Today the lovely lady who birthed me celebrates her fifty-second birthday.
My mom is a wonderful person and mother--kind, other-oriented, nurturing, giving, self-sacrificing, encouraging, loving, the works. I've put her through a lot, so it's a good thing she's so awesome. Case in point: I was a giant baby. After a long day of labor, my head got stuck on the way out, making it necessary to slice her down the middle to pull out my fat infant ass. I've been similarly inconvenient ever since. For some miraculous reason, she loves me anyway.
She has been there for me through it all. How she dealt with eighth grade math, the ages of thirteen and sixteen, and my epicly bad taste in boyfriends, I will never know.
Even now she gives up what she wants in order to accomodate me. We spent the day together yesterday to celebrate, and instead of going out to dinner and a movie as we had planned, she said we should order Chinese food so that Jason, who was on call for work and had to stay by his computer, could have a good dinner too. When I gave her my old digital camera (that she bought me for $500-some back in the day) as a present, she thanked me profusely--even though she bought it! When it was bedtime, she perched herself on the edge of our tiny spare bed so as not to disturb the Lola cat, who was nestled right where her feet ought to have been. My whole life she's told me that people (and cats) are more important than things. After 50 years of selflessness, she'd be well within her rights to want more of a celebration, but she always practices what she preaches--even on her birthday. If I am ever a mother, I hope that I am even half as good at it as she is.
I took her to the airport this morning for a trip home to visit family in Michigan, where I hope she gets that dinner out. As for me, I love you Mommy, and I'll take a rain check.