Today is Tamar’s birthday. Forty-six. (Aaron’s is January 3. He’ll be forty.) Where did all the years go! Tamar and her boys have plans to go to see the Big Apple Circus today. I hope they are not having the storm in New York we have now.
I remember well the day she was born. There was snow on the ground. We were living in Washington, D.C. And I was so afraid it was going to be false labor. It wasn’t. I was lucky. Labor was short, six hours. For a first baby, that’s good. But for a first baby, I was frightened. In those days the woman in labor was put in a room alone. Every now and then a nurse would come by and pat my arm. My then-husband was in the waiting room reading the Life of Sigmund Freud. I was only in the hospital three hours before she was born, but I think the first two were the longest hours in my life. The actual delivery was blissful. As was seeing a perfect, beautiful dark haired baby girl.
Life as mother and daughter has had its natural bumps but by now we know each other better and make accommodations for our differences and that’s good. As I’ve said before, I don’t mind getting older. In fact, I rather like it. I just don’t like my children getting older. I suppose it is too much of a reminder that at some point we really won’t be together. We are together now and I value that, for sure.
Happy birthday, kid! May your years be filled with awe and wonder.