I always wanted to be “Daddy’s Girl.” The kind of little girl who makes her daddy smile “just because.”

Because she is the apple of his eye and he is her hero, she and daddy share a beautiful bond. Like glue, they have a connection that mends all of life’s ups and downs. Unless mother prevents that.

In our yard, we have a wooden split-rail fence. During the last windstorm, one of the lower rails was irreparably broken. What a bold yet honest metaphor to symbolize the relationship between my mother and me. Some fences can be fixed. Some can't. We couldn’t.

I'm not too sure how old this fence is, just as I don't exactly remember when my abuse started. All I know is that like our fence, my abuse withstood the elements of every season. I never liked spring showers.  Raindrops that rolled down the outside of my bedroom window panes were akin to the tears that welled in my eyes and streamed down my face. I would wipe them away just like mother made me her mop to wash away her own childhood abuse.

Last week my beautiful friend Meredith shared the sound of her twelve-week-old fetus' beating heart. This tiny promise of life, growing stronger each day, so well-loved and already adored. Even though this will be her second child, it too will have many firsts. Don't we all?

The milestones in each of our five baby journals include numerous "firsts;" first tooth, first steps, first birthday, the first day of school... It almost feels like we are wired to set our goals on being first from the very start.