Grandma's Birthday

It was Granny’s birthday today. My daughter sat in the window for hours watching and waiting for Granny’s car. She watched the cars pass, hoping each time that it would be the one to pull into our driveway.

When I was a little girl, I thought birthdays belonged to just me, a moment in time wrapped up in a tidy bow. A day full of fat balloons and smiling faces….a day of crumpled paper, discarded bows and shiny new toys. A day to remember, a day to call my own.

Now, I know better. Birthdays also belong to mothers. They belong to mothers who count down to due dates and breath between contractions. Mothers who fret through doctor’s appointments and prenatal tests. Mothers who search through baby name books. Mothers who decorate and feather the nest…waiting….Waiting through the nausea and fatigue, the discomfort and growing stretch marks. Mothers who labor and sweat, and in the end, hold their new babies in hospital rooms and wonder.

Birthdays belong to Grandmothers. They belong to Grandmothers who patiently watch the generational ebb and flow. Whose words of wisdom fall on deaf ears and who watch in silence allowing their daughters to stumble and fall… to learn to walk, run, fly and yes, birth, the way they need to learn, on their own, in their own way, and in their own time. Grandmothers who would rather ignore their own birthdays, but agree to all the fuss because a little girl sits and waits in a window watching for her Granny to come.

Birthdays are for little girls. They belong to little girls who spend their afternoons sitting at a table, crayon in hand, and head bent. Little girls who carefully trace their name on homemade birthday cards. Little girls who help tie bows on carefully wrapped presents and stir batter for a chocolate birthday cake. Little girls in footed pajamas who can’t wait for tomorrow. Birthdays are for little girls who sit in windows waiting and watching because it is Grandma’s birthday.

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