I put the letter aside to finish later. I couldn't wait to see what my mother had written about me when I was a baby and she was still alive. The first entries - all in her neat handwriting

- were straight facts about how much formula I drank (a lot) and when I slept (most of the time). Then I read, "Mary Anne gave me her first genuine smile today. What a beautiful smile. What a beautiful baby." I burst into

tears. I wiped my eyes with the back of my sleeve so my tears wouldn't fall on the words my mother had written about me.

"What's happened, Mary Anne?" asked my dad.

"My goodness, - what is it?" exclaimedSharon .

I hadn't heard my dad and stepmother come in through the kitchen. Now they were standing at the foot of the stairs staring at me.Sharon looked terrified. "Are Dawn and Jeff okay?" she asked. "Did you get a call fromCalifornia ?"

"They're okay," I assured her. "I'm sorry I scared you." I put the letter and the baby book back in the envelope. "I'm okay, too."

"What were you reading that made you cry?" my dad asked.

"Just stuff for my autobiography," I replied. "Grandma Baker sent me the baby book she and my mother wrote about me."

I don't usually mention my mother to my father. I know it makes him sad. And I didn't think it was fair to talk about my mother (my father's first wife) in front of Sharon (his second wife). ButSharon didn't seem to mind. She sat next to me on the stairs and took my hand in hers. "I'm sorry you feel sad," she said softly. That, of course, made me cry even harder.

"Is your autobiography going to be sad?" my dad asked.

I thought about that for a second, then I smiled through my tears. "No," I answered, "it isn't going to be sad, because my life isn't sad." I looked from Sharon to Dad. "I'm happy and I'm lucky."