Some people, if they think about it at all, think of today as being All Saints’ Day. But for me it has always been simply my birthday. But today is the first birthday I’ve ever had where I’ve thought not about it being the day I was born, but about it being the day that my mother birthed me. (I suppose becoming a mother myself this year has given me a change of perspective.)
Years and years ago today, my mother went through the amazing feat of bringing me into the world. She did this in spite of having such a terrible doctor that she eventually instructed my father to bar the man from her hospital room! I was big and red-faced and had dark hair, my mother was small and her figure bounced back so quickly that she wore her regular clothes home from the hospital. This was her second time around the baby birthing block; it was also her last.
My mother is strong yet vulnerable, loud yet soft, short in stature yet long in accomplishments. She is witty, sarcastic, emotional, brave, intelligent, fun, a bargain-hunter and a prolific reader. She is creative, calm, ready for a challenge, interesting and kind. She is wonderful. She is the woman who gave birth to me on this day, and for the rest of my life has been most definitely, fantastically, my Mom.