I was born on a warm summer day in July, the youngest of three children. My mother was lying on a hospital bed, surrounded by my father and her closest friends. The room was filled with the sounds of beeping machines and hushed whispers, but through it all, my mother's voice stood out, clear and strong.
"It's a girl," the doctor announced, as he held me up for all to see.
"A girl?" my father repeated, a look of surprise on his face. "We were sure it was going to be a boy."
My mother chuckled, "Well, it looks like we were wrong."
As I was placed in her arms, my mother gazed down at me with a mix of love and awe. "Hello, little one," she whispered, stroking my cheek with a gentle finger. "Welcome to the world."
My father leaned in and kissed my mother on the forehead. "She's beautiful, just like her mother."
"We'll call her Amelia," my mother said, smiling. "Amelia Rose."
And with those words, I was given a name and a place in the world. I was the newest member of a family filled with love, laughter, and the occasional shouting match. And as I grew, I would come to learn that the world was a big and complicated place, but with the love of my family, I could face anything.
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