The day I met my mother

On May 22, three decades ago, my very pregnant mother sat on a wall watching her Catholic school students play during recess. A nun walked up to her and said, "How are you?"

"I'm in labor," my mother said.

The nun understandably freaked out. My mom told her to chill.

She went to the doctor's office for a check-up because I was due any day now. I'm punctual like that.

"You're in labor," the doctor said.

"I know," replied my mother.

Then she went to pick up my father for his birthday dinner. She told him happy birthday, but she'd have to put it on hold because they were about to have a baby.

They took my sister to my grandma's house and mom drove them to the hospital. The doctor said she had a while to go and did she mind terribly if he went home and got some dinner? She said okay.

And as soon as he drove out of the parking lot I said "I'm up out this piece!" and I decided to break loose from my watery cavern.

And the nurse who was supposed to give my mother an epidural dropped the needle twice and my mom said nope! and at 10 pm she pushed me out all by herself, no doctor, no needles, no nothing.

And I was a wee little hairless baby who weighed five pounds nothin. She said I looked like Gandhi on a hunger strike.

And the first thing I did when they shoved me in her arms was grab her necklace and look her in the eye and go, "Look here, lady. I'm in the world now. Things are gonna change."

And they did.