happy MOMMY-versary to ME

My favorite birthday isn’t my own. It’s my daughter’s. That was the day she came into my arms, a red, rooting, stretching, bleating bundle of joy. Her birthday will always be MY best day. I thought I was ready for this: I had written a novel. I’d earned a master’s degree. I had a successful teaching career. But nothing–NOTHING–could compare to THIS:

I birthed that baby the way I did everything else–fast, cluelessly and over-achieving. I worked a full day at school, came home and detailed the car by hand, had a multi-course frozen entree (yes, frozen, I’m not SuperWoman) of sole meuniere, duchess potatoes, chocolate cake (why do I remember this?). This was the “nesting impulse” they warned my about in childbirth class, but I didn’t realize that until the undigested dinner erupted in every direction a few hours later (sorry about that visual). No anesthetics (yes, I was that stupid). 30 seconds of pushing. (Because, no anesthetics, remember?) and BOOM. A lovely round-headed daughter whose birth weight was the same as my own.

She rearranged my heart. She became my living doll…

my playmate…

my best friend…

my pride and joy…

Pomona College 2006

Harvard 1980

 

^^^ same picture, 2 decades apart ^^^

my confidante…

Park City family time

my co-writer…

 

 

my world.

And today, she is still my biggest, best and brightest achievement.

Happy Birthday, Elizabeth!