Happy Birthday to Me

Yes, it's finally here. I'm 35-years-old.

Tonight, Mrs. Undaground will make Mom's Chicken Curry. If I've learned anything in 35 years, it's that anything involving baked mayonnaise is delicious.

Apparently, I share a birthday with Clint Eastwood, Brooke Shields, Walt Whitman and the former King of Portugal. I wonder what Clint Eastwood gets for his birthday dinner, probably some sort of beef jerky and a can of beans cooked over a campfire. I like mine better.

Today also marks the halfway point of the pregnancy. We're 20 weeks. For my birthday, I've asked for the honor of naming our first child. When I mentioned that to Mrs. Undaground, she said "But I already got you a present."

Compliments of my mother, here is her story about the day I was born:

Your birthday fell on a Monday. There was a Memorial Day celebration planned behind the barbershop on the Elmwood Park circle. All the relatives had a wonderful day celebrating your arrival. I couldn’t make it.

There was a nest of robins that I had been watching all spring – first there was the building of the nest – above the eaves of the porch. Then there were 3 little blue eggs – then little birds chirping whenever the robin mom left them to go find food. On Sunday morning, the day before your arrival, I witnessed those little birds leaving the nest and took it as a sign that you may make your exit (or entrance whatever way you look at it) real soon.

Sure enough, Sunday night around 9pm, the action started. My mother said to stay home as long as possible because once I got to the hospital, they would make me lay down and it’s better to be home, move around, etc. I was too scared to stay home – I wanted to be in the hands of the pros. We got to the hospital and as the orderly wheeled me upstairs – my mother looked at me with tears in her eyes. I said, "Are these tears of joy?" She said "no, I’m crying because I know what you’re going to go through". It made me a little apprehensive. These were the days before Lamaze and/or epidurals. It was all quite primitive but oddly interesting.

I could have been a better observer of the experience if I hadn’t been so involved in it. Instincts take over, you start controlling your breathing without being taught. One also learns how to curse like a drunken sailor even though these words have never before peppered one’s vocabulary. Oh, how I suffered for you. I was so relieved when it got to "push time". (You know the feeling. You get it yourself every year on Memorial Day evening due to the brats, pasta salad and beer.)

Suddenly - the crown – my baby has black hair! Then came your back and shoulders – my baby has black back hair! Look at my baby’s little black hairy legs! Some things ran through my head – species concerns, etc. But mostly what ran through my head and heart was an amazing, overwhelming feeling of love. Never had I felt such intense and immediate intimacy with any living creature. So, here was this helpless, beautiful little baby that I vowed to love and protect forever. By the way, I am so sorry about the haircutting ear incident.

You were born at 7:26 am – your grandmother found a penny on the floor of the waiting room at that exact minute – I still have it. Your birthday was filled with symbolism. It was also one of the happiest days of my life. Welcome to earth little boy and happy birthday.

Thanks, Mom. And I still have the carcasses of those little robins. They didn't make it past age four.