I nearly didn't make it. There I was reveling in amniotic fluid, getting the hang of becoming, when a rush of caustic liquid flooded my protective sac- with one purpose. To expel me! Not exactly: for trying to abort me was not on my mother-to-be's mind when she decided that breast feeding was not for her and took a daily dose of Epsom Salts to dry up her milk. I hung on for dear life, no more lolling about in bliss, this was serious stuff. I triumphed and was born at the normal time, all of me accounted for and present. So what to deduce from this? On a miserable day: that the odds were stacked against me from the start, and I'd always have to struggle for my existence to be of value. But on a good day: that my genes were naturally selected to beat the odds, and that the adaptation to eventually becoming the fulfilled woman that I am, began at the moment of conception. Just goes to show that you can't keep a good woman down!