Thirty-five years ago today, MaMonk's day started much the same as it had for the previous couple of months: she woke up, prepared for the day by donning her maternity clothes and wondered exactly when the little booger would arrive. Then she started having random contractions and went to the doctor, expecting assurances that this was just a false alarm and the baby would debut sometime in the next week or two.
Instead, the doc told her that the baby was coming and she was in full-blown labor.
"But doctor," MaMonk said, "the baby can't come today, it's my birthday!"
Said the doc: "It seems like it's going to be someone else's birthday too."
And so it was that MaMonk held a little baby Monk in her arms shortly after his debut was complete at 3:17 p.m. eastern standard time. And on MaMonk's XXth birthday, she became a mother. My mother. I was her birthday present.
Considering the quality of Mom I have, I'm happy to share a birthday with her.
Happy Birthday MaMonk, I love you.
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