Happy Birthday to Me!

My Mom and I are very close. I am her only daughter and the oldest of her three children. I talk to my Mom on the phone every day, since the day I left home to go to college 32 years ago. Sometimes we talk for five minutes, sometimes we talk for much longer. Some days we talk more than once. Every year, my Mom calls me on my birthday and tells me the story of the day I was born. The story changes slightly from year to year. Sometimes new details emerge. My Mom wrote the blog post below but she left out the part where she was wearing her brown plaid wool coat and her fur hat. 

Here I am this past January in Florida with my Mom, my niece Rachel, and my sister-in-law Diane.

Fifty Years Ago Today, The Day Nancy Was Born... A blog post written by my Mom

It’s the middle of the night and I am almost jolted out of bed. Though this is my first time, I know immediately that this is it. That long expected blessed event is beginning now, three weeks early, but who is complaining. I wake my sleeping spouse who reluctantly opens his eyes and tries to comprehend what is happening. I hate to tell him this is his last uninterrupted night of sleep (for the next 20 years or so) but together we decide to wait a while to call the doctor. These were the days when we wouldn’t want to trouble the doctor by a 2 a.m. phone call. Dozing and groaning we wait until 9 a.m. and after a brief talk with the nurse by phone, we stop at the doctor’s office. Too early, he decides. Go home and come back around 5 p.m. So back we drive through the cold and snowy Massachusetts’ streets and I decide to take advantage of my time by putting up a nice chicken dinner for the new daddy to enjoy. Big mistake. Barely had I taken the chicken out (which I would later remember as looking strikingly like a new born baby) than the real baby becomes insistent. Back we go to the hospital and before I know it, I am prepped and sedated for the big event. In those days, the doctors preferred that we not participate so I sleep through the whole thing.

Late in the afternoon, I am finally awake enough to realize where I am and say in a groggy voice to my husband at my bedside, “Did I have the baby?” He laughs and replies, “Yes, a baby girl.” The nurse comes in with a tightly swathed baby and I get my first glimpse of Nancy, a full head of straight black hair adorned by a green ribbon (for the upcoming St. Patrick’s  Day holiday) and two bright dark eyes in a face still red from her journey. Her two little fists are tightly clenched and she has a look that seems to say, “Where am I and how did I get here?” With a baby blanket tightly wrapped around her, she looks like a little papoose, a nickname her grandmother would call her for a while.

So we all began our journey together as a family. Nothing would ever be the same again and we would all grow together and learn from each other, bound by that strong bond of love that only a baby can engender. So Happy Birthday, Nancy! You are still my baby.

I am having a 3-day quilting birthday party to celebrate! It's the big 50 this year! Hard to believe that I am half a century old (young?).

Happy Birthday to me!

Pugs and kisses,
Nancy