Birth Days

Today is my son's twenty-sixth birthday.  He came into this world fast.  I knew he was a he before he was born.  It was his kick.  It was more like a punch. Given I only had my first born to compare him to, her movement was more fluid, almost ballerina like.  He seemed anxious to get going from the outset. His legs, strong and solid to this day, gave my insides quite a work out.  A harbinger of  things to come - those legs would come in handy for Little League, Karate, Waterpolo, and Surfing.

From beginning to end, my son's birth took 45 minutes.  I barely broke a sweat. My hair remained neat and in place and given it was the middle of summer, my skin was suntanned.
My water broke and my labor came on hard.  My mother was summoned to sit with our daughter who slept in her new big girl bed happily oblivious to the fact that her life was about to change upon her awakening. So fast was he coming we had to hurry Mother up - fifteen minutes was going to be too long.  Mother made it and then she herself summoned my nephew to take her place, anxious to get to the hospital to see her new grandchild.
Two pushes and boom. There he was.  Our family was complete. A girl and a boy.

I've always said the two happiest days of my life were the days our children were born.  I feel enormously blessed to have had the privilege of being a mother. I think of my own mother, who always made a big deal out of my birthday - understandable because my birth brought my parents enormous joy given I was a replacement for a three-year-old child they'd lost.

Sometimes we take for granted this thing called birth. Not today.
Today, I am remembering twenty-six years ago like it was yesterday and I am grateful.
 Grateful to have experienced the miracle of birth!
Grateful for the gift of my children.
Grateful for this blessed day.
Happy Birthday, Son.