birthday daughter & another year older another year wiser

My daughter Beatrice will turn 12 tomorrow. Twelve. Douze. Tolv. 12. She was born in Montreal, of course in 1995, at the Maison de naissances in Cote-des-neiges neighbourhood. When my water broke and I realized the achey twinges were the beginnings of labour, all while on my hands and knees picking up duplo in my 22 month old son and 4 1/2 year old daughter's room, I went to tell my husband.

I found him in the bathroom, staring at himself in the mirrow, with a thermometer stuck in his mouth. He had a fever. However, babies wait for noone, nothing. Not fevers or traffic. I called my mother and she hopped in the car in Ottawa and raced to Montreal. She arrived as we stepped out the door. But Beatrice wasn't ready to be born on January 16. Labour slowed down, and while I sweated and peeled off layers, Brian put them on, as his fever made him feel chilly. He fell asleep, the midwife fell asleep and I stared the the Banque de nouvelle ecosse sign glowing red onto the snowbanks of Cote-des-neiges.

Beatrice was finally born about 10 a.m. on January 17th. She shares her birthday with her paternal grandmother, Jacquie, born in 1938.

I shared my birthday with my maternal grandmother's father, Bill Wilson, until his death of course. At age 91 and nearly 92 -- in 1981 or so (I could look this up in my files (non-computer ones... but the records are nowhere handy...I'm going to be a librarian not an archivist).

Do you share the same birthday as a family member? What are the chances?

Meanwhile, the table is set with balloons and tiny bowls of jelly beans and gifts for tomorrow's morning celebration. The start of celebrating Beatrice, born 12 years ago. And yes, I do feel old. My "baby" is 12...?!?!