I’ve always thought our Moms should be celebrated on the day we mark the anniversary of our birth.
After all, I didn’t do ANYTHING on March 8, 1970, except emerge into this world premature, 5 pounds, and sick.
❤️ Mom was the one who did all the work, who carried me in her womb, who endured the nausea I plagued her with, who stayed alive while both of us struggled those first few weeks — me in an incubator, her in your hospital bed.
SHE did the birthing, so really, shouldn’t it be happy birth day to HER, wherever she is? ❤️
⭐️ Still, I own and celebrate this day, because while she did the BIRTHING, I do the LIVING, and that is no small thing.
I’m grateful for every breath I take, every day I wake, every lesson I’ve gleaned, and every gift I’ve been granted — the good, the unexpected, and the hard won.
👉 If you are reading this, you have touched this one life and you have given me the honor of being in yours.
Happy day to you. Keep living until you don’t.