Happy Birthday!

Birthdays usually begin with three people. The one who is being birthed, the person doing the birthing and lastly, the poor man who has been putting up with a pregnant woman for nine months. For parents, the birthdays of their children mark the passing of time. Young parents never think about the time when their children will turn 40-something, but if you are lucky enough, you will live to see them become middle aged. It is quite funny to ask my dad how old he thinks I am. He is usually never right. But one person always remembered, with incredible accuracy, the entire event. And that was Mom.

To hear her tell it, the entire pregnancy was torture. I was the reason why my mother gave up a perfectly good career. I was to blame for months of bed rest while she waited for a baby that was never supposed to happen. Because of me, Mom ate awful food and Dad worked two jobs. Mom woke up after the Cesarian, called my dad at home, only to find out hours later that he had gone out with his friends to drink and watch Jimmy Durante perform. All for me. Except the Jimmy Durante part. I was reminded of this quite frequently while growing up, often when I messed up. She would recount this event at the most inopportune times, usually in front of unsuspecting boyfriends.

My mother with the object that led to nine months of unbearable torture. 

This weekend, I'll celebrate my birthday a few days early. My dad is going to treat me to a dinner at Ruth's Chris using a gift certificate he got for Christmas. From me. I am actually buying my own birthday dinner. Boy, he's good. 

This will be the first time my dad has picked out my birthday present unsupervised. Dad didn't ask me what I wanted and I didn't volunteer. This seems like this is a test to see if he has been paying attention the past 47 years. Perhaps, in her own way, this is Mom's revenge for Dad stepping out on the town 47 years ago while she was recovering in the hospital. I wouldn't put it past her...