Nine years ago today my son was born, but when I look at him, I sometimes can't believe he's here.

I was told, repeatedly, that I wasn't a candidate for conception. A doctor once told me I wasn't ovulating regularly and that I would, most likely, never conceive a child. (I later sent her a photo of my healthy 9-month-old son). For the first decade of my adult life, this was welcomed news, but then, I turned 30 and suddenly, I felt betrayed by my body.

My mind took over and convinced me I didn't want kids. Just steer clear of baby showers, my inner voice said. And I did just that. I got a dog; I complained about other people's kids.

So when the two pink lines appeared on the white stick, you can imagine my surprise.

I do not believe blood makes a family; I believe love makes a family. But I am forever grateful to have had the opportunity to be pregnant – even though I hated every day of it – and to experience birth – even though I opted not to have an epidural and afterwards felt like a fleet of milk trucks ran me over.

The Existence of Levi, who's now a little boy with glasses and my very same mouth, reminds me of a quote that I adore. A quote that wasn't said by a brilliant philosopher or a famous writer, but instead by Wally Byam, the man who invented the Airstream camper.

"It was impossible and so it took a little longer."