I should have had spaghetti for dinner tonight, but I didn’t. Twenty-six years ago today I was hugely pregnant with Liz, and miserable. I had stopped working several weeks before because I could hardly move, let alone function efficiently in a law office, and my doctor said I could go any minute. So I went home to wait. For two blasted weeks.

The night before Liz was born, I made spaghetti, and was so aggravated with life I had seconds. And then went to the park down the street and had a good cry. When I woke up early the next morning and told Bass I thought I was in labor he said it probably was just too much spaghetti, “go back to sleep”. But it wasn’t.

Notice the sweater? It was a cold, cold July that year in Michigan.

She was a mighty cute baby. Twenty-six years have gone by awfully fast. Happy birthday sweetheart!

Love,

Mom