Fourteen years ago today, a mother was born. The birth of a mother is an event that's marked in the heart, not on the calendar. It's a milestone that is secondary to the birth of the child and over time, it's not celebrated on the day it occurred but on a random day in May.
I began this day thinking about that morning fourteen years ago. The baby we had yet to meet was 12 days late. We drove to the hospital, stopping at McD's on the way for breakfast. I knew hospital policy was not going to allow me to eat and I wanted a sausage biscuit and cup of coffee to prepare me for the day ahead. Before dinner on her birthday, I was holding my beautiful baby girl and I'd become a new person.
I believe my change to mother began at some point during delivery and has continued each minute through the present one. I don't think developing as a mother is a smooth and seamless process. Motherhood seems to occur in fits and starts. Sometimes, I'm developing mother skills. Other times, I'm just surviving and praying for bedtime. Today, I was celebrating.
I put up pink crepe paper, baked a fabulous chocolate cake, iced it with pink butter cream frosting and stuffed a flock of gift bags with books and the one, most desirable gift, an iPod Touch. I sang "Happy Birthday" several times, to her and to me. This is our birth day. It's one we will always share because on this day we were born to each other.
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