Today we celebrated Little Daughter's birthday. Eleven years ago, she joined us and almost didn't stay. The growing of Little Daughter was fraught with worry, vomit, crying, panic and blood - most of those pregnant months were spent trying to claw myself out of an abyss of depression. At six weeks, I started bleeding and doctors warned me I would probably miscarry. I took leave from work and waited. Prayed. Hoped. The bleeding stopped. The puking started. So did the depression. It continued through to the sixth month of pregnancy. Every now and then, the bleeding would start up again. More scans. More warnings. More prayers.

At 30 weeks, I got very sick with pre-eclampsia. (Again.) I was flown out from Samoa to Auckland. An ambulance was waiting at the airport for me. At the hospital, specialists told us that our baby had stopped growing a while ago. There was little or no fluid in the placenta thingy. She wasnt getting enough food or oxygen. She hadnt been getting enough for awhile. 'Be prepared' they said. 'Even if she makes it, she could have extensive damage to her internal organs...brain damage...' We were afraid. They delivered our baby by c-section. She went straight into an incubator in the neonatal unit. Her skin was almost see-through. I couldnt hold her. She was so tiny. But she was feisty. She ate, yelled and grew. Everything about her was perfect. They told us she would live in hospital for months. But we took her home after three weeks. I bathed her in a cake mixing-bowl...

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