I remember her birth like it was yesterday. Leah was born by Ceasarian section at University Hospital in London. I was bravely holding her mother's hand and the medical staff had erected a screen in front of me so I wouldn't have to see the incision (on account of my manly tendency to faint at the sight of blood). Bob Marley was singing "Like a lion in Zion" and the sound filled the operating theater when I heard my daughter's first cry.

What a beautiful baby. Had I really played a part in her creation? For the first time in my life, I was certain that God existed. I felt the tears burn in my eyes as I was allowed to hold my freshly born daughter even before she was weighed and cleaned.

I counted her perfect fingers and toes and was relieved that she had ten of each (unlike her father). I felt this overwhelming sense of love for the world and pride and honor that I was the father of this beautiful work in progress. That feeling of love threatened to explode inside me. How could I sustain it?

We took her home and I couldn't take my eyes off her. Every tiny movement fascinated me. Her mother was exhausted and needed to sleep. I slept in the spare room with my baby daughter in her crib next to me. I kept waking every few minutes to check she was really there, to make sure that she was still breathing.

Eleven years to the day later, I still feel that overwhelming sense of love and wonder and I thank Leah from the bottom of my heart for being such a sweet and loving daughter.

Victory attained by violence is tantamount to a defeat, for it is momentary. Mahatma Gandhi