Today we celebrated our daughter's 12th birthday. In preparation for her big day, she went to Party America and purchased a new tiara—one with a big red accent in the front that flashes points of light when turned on. It's a tradition, wearing a tiara or crown on the head, for each of our respective birthdays—husband and son included. The previous crown had lots of glitter and left a mess that took days to remove. This one she wore to school and kept on the entire day. Talk about a healthy sense of self-esteem! Someone even asked her if they could try it on. Of course, she said no. "You don't ask to wear a birthday tiara", she told the nervy girl.
Birthday dinners in our house consist of whatever the person of honor requests. Tonight it was breakfast for dinner: her father's famous French toast, drenched in butter and syrup, along with my onion-laden fried potatoes w/sun-dried tomatoes and garlic, and veggie sausages. Then off to her Nana's house for a freshly baked birthday cake: a carrot cake with cream cheese frosting. We sang and she blew out the candles, but after our sugar-laden dinner, no one could eat any more sweets.
Of course, the best part of the night (for me anyway!) was re-telling the story of the day I 'birthed' her. Especially the part where, splayed-out on the table unable to move (c-section), the nurse asked me if I could move my head out of the way so she could take a picture of hubby holding daughter in his arms seconds after she was born. Seems my ‘Milton the Monster’ noggin was in the way. So, I was dismissed. Treated as nothing more than a carrier who, having fulfilled my duty, didn't need to be in the picture! Can't believe she's 12 already.
The years have been filled with so many moments of joy, my cup runneth over. People say, "I don't know where the time has gone", "It seems like only yesterday", or "Time has flown". For me, the time has gone into guiding, teaching, and loving. The yesterday's have stacked one upon the other, like sheets of plastic wrap, until whatever memories it covers still retain their shape under soft and rounded edges. No longer transparent, it’s now translucent. Details only become clear and sharp when I put on glasses and stare intently, or if I bump into it unexpectedly and the memories momentarily become crystal clear as they jostle for position before settling back down.
My mom always said "I'm not getting older, you children are." Now I know what she means. Despite becoming an adult, giving birth and constantly putting down new sheets of plastic wrap, the core of my being feels ageless. Having 'birthed' this human being, I guess in a way it truly is.
