Before I was a mother, birthdays for me were about me, myself and I.
Since being a mother, it has taken on a different meaning.
When one of my children has their birthday, I literally remember the day(s) or night(s) of their birth. I remember where I was when my contractions began and I remember the intensity of the day/s leading up to welcoming my child into the world, earth side.
I remembered the overwhelming excitement to meet my child for the first time; the anxiety around the challenges of birth and the increasing need to surrender to the journey that lay ahead of me.
Today is my birthday.
And my attention is drawn to my own mother.
What was she doing when her contractions began?
What was care like for her at the time and where was she while she was labouring?
Was she supported in her birth?
What was her reaction when she birthed me, her first daughter?
Birthdays now have so much more depth to them than when I was a child and it was all about balloons, gifts and party cake.
I think of what it means to bring a human into this world. The meaning of that experience and the journey that awaits that child.
The transformation of a women to a mother.
The man to a father.
Without our parents, we wouldn’t be here.
It is our mother who births us.
What a great gift she has given us!
So although it is my birthday today, and the attention is drawn to me as a human.
I’m grateful to my parents.
I’m grateful to my mother for birthing me and the hardship she went through to welcome a new human into the world.