My eldest child and only daughter will be eight tomorrow. She wants a pumpkin pie with eight candles. No cake. I am going to make it happen, somehow. I will have to consult my friends, Mrs. Smith and Marie Callender, for assistance since there are no fresh pumpkins flooding the store fronts yet. I don’t want to have to scrape my daughter’s birthday treat out of a tin can and into something hand-pressed by the Keebler Elves. I will save that for our Thanksgiving guests.

Of course she wants pumpkin pie in July. She has always been attracted to the impossible, the challenging, and the rare. Eight years ago at this moment I was an hour or two into my labor induction. She was nine days late and too satisfied with the status quo. We finally locked eyes a mere 22 hours later and it has been intense and marvelous ever since.

In the hospital nursery it was reported that she liked to be in the swing going as fast as it could go. I didn’t know newborns could go in swings. The directions that came with our Graco swing said “six weeks”. Their engineers never met our daughter. I didn’t know newborns cared about thrills and chills, but she did. As she grew, it became apparent that she is a Strong Willed Child. The back of Dr. Dobson’s book of the same name features a question I will paraphrase: Was your child born chomping on a cigar and barking orders?

Yes.

I wouldn’t change a freckle on her nose or the tint of blue in her eyes. I wouldn’t change her flashing temper, her intensity, or her natural leadership abilities. All her difficult traits only heighten her wonderful traits—she is intensely generous. She is intuitive and passionate. She is loyal, protective, and whip-smart. She still doesn’t get knock-knock jokes, adores unicorns, and will never, ever, ever be a neat freak.

She is the kind of child who wants pumpkin pie in July. So today, on the anniversary of her furiously slow trip into my arms, I will make it happen. It will be waiting for her when she wakes up on her eighth birthday, tomorrow.