Birthdays are really weird things if you sit down and think about it. We have collectively decided that we each deserve to revel in praise and gorge ourselves on carbs annually following the day we are born into human existence. We even celebrate (or at lease acknowledge) the birthdays of the people that we loathe. Quite frankly, it’s weird.
I feel as though we should really be celebrating the mothers that brought us all into the world on our birthdays. Our mothers are the ones who are responsible for us each having a day to celebrate, after all. Following our zero-th birthday, we forget the fact more and more each subsequent year. It’s rather backward, really. We are raised on a pedestal for a day for something we never actually “did.” It’s not like it took any effort on my part to be born. I had at least one person, my mother, who went through it and made it happen.
I just turned nineteen on February 10th. So “Happy Welcome to Life Day” to me… And a million and one thanks to you, mum.
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