42 years ago I was born on my grandmother’s birthday. My mother left for the hospital the day before with the birthday cake she’d baked for her mother unfrosted. On the way, she said to my father, "I hope this baby waits to be born on my mother’s birthday!" My father replied as he sped along the highway, "I hope this baby waits to be born at the hospital!"
(me at 3, left, with my sister Jessica)
Perhaps it was this auspicious beginning and perhaps it has to do with being born on the first day of Spring, but I have always, always held my birthday as an extra special, personal holiday. To me, celebrating my birthday is celebrating my life. An extra piece of cake. (With a huge sugary frosting flower on top, please!) An extra spring in my step. "Happy Birthday to me!" playing in my head. And a huge smile on my face. "It’s my birthday!" I tell absolutely everyone, followed by my age. 42 today!