Jour de naissance

My mom has said once or twice (I think jokingly) that it should be the mother of the birthday person who gets all the presents and credits, seeing as she did all the work. She has also pointed out (usually as I am berating her for something stupid and teenagerly) that she doesn’t deserve to be sulked or screamed at. She’s just somebody who had a baby, once.

Well, I am that baby, and today is my birthday. And as I am unbelievably lucky enough to have survived twenty-one (oh God) years on Earth, I would like to take this opportunity to give credit where credit is due.

Mom: if you’ll forgive me for being corny, thank you for everything. I’m glad that once upon a time you and dad were crazy kids who wore yuppie sweaters and loafers with no socks and decided to start a family. Maybe today I’m a Real Grown-Up, but it’s still hard to be away from you. Especially today.

Thanks for being the great weird kind of parents who raised me to do this; this being everything from going to college to studying in France to writing romance novels to drinking screwdrivers when I was only 17 to covering me in Christmas bows when I was two weeks old and using me as a centerpiece.

And look! I have a kind of real life now, and I can sort of speak this other language, and I am going to turn out all right, I think. So, here’s to a long succession of Decembers eleventh and my continuation as your project and your kid. One day I might even have a yuppie sweater of my own.