Every year on my birthday my Grandma would call me from New York to wish me a happy birthday. She would sing the birthday song to me and tell me about the day I was born. She would tell me how my father had joked he would tell her I was a girl no matter what (the first girl born in the family incidentally, for an entire generation of boys). So when I was born a female and my father made that phone call she said she didn't believe him. Put Jan on she told me she said. My mother, sort of out of it from her c-section informed my Grandma I was in fact a lady and all was right in the world. The doctor couldn't get over the fact a mother wouldn't believe her son but clearly he didn't know my father. So I've been told.
I had heard this story 29 times.
One year, I was in Stone Harbor with some girlfriends, one of who's mother's name was also Laurie. When my Grandma called the house phone and asked for Laurie she got Laurie the mom, not Laurie the almost senior in high school. And she started singing her birthday tune to the wrong one. The situation was quickly remedied of course and I got to hear my story, same as every other year. That year from a slightly embarrassed Grandma.
And then I got to blow out the candles my friends set up for me.
And will someone please take the tweezers from my 17 year old self. Thanks! And thanks mom! For giving me the best world possible for over 33 years! Birthdays should always nod towards the mother I think. They did a lot that day too you know.