24 years ago, and some change, I gave birth to my first child.
I had taken the idea of “eating for two” literally. I’d gained *ahem* more than the recommended 35 pounds.
Due in part to my cravings, of all things, for Long John Silvers. With the vinegar and tartar sauce and everything.
But my baby girl was soon to arrive.
Finally, three days after my due date, I woke up and felt a twinge.
My mom flew in that morning and by afternoon, we were all at the hospital.
At last, I was liberated of my maternity girdle and black Converse high-tops.
I was ready to become a mama.
The rest of the story isn’t fit to print. Let’s just say, I did not inherit my mother’s tolerance for pain, nor did I replicate her ability to give birth 30 minutes after arriving at the hospital with nary a pain killer.
Happy Birthday, Victoria – the one who made being a mama so easy. Even if you did leave me completely unprepared for parenting your brothers.
I so love you.
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Sunday Monday, y’all.