We have a tradition in our family of telling the kids about their births during the days that surround their birthdays. The little stories all begin with something like this: "Eleven years ago this very moment..." and end with the details: "...Tali and Nana were making applesauce in the kitchen", or "...we decided to go get on the ferry and head for the hospital," or "...I was sitting in the bath at the hospital, leaning on Pappa," or "...I told the nurse I felt you moving down", etc. The story goes on for days, and we all delight in remembering.
|Hurried rice porridge and Tali's flowers and card on her birthday school morning.|
Parenting isn't always perfect. How could we ever grow and develop if there weren't a hundred thousand hurdles to keep us leaping all the way? My daughter is a force to be reckoned with, and also sometimes like the softness of a warm wind that keeps me steady and sure as she wraps her arms around me and reminds me that there is always love.
I can't tell her these things right now, but I will. Today as I bake her birthday quince pie, I will re-live the memories myself, and tonight when I tuck her in I will sing her the song her Nana wrote for her, and tell her about my day: The day she was born and the present day that I spent thinking about the wonderful gift of her presence in my life.
Thank you, Annie, for being mine.