Would it have made a difference if I'd birthed a girl? Occasionally, especially when I was tearing out my hair, I'd wonder if a sweet young thing who loved unicorns and pastel colours could have had a different effect on my life. I'll never know-- Michael is my only child.

Aside from the odd baby-sitting job, I'd never been around children. I was the youngest, with enough of an age spread between my siblings to render me the 'last man standing.' Both my sisters moved far away when I was young, and my childhood was that of an only child.

I didn't like children. I never wanted kids and frankly felt they should be kept locked away until they were civilized. My son's birth was quiet, the doctor couldn't get him to cry, but it was one of the last times he remained silent.

Maternal instincts didn't come naturally to me. I recall spending hours staring at this tiny creature, wondering who he was. Somewhere inside the pink cherub was a stranger I had met, but didn't understand, who managed to completely vaporize any confidence I might have once possessed.

The doctor told me that colic rarely lasts for more than a dozen weeks. Just to prove he was an individual, Michael's hung around for seven months. Promptly at 1:00AM, the screaming would start and abate just before dawn. We owned a lodge. I would begin serving breakfast a mere two hours later. I was a walking zombie, so sleep-deprived that one morning, I managed to blow myself half-way across the room, striking a match to a propane-laden grill with an extinguished pilot light.

With ten acres on a lake, Michael's playground was enormous. His greatest enjoyment was his version of hide-and-seek. He'd wait until my back was turned and disappear into the forest, laughing while I frantically trudged through thistles and brush to locate 'my little darling.'

I knew every teacher in elementary school on a first name basis, but the complaints were petty, just annoying. He was reading fluently by the time he was five and saw no reason to apply himself in other subjects. At twice the size of other children his age, he'd do a perfectly normal thing--shove a kid when his buddy tried to grab his toy--and unintentionally break his nose.

The old adage, 'get even, live to see your kid with his own children,' has transpired, but he's a wonderful father--calm and devoted--both Mom and Dad, raising two of his own--on his own.

Of all the people I've known, my son is the one who changed my life. He sent me into fits of rage and frustration, but more importantly, he expanded my heart. I never knew that so much love was possible. In the process, he changed my mind about children. They are miracles, gifts we are allowed to treasure.