Happy birthing day

Even though I am not celebrating this birthday due to Steve's absence (if I don't celebrate, it doesn't count, right?), I cannot pretend that my birth did not happen, and therefore must thank the woman who made my life possible. Ever since giving birth to Sam two years ago, I have been raging on calmly encouraging others that we should celebrate MOTHERS on birthdays. Kids didn't do jack-diddly, other than cause a few ill-placed stitches and scream for the first eleventy billion hours of their lives. So without further ado, will the lady who endured labor, childbirth (drug-free! way to be!), infancy, sleepless nights (we all know I slept like an angel, she just probably couldn't stop staring at my cute mug), long days, more poop than she ever thought she'd see in her lifetime, moody teenage years, horrible piano recitals, and two grandchildren please stand up?

Thanks, Mama. My appreciation for you LITERALLY grows daily. My admiration grows even faster than that and I'm in shock and awe every time I remember that you did this exact thing that I'm doing now, but with THREE ADDITIONAL CHILDREN. You are my hero.

Happy birthing day to you! I hope you eat an over-sized piece of birthday cake with tons and tons of icing (get that corner piece!) and remember that you deserve every stinkin' bite. I love you and only hope that I can be at least half the mother to my children that you are to me.