Twenty six years ago RIGHT THIS SECOND my poor mom was in labor with me.
Her due date of May 9th...
(pausing so you can re-read her due date and think about it for a second)
...had passed. And passed. And passed. And then on June 2nd, things started happening.
On June 3rd, I exited the womb.
I am a nearly-10-month baby.
Every year on May 9th I start my month long contemplation about all of this. Now that I have been through the waiting game twice, I can fully appreciate it. Oh mom. She was so young (only 22!). I was her first baby. She must have been so excited. So ready for me to comeoutalready at any second. "Breathless with a wild anticipation", as Rodgers and Hammerstein would say. An anticipation that lingered all through May, through heat and changing seasons and yes, maybe just a little too long.
But I did come out and here I am (hi!) and I think I was worth the long wait.
(If I do say so myself and I do because hey, it's my birthday.)
Thank you for putting up with all of my nonsense, Mom-- when I was in the womb clinging to comfort, and in high school when things were uh, turbulent, and 8 hours ago at the pool when I was getting sassy about how we were going to get the kids to the car. I love you.
Yesterday my Facebook status said this:
I just sang a song, very earnestly, to Luke about how my birthday is the second most important holiday of the year. It included much description of how I want to stand on a stage in my new party dress with a flower in my hair singing for everyone amongst the crate paper and confetti. He said none of that will happen. He is squashing my dreams!
Every year it seems I want to do just about the same things on my birthday.
Sushi, Karaoke, a party dress, and to go vintage/thrift store shopping.
Today I bought myself four coffee mugs and a pair of tap shoes at Goodwill. (Yes, TAP shoes. It's my birthday, don't judge.)
1 down, 3 to go.