Twenty years ago, my mother laid in the hospital, probably miserable and angry. Upset with my father for not feeling the pain she had to go through for the second time in her life. Wondering if kids were really worth it. Drugs pumping into her blood faster than Brittany Spears gets into tabloids. This is the birthing process.

So I guess while most people are telling me “Happy Birthday” I am taking a different approach. Maybe instead of responding to the birthday wishes with a simple “thank you”, I should direct them to my mom’s cell phone number. She is the one who did it all. I just gladly accepted the position I was in (that is, life) and did my thing.

Let us take a moment into the current news and economic situation. I will use this vision. The election. My mother was the political genius. The speech writer. The underpaid and underappreciated woman you only see in the background behind the winning candidates party (next to the old man that fell asleep during the acceptance speech.) She spent months preparing for the ‘big event’ and made sure everything was taken care of so that things would work out in the long run. While she slaved over the candidate’s future and well-being,he sat around and ate other people’s food kicking and throwing a fit because the temperature wasn’t right.

The ‘big event’ happens and the candidate wins the election. Now all eyes are on him. He is thanked and greeted with stern handshakes and mass sums of people that he met at some point, many without his knowledge.

Thus is the same of my birth. She ‘labored’ (no pun intended) and spent months hard at work. I showed up and suddenly all eyes are on me. Don’t think I’m trying to sound full of myself, but the cute baby takes some sort of authoritative power over the exhausted mother. When the baby is hungry, thirsty, tired, or pooping, someone will be there instantly to provide. While in public, no one wants to hold the mother or talk about how great she looks. Nope. It’s the baby.

So here I sit, twenty years after the beginning of my Happenings, blessed beyond measure. (And not quite as cute as I was twenty years ago.) To my mother: Thanks for going through an awful experience for me. I can personally say that I think it was worth it but I appreciate you more than anything. To the many friends and family that have wished me a happy birthday, I thank you. But at this point, please direct yourself to Deb Okuley. (dokuley@yahoo.com)