Today I was a success. Today my daughter learned to make pizza. It's a simple dish, really, just bread, sauce, cheese, and a few accoutrements. Why, after twenty-one years does making pizza feel like a success? At twenty-six weeks the doctors said, she won't survive, but neither will you if she isn't born. She made them liars. She is a success. Every day for her is a success, and today she learned to make pizza. I don't do much in these daily struggles, but because she succeeds I feel the same.