Eight

She turns her tanned face to me with its sprinkling of freckles, sparkling brown eyes and curly brown hair, and I marvel she's my little girl. On a glorious summer night eight years ago, my baby, Tara, was born.

She made her appearance, after a long struggle, via c-section at five seconds to midnight. Michael watched the clock to ensure we got her birthday right.

So today, the Bratscher/Thomas family celebrates the birth of our surprise child. After almost dying delivering Noah, we'd decided our family of three would be enough. But God had different plans and now she brightens our family with her intelligence, whimsy, beauty and smiles. (Besides, I think it's good for Noah to have a sibling.)

If I were my mom, I'd say, I'm too young for my baby to turn eight. But I started having my kids later in life, so that's obviously not true.

When I found out I had cancer, I cried bitter tears at the thought of dying and leaving my kids. Tara is way too young and I was afraid she'd only have vague recollections of her mother. I have a good memory and mine from age seven are scattered and inprecise. (And Noah needs me for a variety of other reasons.)

I'm thankful I seem to have beaten this cancer - although I can never be 100 per cent sure - because I can participate as my kids grow up.

And today, I get to celebrate as my little girl turns 8!

Happy birthday, Tara. I love you.

Tina (Mom)