On another Monday morning, twenty two years ago, I was getting a ride to the hospital. In an ambulance. Across upstate New York to Burlington, Vermont. They held the ferry boat across Lake Champlain for us.
Sometime around mid-morning, it was decided that my baby had to be born, despite the best efforts of the doctors and nurses to prevent it from happening. One C-Section later, First Daughter came into the world. She was born at 25 weeks gestation, weighing about one and a half pounds, and would spend the next 100 days in the hospital. She was beautiful (still is).
She had her ups and downs, like all preemies, but she did amazingly well. There are lingering effects, mainly vision problems, but she is a smart, loving, wonderful human-being, and I am proud to be her mother.
While she was in the hospital, I needed something to do to pass the time in waiting rooms, and in the comforting rooms of the local Ronald McDonald House. That was when I started quilting. I made her a baby quilt, from a panel I bought at a local fabric store. I had no idea what I was doing, but eventually it was done, she slept under it, and the rest is history.