib - true, though disgusting, story. Strangely, I laughed hysterically upon discovery while Dr. X fah-reeked again.) And painful because every new moment also means one less, and that truly breaks my heart.

So, here's to you My Girl. My Sack of Potatoes. My Baby Burrito. My Sportita. My Crazy Naked Woman. My Love. My daughter.

Happy Birthday! And many more.