Thirty-three years ago, in Arlington, Virginia, my mom was 17 days past her due date. She marched into her OB's office and demanded my prompt removal. I was delivered--sometime in the afternoon--via C-section. My mother still bears the zipper-like scar down her belly.I'm sure she bears other scars too, less visible. After all, it takes becoming a mother to know how difficult it can be to raise children. To instill good behaviors and values. To quell tantrums without losing your cool. To come up with new craft ideas, disciplinary tricks and dinner recipes. While holding down a job or two. And packing up and unpacking a house every three years. To do it every day, all day, until I turned 18 and you said, "Good-bye now. And never come back!"
Thanks, Mom.
Now tell me what it'll take to get you to move to Chicago!
This photo was taken in Bonn, Germany. I'm either 2 1/2 or 3 and my sister is 1. My mom is 31. Nothing makes raising two small, closely spaced kids easier than moving overseas, right?
Updating at 4:20 to include this picture my mom just scanned for me from my 2nd birthday party.
