March 29, 1975, a tiny baby was born.

She was an Aries, but her baby book says “Star Child of Gemini.” The book had been purchased in advance; she was two months premature.

Seventeen inches long, three pounds, nine ounces.

This picture was taken at about two weeks old, still under four pounds. She left the hospital May 1 at four pounds, 15 ounces.

This baby is me.

I’m sure it must have been really scary for my parents. I was their first child. Though, as far as I know, there weren’t any major health issues other than that I was so small.

Now that I’m “old,” birthdays really aren’t that meaningful; they are just another day.

But I am still reminded of how precarious my life began, and how grateful I am that I have always been healthy.

Happy birthday to me!