The Importance of Moms and Birthdays....

So I’m officially 32. It happened overnight one night this week, rather unceremoniously; I awoke with a start to the sound of my phone ringing at 5:30 am. At first I thought it was my mother getting a head start on the happy birthday wishes. I groaned at the thought and thought to myself, "SERIOUSLY, Mom???"

It wasn’t her.

“Hello, Dr Boyd…sorry to wake you…” (That sentence NEVER ends well). Ah yes, I was on call. The same scenario repeated itself three more times before the appropriate wake up hour of 7am. Each time, having learned NOTHING from the previous phone calls, I grew increasingly disappointed by the sound of the nurse’s voice instead of my mothers on the other end of the line.

It wasn’t until after the 3^rd 6am phone calls that I noticed that my husband was not in bed with me. Nor had he been, come to think of it…all night. Alas, in the wee hours of my 32^nd year, my dear husband left me to get reacquainted with the toilet bowl.

Gastro. Again.

I went downstairs to lovingly console him, not MENTIONING the fact that I had started my birthday off with my two LEAST favourite things in the WORLD: vomit and 5:30am-on-call-phone-call-requests-for-tylenol. But hey, I thought, I was going to be a sympathetic wife.

I was not rewarded for my actions.

And so I climbed back into bed and waited the 10 minutes until my alarm went off or my mother called so I could start my (birth)day properly.

Maybe I’d have some better luck with my son?

Toby greeted me that morning by demanding to know where Daddy was. When he wasn’t quite satisfied with my answer he resorted to throwing his stuffed animals out of the crib and refusing to take his sleep sack off. He then followed this display of affection by asking, “Mommy shut the door!?!?"

And so I waited patiently for my son to allow me back into his room as the sounds of my husbands bowel movements drifted up the stairs.

Twenty minutes later Toby had finally conceded to getting out of his crib, into a clean diaper and into his highchair for breakfast. It was at this point, while he happily ate his cereal that I told him that it was my birthday. Toby loves birthdays. He is often randomly bursting into verses of “Happy birthday” and sometimes succumbs to the urge to wish me a happy birthday at the most inexplicable times. It’s quite endearing.

“Toby,” I tried, “Today is MY birthday - - can you say ‘Happy Birthday Mommy’?”

Toby smiled at me sweetly as cheerio milk drooled down the sides of his mouth. He put on his shy face and cocked his head to the side like he does before he utters endearing words that usually melt my heart and then said in a sudden burst of rage,

“TOBY NEEDS MORE CHEERIOS!!!!”

It was at this point that I called my mom. The clock ALMOST said 8 am so it wasn’t a totally unreasonable time to call. And as usual my mom pulled through; she wished me a happy birthday in a partially-concealed-just-woken-up-voice before I’d even said hello.

I only hope on Toby’s 32^nd birthday that he needs me as much as I still sometimes need my mom.