I turn 29 tomorrow and expect the following voicemail from my mom:
"Hi Dan! Just wanted to let you know that 29 years ago on this day, I gave birth to you. It sucked. You were worth it, though."
It's birthday tradition, and we'll start a similar tradition once our kid turns one. "Listen, you drooling little ball of stink. I don't know if you're aware of how many batches of hashbrowns and trips to Noodles and Company I made for your mother while she was knocked up with you, but let's say you make me breakfast and we'll call it not remotely close to even."
And then Julie can be like, "You made me want to vomit constantly, and now all you do is spit up constantly, which is like milk-vomit, which also makes me want to vomit. I know you can't talk yet, but I'll be expecting an apology the moment you can."
Birthdays really aren't about you, you know. They're about the hardship your parents endured to bring you here. They're about the anniversary of the day when you made your mother scream in agony and your father feel pathetic and helpless next to her. So happy birthday, Mom and Dad. My sincere apologies.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
2 comments:
Now let's just set the record straight, Dan. I'm almost sure I never "screamed in agony". Twelve hours of labor,including two hours of pushing your gigantic head out-you looked like a conehead guy-but I'm much too reserved and stoic to scream. What a huge relief to have that over with,plus the added bonus of cute little you.(If you can honestly say a nine -plus pound baby is little.)Love you SO SO SO much, Dan! Have a terrific birthday. -Mom
No screaming? I'll have to confirm that with your husband. (Not that I want the gory details...yucky.)
So this was you: "My goodness, that is not a pleasant feeling. Dear, dear, dear. Tom, what kind of hotdish should I make tomorrow?"
Post a Comment