Monday, June 1, 2015


I don't think I've every really been big on my own birthdays. Sure, it's fun to have cake and celebrate a little, and yes, it's the anniversary of the beginning of me as an independent person (which is important) but I don't think I really understood the significance of my birthday until I had a child of my own.

My birthday is the day my mom went from being one, responsible only for herself, to becoming two; the anniversary of her taking on a huge, life-changing responsibility. In a sense it's not really my day at all, or at the very least not about me alone but about me and my mom.

Happy birthday to me, and happy birth day to my Mom, who had what sounds like a pretty scary birth experience with me and yet didn't let that stop her from going through the whole thing three more times. Thanks for thirty seven years of everything from nose and bum wiping to dropping me off at college (and paying for it!) to watching me become a mother and supporting me through those challenges. Love you.