All of these things were glorious. But my very favorite thing about my daughter is her kindness and her compassion (now I’m not saying all day, everyday–she is still human–and her brother may dispute this claim, but when it happens it is truly spectacular).

When my son arrived, it was earlier than expected, almost six weeks in fact. So my then-husband and I were in a bit of a scramble the morning I went into labor. We had not planned for his arrival this early… What to do with the baby (our daughter, in this case), so I was off to the hospital solo. And as I left the apartment, I could hear her crying “mama” as I entered the elevator.

I waddled onto the sidewalk, encountering my first big challenge: how to get a taxi to stop for a pregnant woman in pajama pants. My attire left no doubt that I was in labor and therefore an undesirable passenger–everything from the fare to the upholstery was at risk. Luckily a traffic cop took pity on me and forced a cabbie to halt, and off we went. My mind jumping between the baby that was trying to get out, and the other one who wanted me to come back to her. She had no idea that when I would see her again, we would have another addition to the family. Sure, we talked about it: “mommy has a baby in her belly” and “you’re going to be a sister” but she was two. What did that even mean? A doll? A puppy?

My son was breech, so I had to have a C-Section. We waited and waited for the right time to go into surgery because I had a bite of food that had to be fully digested. People were coming in and out of my room–family, nurses, doctors–to encourage, to check on me and the baby in-utero, to discreetly get information to pass on to those not in the room, and as we waited we chatted.

One maternity nurse in particular knew my brother-in-law, who was (still is) a teacher at a local elementary school. Meeting someone who knew my brother-in-law was quite common. In fact, on the Upper West Side, (with a heavy concentration between 66th and 72nd), most families with grade school children know and are quite fond of him. This nurse got very friendly with us as I waited things out and as we got to talking I told her about feeling torn between my baby still gestating and my baby still in a stroller.

It was then that she suggested a book. As soon as she said the word ‘book’ my eyes rolled, as every pregnant woman knows you are inundated with books: What to Expect When You’re Expecting, The Joy of Pregnancy, The Girlfriend’s Guide to a Healthy Pregnancy, not to mention all the naming books.

But that’s not what she was talking about. What she was suggesting was a book called I’ll Love You Forever, and it wasn’t for me. It was for my daughter. Well, it was a great suggestion.

Sometime after that I went into labor and delivery. By the time I was back in my room and holding my newborn, my daughter was with my mom–and would be sleeping away from me for the very first time. My daughter would be coming the next day. I asked someone to go get a copy of that book–I had to have it for her.  Luckily, it is difficult to say no to a woman recovering from surgery who is also a hormonal mess, so I was obliged.

The next day she came and met her brother for the very first time and I watched her stroke his sweet, soft head and giggle with new big-sister glee.  I gave her the book and for the first time read to her the line for that we would repeat over and over again many times for the next twelve years: