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When she was born, on Valentine's Day during the Nagano Winter Olympics, she had some trouble breathing and spent a couple of nights in the St. Paul's Hospital neonatal intensive care unit. Then she was fine, and we took her home where she slept, and ate, and cried, and grew.
Now she's in grade three, routinely aces her spelling and math tests, wears glasses, rides bikes, and has her own blog, as well as a seven-year-old sister. And she looks like her mom.
She likes me to sit in a chair in her room while she falls asleep, which is probably something I should cherish while it's still true.