In a few hours I was born 48 years ago.
I struggle a bit with this birthday for some reason. I'm not turning 50 or 60. I wasn't angry when I turned 40. For some odd reason, I hate the fact that I will be 48.
Mom has been gone for over 4 years now. Her telling the story of my birth resonates in my mind. We used to get drunk on red wine and she would tell the tale of being in labor, wanting that last cigarette four times, making my dad drive all over looking at lights, the doctor being MIA and the nuns putting her to sleep.
I popped out 48 minutes after midnight.
I am almost positive that if the events didn't happen, my birthday would be today.
I think the main reason that this birthday upsets me is the fact every day when I walk into work, there is a countdown to Christmas. This countdown also is to my birthday. This countdown reminds me of the days to when my mom isn't here to tell the story of my birth.
Jesus may have his story told over and over.
I miss mine.
I suppose I will catch a bunch of flak for what I am about to write but I really don't care. It is just a weird fact about me.
I am not a fan of babies.
I didn't like being pregnant. Not. One. Bit. It was a weird yucky feeling and then it became unbearably uncomfortable.
I know that it has been noted that pregnant women look glowing and beautiful and all that blah blah shit. I was even told that of myself way back when. I didn't feel it. I looked tired and grumpy.
My belly never "popped" out until about 8 months and then everybody was touching me.
I probably should mention that I hate strangers touching me.
I would mention the fact that I hated being pregnant in various conversations when others would gush about how they loved it. I just didn't get it.
bleh....
When I was pregnant with my son, I didn't have morning sickness. It came about mid evening. The very thought of Chinese food would send me flying into the bathroom. I craved canned spinach and ate it right out of the can.
When I was pregnant with my daughter, her baby body was pushing on something and I couldn't stop coughing. The doctor couldn't prescribe anything for it because it would hurt the fetus. I coughed so hard, I would throw up. I slept most nights on the bathroom floor.
I was miserable.
Now you are probably thinking that I just hated being pregnant.
Oh no...
Babies aren't my thing. I don't like guessing why they are crying. I hated that whole diaper thing. Then they spit up that yucky stuff. I don't care to hold them. I don't like the smell of them. Bottles, nooks, diapers, mixing formula (my kids had issues), car seats, no sleep.....my list goes on...didn't like any of it. You have to plug all the outlets, baby proof the cabinets, put all your breakable collectibles away. Do I even have to mention stretch marks?
Oh and I cannot stand the smell of baby powder.
HURL!!!!
Someone would come into work with their new baby and everyone would ask to hold it. Not me! Nope.... Everyone would gush over how cute it was. Not me! Nope... I would look at that new beaming mom and think "you poor woman, no sleep for 2 to 3 years" and "good luck getting back to normal".
I know I sound terrible.
I can't help it.
My kids think it's funny that they made it out of babyhood.
It isn't that I would lock them in the closet when the cried or left them in poopy diapers.
I did the whole mommy thing and suffered. I just would go out of my way to have more babies.
Once my babies started becoming little people, I just enjoyed them so much more. As they continue to grow into young adults, I continue to enjoy them.
They have grown into wonderful people. They are intelligent, witty and awesome.
and...
They are not babies.
