Happy Birthday, KC

Last week, Kayla turned 16 and I wrote a blog entry about her. Not be outdone, KC asked that I write one for her. Believe it or not, their birthdays are only one week apart. I wasn't thinking ahead back then.
KC was born when I was just a few months shy of my 19th birthday. I was pretty close to homeless, and I landed in a home for pregnant teens. I think that my parents were secretly happy to have to have me there, because the alternative would've been me crashing on their couch in Smallburg.
I was only about 6 weeks along when I moved into St. Monica's House. It was on a quiet residental street, a few blocks away from where Rudi lived with his parents. His mom was less than thrilled at the prospect of her 16 yr old son becoming a father. She was alternately sweet and hateful where I was concerned. She would let me spend the week end one week, and chase me away with the broom another. She took me out for burgers and bought me track pants big enough for both Rudi and I to wear - at the same time.
I hated St. Monica's house. It was sheer torture for me. We had parenting classes, and chore lists, and sign in sheets. I had no privacy and yearned for my own space.
Rudi and I moved in together when I was less than a week away from my due date.
KC was born on March 6th, 1988. I had to have a C-section after my water broke and nothing else happened. The doctors waited for 12 hours, then decided that I needed the surgery. It was the single most tramatic experience of my life. I slept for 3 days and awoke a mommy.
I loved being a mommy from day one. I spent every waking moment with KC and trusted her with no one. She slept through the night after one week, and I knew, just knew, that this kid was destined for greatness.
My parents were smitten with the raven haired beauty that was their 1st grandchild. My step mom wanted to take a 6 week old KC on a Florida vacation. My sister, Posh, relished the role of Auntie and took every opportunity to spoil her name sake. Even Rudi's mom was impressed with the darling little baby that smiled at everyone.
KC was especially close to my Dad. We spent countless hours at his office, my Dad, KC and I. He taught her one of her 1st words - bucks - and the meaning of it. I seldom left his office without KC's pants being filled with loonies, toonies, or sometimes a 20. She never failed to remind me that it was HER bucks.
When Jethro and Heidi got married in Smallburg, KC was the flower girl. She delighted in being a part of the wedding, and I can still see her marching proudly down the aisle with Jethro's sister.
KC was only about 3 when she was diagnosed with ITP. (idiopathic thrombocitopinic purpura - say that 3 times fast!) We were unsure of what was happening to our daughter. She was bruising at the slightest touch, and was tired all of the time. I took her to see a pediatrician and his response was one of horror. We took her directly to the hospital where she was admitted for what we thought was lukemia. I don't think that I ever prayed so hard in my whole life. We were lucky. ITP could be treated with platelette transfusions, and we had caught it in time. I think that KC has all but out grown her condition, but I still worry when I see a bruise on her.
She never complained about the IV's or the hospital stays. Not once.
KK was born one week before Kristy's 3rd birthday, and KC was beside her self with joy. She has played mommy to both of her little sisters since day one.
KC and I have not always seen eye to eye. I can remember the time that she tried her 'self defence' moves on me when she was in grade 9. Wanna know how that went over?
We are so alike that we sometimes clash over the stupidest things.
We also laugh. Alot. A day out with KC is guaranteed to be fun. I love spending the day shopping with her, or going to the movies, or just hanging out. I have the kind of relationship with her that I have always wanted to have with my own mother.
When you are a teen mom, you become less of a person, and more of a stereo type, or a statistic. My own family expected me to fail horribly, to raise a drop out teen age mom of my very own. I am so proud to say that those people are wrong.
KC is 19 now. Older than I was when I became a mom. She works part time, goes to school, helps out with groceries or a cell phone bill now and again, and makes her mom proud.
She has a good heart, and wicked sense of humour. She makes Shawn and I proud to call her our daughter. I know that my Dad would be proud, too, if he were here to see her.
Happy 19th birthday, KC. We love you.