Words of wisdom: birthdays are weird.
This isn’t a novel concept, I realize, but don’t you agree? I mean, I may have been born on April 29th so many moons ago, but I have never presumed to take credit for it. The heroic act was certainly not mine, but certainly my mother’s. And as far as celebration goes, I’m pretty sure that at the exact time of my birth, in the throes of labor, The Violinist was in no mood to don a party hat and blow out candles. She may even have been regretting her decision to invite me into the world! In any case, the last person who deserved presents and cake after all was said and done in that Boston hospital was the babe in question.
So, I propose a change to the status quo: how about we celebrate mothers on their children’s birthdays?! Violinist – expect a present in the post soon 🙂