According to the calendar, Labor Day falls in September. However, it also occurs everyday thousands of times over because for someone out there each day is their own personal labor day. The anniversary of the day they went into labor and gave birth to someone. We call such days birthdays and shower the person brought into this world with gifts that they just wind up returning for store credit anyway. But how come no one ever pays homage to the real hero of the day, the mothers who went through labor, in my case, 23 years ago today.
Why am I getting all the attention, I didn't do anything. I'm not the one who waddled around for nine months, I'm not the one who was in agonizing pain throughout child birth, I'm not the one who had to put up with my crap for 23 years. I don't deserve the accolades and the recognition. But I take them. I take them because it's human nature to want to feel loved. And if birthdays are good for one thing, it's to boost your self esteem, so that you can say, "wow, look at all the presents I got. I have so many great friends. Aren't I the greatest?"
But I'm here today to say that birthdays shouldn't be about the birthee, they should be about the birther. They should be called labor days not birthdays and we should be honoring the mothers and not the children. At least that's what I do.
My hope is that one day this catches on nationwide or even worldwide but I doubt it. Everyone just things I'm crazy for thinking this way. That's why Leigh's mom didn't know what to do after the time I sent her flowers on Leigh's birthday.
But I'm not going to let a few irrational people get me down. Today is no longer my birthday, it's labor day. So mom, Happy Labor Day, dinner's on me.
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