Happy Birthday, Papa...

Apparently March is a great month for us to observe the parental contributions for which we are so thankful. The last stop in the grandparent birthday homage for the first quarter of the year is today, March 26, on which day we are thankful for my father, or Papa.

I would like to be able to balance the tables and say similar things to what I wrote about my mother 24 days ago, but the truth is, a relationship with a parent of the opposite gender is different. My mother experienced a love for her father that is similar, so I think she understands. My experience with my father is different. And while I work very hard to keep myself from donning the rose colored glasses I do not wear in the relationship with my mother, it is much harder for me to view my father in the realistic terms that I view my mother. I think he may wear a cape and change in telephone booths at times. And, that is a reality for which I am thankful and do not feel compelled to push for much change.

I often read the assessments of women at work, or listen to the stories of women I know personally, or watch Dr. Phil and witness women who are forever changed by the men in their lives. Typically, these women share some commonality in that their father either relinquished or failed to protect his little girl and her development into a woman either totally or in part. I have struggled with the fact that I have always been treasured by the men in my life (with a few moments of humility injected from my brother, of course) and that my father is the author and sustainer of that sort of treatment. It seems unfair for me to have such a protector, while other women never know that comfort. Yet, it is something which has formed and continues to form me, inside and out.

Today is my father's birthday. Like my mother, his physical appearance cannot come close to betraying the actual number of candles which should appear on his cake. However, he is, indeed, old enough to be a Papa. On this day, I would like to take a moment and enumerate a few of the things for which I am so thankful that my very own daddy will have a place of honor in the development of the next generation.

1. My father limited my choices at times. Growing up, my only choice I can remember for what would happen in June 1998 was military or college. In a family and hometown where working at the local grocery store or "making enough to get by" was an actual plan for what to do after high school, my father decided his children would have a different expectations. He, himself, never went to college. However, my father is a rare example of someone who wants more for his children and will sacrifice himself to provide it. I never, for a moment, wavered in my knowledge that I would go, achieve, and become everything I could. My father authored that message and saw it through the bitter end.

2. My father wanted me. My mother always wanted children, but my father wanted lots. He said he wanted a house full. He said he was never afraid that he would end up with all girls, either. He was up to the task! When my mother had uncontrollable blood pressure and developed the toxemia and preeclampsia that caused my early and traumatic arrival, my father was there... practically with a catcher's mitt. Balancing his breaking heart at his wife's pain and devastating illness with his new love for me, he fed me as my mother's body and doctors sorted her out. For the first 4 days or so of my life, my father fed me and was my primary caregiver. Legend has it that my 22 year old father fed me a full 8 ounces for my first meal. (Apparently, he wasn't concerned that I did not inherit his metabolism.) When my mother wanted to defy odds and reclaim breast feeding as a means of naturally sustaining me, my father was the only person to jump to her defense and her side, finding nursing coaches and other supports to override the many professional and personal influences discouraging her. From the first hours, my father has been protective and demonstrated how much he wanted the role of father.

3. My father has never loved his job. That's not to say he never enjoyed his work... two of his best friends, who are ranked among family in our life due to their closeness to us, are the result of his work environment. However, my father has never had that kind of job that I get the privilege of seeking and returning to school periodically to prepare for. Yet, my father has never called in sick or gratuitously missed days. Instead, he's maintained my family's needs as his priority and goes, earning bonuses when others cannot, earning promotions when he does not want them, and impressing nearly all who work with him. His work ethic is impressive. Realizing that his work ethic is motivated by his love for me and my family is humbling.

4. My father has never driven a fancy car. Or had a pimped out stereo. Or ever prioritized a hobby above us. Even when he could afford to participate in any of those activities, he has never wanted to. My father has made loving his family a hobby. When money was tight, he never dreamed of using family resources to entertain himself. Now that money is a little freer, he takes pleasure in coffee, beer, and beef with his family. Working under the hood of a car or gathering small parts for things he finds entertaining can't compare with being with Emory outside in his garden or snuggling Elizabeth for my father. Or shopping with my mother. Or bringing massive amounts of meat to our house and letting us cook them. While I understand and support other men who have such interests and would never disparage it, my father is a man who is different. And it is something for which I love him endlessly.

5. My father works with my mother. My brother and I say to a fault at times, as they very rarely, if ever, showed a crack in their united front - which made teenage shenanigans difficult to get away with! There was never a "but, Mom said..." moment for us. Dad was ALWAYS in sync with her or deferred on answering until he was able to be in sync with her. However, this cooperative spirit only worked to our benefit. Not only were we kept from teenage foolery, but we also reaped the benefits of 2 people who collaborated since high school in conspiring for something more. We got the benefit of Europe. We got the benefit of a mother chronically available to us. We got the benefit of no student debt at the end of our undergraduate degrees. By working together, our father lead our family to "better" with my mother at his side.

6. My father believes strongly in his beliefs. Out of anything I write about my father, this one is the one that is most difficult for me to be thankful for, as I find myself still struggling with my personal belief standards. My father, however, holds fast to his and does not move. I am happy for the consistency that sort of belief brings. I am happy for the times he allows healthy conversation to exist around them. And, I am happy to know that his beliefs are those which will maintain the next generation as dearly to him in his energy and exertions as my brother or I ever were.

7. My father is ripped. While this statement sounds superficial at the outset, the truth is, my father has 16.9% body fat. While he is experiencing some other health issues related to the increasing digits of his age, my father is diligent in taking care of himself. He goes to the gym daily and works out. With a bulging disc, he still manages to weight train so as to keep himself in good shape. When we went to Utah last fall, hiking in Zions National Park was par for the course for him, as he can handle the strain. I saw my beloved grandfathers fall victim to their healthful inattention: one to congestive heart failure, one to lung cancer from smoking. Knowing that our son will have a model of health that stands a great chance of dancing at his wedding makes me so encouraged for our family's future.

8. My father has seasonal affective disorder. And he won't talk to anyone about it. And he insists that just repeating "stop it" to himself is therapeutic enough. While I do not take lightly mood disorders (as is evidenced by my professional life) I love that my father is a throwback to the era when "digging in" and "pushing ahead" were actual prescriptions. As my husband and I come from "Generation Me," it's a nice reminder that sometimes, it's not about us and how we feel and seeking fulfillment. Sometimes, it's about faking it until you make it and making sure those you love are with you at the finish line. I still want him to be happier during the winter, but I love that his swaying emotions or moods have little or no bearing on the essence of his interactions with us.

9. My father guards our heritage. He can recall the warmth of the Italian family and reminisces regularly about his plethora of aunt, uncles, cousins, and relatives. Usually, the stories involve food, the smell of food, or the anticipation of food. He is the one who makes the Pizelle cookies at Christmas. He is the one who ordered THIRTY POUNDS of Italian cookies for Bobby's wedding and had them brought here from New York. He's the one who had standards for my wedding dress, that it maintain the sparkle and excitement of the Italian expectations. He's the one who makes Chicken Picatta by the truckload for us and loves anything pasta or antipasto. He's the one who wants to trek back to Italy with us, to walk again the province of Molise, from which his grandparents left. He's the one who expects us to maintain the pride and work ethic and devotion and hope of the men and women who came here and wanted more, earned more, and passed on more.

10. My father is still my daddy. While the teen years proved as awkward as any, my father has always made a concerted effort to be around. And, while my mother has evolved from a mommy to a Ma!, my father is still my daddy. Nathaniel even mocks me for this truth at times, but I don't care. He is my daddy. And, I know that as much as he's endeavored to live out the "daddy ideal," he'll live out the "Papa ideal." I've had the benefit of watching him do it with Emory and Elizabeth, who he loves and dotes on with abandon. As my brother and I hold special places in our hearts for our own Papas, knowing that I get to pass on to our little boy a "Papa" so worthy of the title thrills me... but, he's still my daddy.

I am sad for women who cannot list reasons, arbitrary or real, that their father is their protector, sustainer, and "daddy." I am not sure who I would be without this man. I am truly better for having his DNA, his influence, and his expectations. And, the next generation stands to benefit as well.

Thank you, Daddy! And Happy Birthday, Papa!

My New Favorite Word...

Effacement.

Isn't that a lovely sound? Say it slowly with me: Effacement... EEE---faaaace---mennnnnt.

I am looking forward to the "D" word even more, but for today, my new favorite word is effacement.

Nathaniel and I went to the doctor today. At 8 am, I was all strapped into the LaZBoy recliner at my doctor's office and little boy showed off his cardiac skills - again (noticing a theme? Induction, my foot!). Then, we saw Dr. Harden.

After last week's appointment with the young, perky female doctor who managed to steer me AWAY from conceding to an induction while inducing terror in my mother, I have concluded that I prefer male OBGYN practitioners. It must be something about not having the same equipment and, by virtue of their professional geography, constantly being on the verge of sexual harassment charges that makes them a little more ginger and considerate when speaking to a woman about her obstetrical options. Dr. Harden was no different. The only offense he gave was the slight poo-poo he emitted when I told him I was using Evening Primrose Oil. And, he can snicker if he likes... I'm 60% effaced! Ha!

I only gained half a pound this week, bringing the grand total to just around 15 pounds gained. Since I am taking on additional fluid, baby weight, and going into the "dairy" phase of this scenario, I am fine with weight gain that is up to a pound a week. My blood pressure was 108/80. After witnessing another friend spend a weekend with his swollen wife in WakeMed due to preeclampsia (with a baby only 32 weeks gestated), I am even more thankful for my heart's stellar performance.

In related news, my mother and I took a Monday and had "Nina and Vic's Excellent Adventure" wherein we traveled to Charlotte for the sole purpose of wandering Ikea. It feels like visiting childhood when we step into that God-breathed commercial enterprise. And, while generally maintaining the budget, I got the floor gym for the baby, plus his highchair. Of course, there were a million other things that happened into our shopping cart, all of which were completely necessary and well priced. If any of you care to come to dinner, we now have 4 outdoor chairs on which to sit! Apparently, the rest of the impregnated state had the same idea as we did, as there were pregnant women EVERYWHERE in that store. One of the women we discussed the phenomenon with suggested that the opportunity to walk endless miles in climate controlled environments, without breaking the bank and satiating the nesting impulses made Ikea the pregnant woman's dream... I have to agree.

The nursery now only lacks for the changing table, which I can only pray comes in before HE comes out... but, the twin bed is painted, moved, upholstered, and fitted with beautifully complimentary linens (thanks, mom and dad). I now stand next to the crib and try to coax the baby out, offering him all that free space, in exchange for the release of my bladder, which he has been torturing in the POW camp he's running for my organs lately.

Nathaniel is, also, apparently nesting. Today, he took a break from his work to take care of one of the many chores I have been struggling to schedule: getting Hector trimmed and washed before the baby gets here. Upon leaving Hector at the groomers, Nathaniel surprised me at my office when I was done with my mid-morning meeting, and took me to a FANTASTIC lunch at Lily's pizza. It was the perfect day for such a surprise, and breathed life into the next few hours that last night's disturbed sleep would have otherwise robbed me of! As I type this, we are sitting in his office, where he is playing the music of his favorite composer, Elliott Carter, so that the baby can be exposed to the great works in utero.

I am still working full time and am heeding the nesting impulse at work as well. One case in particular, is working contrary to the resolution plans we had made several weeks ago to cover my maternity leave and allow me to continue my work with this client in May. Being mental health, I suppose one volatile change of plans isn't too bad. Other than that, I am relatively apathetic. Upon watching clients become enraged enough with one another to start dropping "F" bombs on one another in the middle of the office, I simply told them to close the door if they couldn't control themselves appropriately and laughed with the Psychiatrist about how regularly these things happen in our office - typically, I handle the situations like that with a much more carefully evidence-based approach.

Today, however, I am effaced. So, world be damned, we're on our way! Caring about anything but the state of my cervix is just too much effort... a statement I make with a strange mix of pride and angst...

Once our little boy is out, I'll go back to caring about other things...

The final lap...

Here we are... the final lap... 36th week... last month...

Yesterday, I had my final ultrasound after another NonStress test wherein baby boy was showing off his impressive ability to hit 175 beats per minute just by kicking around my womb as his cardio regiment. In the ultrasound, the baby was practicing his breathing and we watched as his torso took in amniotic fluid and stretched the muscles that will allow him to wail as soon as he sees daylight. Also, he was in perfect position for us to see him practice suckling. The doctor said that activity was a great indication that his neurological development is strong. His head was measured and, again, was evaluated to be perfectly average - not even close to large, as my sister in law, Jess, likes to tease me it will be. His torso, femur and other dimensions also indicate that he is on his way to perfectly typical birth weight/size.

This doctor asked me if we scheduled an induction date yet. I told her "no," I had not and would not be doing so, especially after last weeks' consultation with the other doctor who told me things were on track for a healthy outcome without medical interventions. She eventually agreed that I would be able to delay scheduling an induction, contingent upon Non-Stress Test results remaining highly reactive. However, she had to scare my mother before doing so, claiming that "IUFD" risk raised after 39 weeks for women with Gestational Diabetes.

After explaining that the terrifying letters stood for IntraUterine Fetal Demise, my mother gasped and seemed more ready to agree to an induction. However, we determined that an unqualified "increased risk" was not grounds for surrendering to potentially unnecessary medical interventions almost a month before they would be needed. So, we'll be watching the NST results, with particular emphasis on those results from the 39th week to determine if any medical induction is necessary. I am hoping that Baby Boy decides to appear between now and 39 weeks and make all this conjecture moot. Our plan is to agree to and abide by any interventions that are, honestly, medically necessary. However, we intend to reject any that are strictly precautionary or "policy" interventions without finding a danger to me or the baby that warrants such an effort.

With that sort of delivery time frame in mind, we have started the Evening Primrose Oil and Raspberry Red Leaf Tea as a means of naturally encouraging my body's participation. Also, Nathaniel and I are walking regularly to encourage his appearance. My father's birthday is Saturday, March 26. I can't think of a better gift to give a man than a grandson on his birthday... so, you know where I am aiming my prayers :)

So, with that update, work is starting to organize itself and fall into place in preparation for the baby's arrival and my subsequent maternity leave. I've still only gained 14 pounds, so we're on track for perfect weight gain... and, hopefully perfect weight loss :) We've finished our birthing classes and have a well-established birth plan. My friend, Heather, is on call to help me labor at home as long as possible. The nursery is finished, albeit minus the changing table. Our savings is in place and tax return will be a suitable cushion for us. I have quite a few things left to do (wash the car/place the car seat, identify a pediatrician, settle health insurance for the baby, etc), but am feeling MUCH more at peace about the baby coming any time he chooses now...

From what I've heard, however, this is the longest mile...

Happy Birthday, Grandma Eschler

I think I should amend my March 2, 2011 statements to read that, traditionally, relationships between women - especially between women who have the words "mother" or "daughter" in their titles - are difficult to manage as a rule. I've already laid out the reason the biological mother-daughter relationship is complex. The other relationship that I repeatedly hear women struggle to make peace with is the mother-in-law/daughter-in-law relationship. And, again, I must admit that my life is an embarrassment of riches.

I often hear women of all ages and stages of marriage lament the woman their husband calls mother. The causes of these complaints and strains comes from every possible stimulus, beginning with food preparation, continuing through child raising, moving beyond housekeeping - and any other issue there is to be taken with womanhood in general. And, honestly, I can see how things get muddy in this relationship. A woman gives birth to a son, spends her life pouring her energy, love and devotion into that man and is one day relegated to second place as he chooses someone who may or may not mirror those qualities that a mother had hoped would be obviously important staples to feminine identity. I'm sure in 30 years or so, the passing of the baton will be a difficult experience for me as well. And, when that time comes, I can only hope and pray to be a woman of as much grace, kindness, and unconditional love as my own mother in law.

I do not live near my mother in law. I know that gives me an unfair advantage in the "loving my mother in law" game. However, my mother in law is the type of woman who, even if we lived in her basement, I cannot imagine being a negative influence or stressor to me or our marriage. As I stated 10 days ago in praise of my own mother, I can now cite my mother in law as another force in my life that is unceasingly wishing and praying only for good and loves without exception or end.

Today is my mother in law's birthday. On this day, I would like to spend time listing a few of the virtues and traits that make her invaluable to me and the life that is growing himself out of his current home in my womb.

1. My mother in law is a woman of grace. She is true grace at that. She is not the superficial grace that you learn at finishing school. Instead, she is the embodiment of that which is purely gracious. I'm sure if you asked her for her coat, she'd give it to you - even if you recently insulted her. She never thinks of herself or her comfort first. Instead, her life is in service of those she loves. She never acts out of resentment, obligation or frustration. She is grace.

2. My mother in law knows how to love unconditionally and does so without restraint. When my husband was growing up, he tested her in every possible way. She was pushed and pulled, tethered and loosed with the whims of his developing needs, ideologies, and desires. Many families would hold such a past over the head of the family member who caused the distress. Not my mother in law, however. She loves unconditionally. My husband is as dear to her as the day she first held him and wrote effusively in his baby book about how perfect a creation he was. Those things he did to test her are long forgotten, covered over by the love she never wavered in maintaining for him. Today, she extends this same love to me.

3. My mother in law loves genealogy. She can tell me the name of the Mayflower passenger from whom my son is descended, and which trail their family took as they followed Brigham Young to settle the wild west in search of religious freedom and fulfillment. She even took down some information about our family when my parents and I visited last fall and began to include us in her studies. I love that our son will be able to identify a family member who participated in every part of the development of the American dream and way of life, from the Mayflower through Ellis Island and that my mother in law is the guardian of such information.

4. My mother in law loves her husband. Never fearing to let us see the imperfections which form their perfect union, she loves my father in law in a pure way that demonstrates healthy balance and perseverance to my husband and I. I feel that I can go to them with questions and concerns about our relationship as easily as my own parents, thanks to their transparency.

5. My mother in law is a caregiver. She cares for her 5 children... relentlessly and with passion. She cares for her 100 year old mother. She cares for her husband. She maintains activity in her ward and provides care there as well. Like my own mother, she made her family a priority growing up and continues the tradition of actively demonstrating care to those she has been given regularly and well.

6. My mother in law worked hard to give me a husband. I know she did not do this for "me," per se. However, she worked her fingers to the bone and wore out her knees praying over my husband. I love that she taught him respect and discipline as best she could. I love that she adored him and prayed for him and wept for him and maintained a place for him to come home to whenever he was ready. I know that there are things she has treasured in her heart about Nathaniel that only a mother's affection could ever know and no word could describe. I am thankful she was the guardian of his early years and restoration to his later years. Without her enduring presence, my husband would not be who I love him for being - and our son would not stand to inherit such a rich heritage of devoted parentage.

7. My mother in law is flexible. Never once have I heard this woman assert her will forcefully. This trait is perhaps the one that, not only do I wish I could emulate, but actually do not understand. I have watched her go from a moment of exhaustion and wanting a quiet moment alone to fully dressed, in the car, and following us all on a contorted adventure she wasn't planning on taking. All the while, she smiles and encourages and never complains. To have a fraction of her humility and flexibility is a goal to which I should push myself for the rest of my days!

8. My mother in law is diligent. As was the case in my family, the main task of earning money fell to my father in law, allowing my mother in law to stay home and prioritize care of the family. She never, however, took advantage of this situation. Never is she in her nightgown late into the day. Never is my father in law unnecessarily burdened with paperwork or errands. She keeps the house, cooks the food, takes care of the day to day tasks, and relieves whatever other burdens may fall on my father in law - such as his lack of lunch when he leaves it at home when he goes to work. Her role as "stay at home" mother never translated, for even a moment into "exempt from contributing equally" wife.

9. My mother in law empowers those she loves to be who they are created to be. With 5 children and a growing number of children in law, there is never any pressure for anyone to conform or be like another. Nathaniel is the perpetual student with strong opinions and ideologies nearly 180 degrees different from his family; Carrie is a freer spirit who has lived in various places, deciding what sort of work or study will fulfill her; Anna is talkative and the most extroverted Eschler, by far, whose laughter is tangible; Becky is determined to persevere, but would rather do so without everyone's eyes on her; Jessica is confident and capable with a wry humor that seeps in like a thief; Matt is the son in law who is a hard worker and devoted to family; I am the loud, overly feeling ethnic daughter in law who is high maintenance as compared to the others; Josh is the newest addition, working to identify what he wants most out of life and how to get it most efficiently. None of us has to be the other. None of us has to pretend. All of us are welcome in my mother in law's home, her heart and to her table.

10. I know my relationship with my mother in law is just beginning. I love that there are so many years and trials and successes and frustrations and hopes and tragedies and excitements that I will share with her that will make her infinitely more valuable to me. Already, I've seen the relationship mature. When I could not find my mother, I called my mother in law to consult about the small amount of spotting I was having earlier in the pregnancy. My mother in law was comforting, reassuring and willing to help. Similarly, when I had a stomach bug and didn't know if I was over reacting, or should legitimately be concerned, she was a voice of calm guidance. I love knowing that this woman is a force in my life for good (meant in as many ways as it can be interpreted) and that she will be a force in Baby Boy Eschler's life as well.

Again, I feel it is unfair for me to have a mother that I can sing the praises of and then, 10 days later, sing the praises of the other mother in my life. But that is the reality I have been given - and it is one for which I am thankful everyday, especially as the reality of my own chance at motherhood inches closer.

So on this day, my mother in law's birthday, I publicly praise this woman for who she is, who she has been, and who I hope she will always be to me and our little family.

Happy birthday, Grandma Eschler!

Spring Showers...

On Sunday, March 6, as rain showered down on the face of North Carolina, 2 of my oldest and dearest friends showered our little family as well. In a small, intimate gathering, we enjoyed time together, stories of birth and pregnancy, advice for returning to work after the baby, delicious snacks, and a BEAUTIFUL cake. Baby boy's future prom date, Alice, was in attendance with her new mommy and another friend (albeit long distance) announced her pregnancy - thus completing the Italian requirements for good luck at a baby shower.

We were thankful for all the adorable outfits and sleepers that I am getting more eager to put a little boy into and the more practical things that will save us legally and domestically, such as the car seat and rocking chair. I was excited for the chance to show off our nursery and even enjoyed the game wherein all in attendance got to guess the baby's stats, such as birthdate, time, weight, length, hair color, and eye color. The winner of that game will be posted - obviously at a later date.

The evening ended with some besties cleaning up and heading home with twisters littering the North Carolina landscape.

It's getting very real now... the time is coming... (insert "Jaws" theme music here)... and the shower was a perfect way to usher in this new season of preparation...

The GORGEOUS cake and flowers supplied by Mary... thank you!

I am, officially, pregnant... and would no longer be able to hide it if I were pregnant in a Lifetime Movie Network movie about a pregnant teenager hiding her pregnancy...

Baby Boy modeling Aunt Barbara's gift... thank you Aunt Barbara!

Future prom date, Alice, her mother Rebecca and Heather...

Nonni's favorite picture from the shower...

I think this one isn't too offensive in terms of girth... and I LOVE THE CAKE!

And, finally, a strong argument for the strength of our DNA and why I believe Baby Boy may, very well, NOT be redheaded, but favor us...

Thank you, Mary and Heather for the time, energy, and love that went into the planning and executing of the shower... thank you to everyone else who came or sent something...

Now, there's just the main event left... ("Jaws")

Happy Birthday, Nonni!

I think I am on pretty firm ground when I make the statement that the mother-daughter relationship is among the most complex emotional and interpersonal experience known to humanity (please note I did not say "man"). It is in this relationship that we, as women see (in both directions) our greatest strengths, most embarrassing weaknesses, best support, fiercest critic, source of redemption and opportunity for failure more than anywhere else. It is in this relationship that we define who we are, who we will endeavor never to be, and who we will invariably become. In cases where the physical resemblance is particularly strong, there is an added element of difficulty in separating "self" from "role" in this relationship. Yet, it is a relationship that is of unmitigated importance in the life of women. Even when the role is violated in heinous and unthinkable ways as I sometimes see in my line of work, every woman I work with must deal with the mother-daughter relationship and how best to thrive either because of or in spite of it.

Thankfully, in my personal narrative, I can say that I thrive because of my relationship with the exceptional woman I call my mother. While I am, by no means blind to her imperfections (as some would accuse me), I fully and wholly appreciate what she has done for me throughout the course of my life. Quite simply, there is no other relationship in my life that I can say is based on someone who loves me and wants to see the best for me in all situations. The expression of that love is sometimes skewed. That distortion, however, by no means negates the heart of affection that motivated the expression.

As I prepare for my own journey through motherhood, I am thankful for the example my mother set, mindful of the pitfalls I want to avoid, and hopeful for the mistakes I will invariably make. I know that as surely as my mother and I have experienced growing pains at other stages in our lives, we are going to experience them again - especially when I mention my intention to use cloth diapers. However, this relationship is sustaining, nonetheless. And, as my mother took her charge in raising me seriously and executed it with aplomb, I feel confident in my ability to make decisions and disagree with her - the best gift a mother can give to her child.

Today is my mother's birthday. While I will abstain from naming the exact number of her years in public, I will say that she is old enough to dispense wisdom, but far too young to be an archetypical grandmother. In celebration of this woman, I am going to focus on the positive and list a few of the reasons I am thankful for her presence in my life and the life of the little boy yet to come...

1. My mother made sure I knew who I am. She told me stories of my family's past and made sure my relationship with those generations who came before was vibrant and alive. She introduced me to the tastes, smells, and feelings of my heritage and let me know that these things coalesced into making me a healthy, promising woman who had much expected of her.

2. My mother exempted me from some significantly negative things about our family's past. In a family where women can still be yelled at for walking between men and their football game as they wander to the kitchen to get those same men a snack, my mother worked hard to make sure she raised me knowing that the world was as much mine as my brother's or cousin's or any male relative's. She never let me be limited by the ethnic barriers which prevented her from becoming the UN translator she once wanted to be and forced her to apologize on her way to the snacks.

3. My mother kicked my butt. It's still hard to be thankful for this one, but my mother had several rules designed to kick my butt. If I woke up and felt ill, I still had to get out of bed, shower, and get ready for school. If it became overly apparent that I was, truly, ill, she would come get me from school or exempt me as needed. However, I had to get up and try. The same was true for food. I was always allowed to dislike anything I chose, but I was not allowed to decide until I tried it. Some things can be scary for a child - but, I had to cope at an early age. This skill has actually served me well through my life, although I was not a fan of it at an early age.

4. My mother did my makeup and took me to ballet. Knowing that I would grow up to be short and chubby, she still allowed me to dream. She drew the line at allowing me to make "being a Rockette" a life ambition, but she supported me nonetheless.

5. My mother was always available, but never useless as she waited to be called upon. I cannot ever remember a time when I was sick or in need that my mother was not available. However, she always maintained a job and brought money into our household so that my father was equally available to us and never unnecessarily strained in maintaining our growing family. Never once in my life did my mother linger in bed or stay in pajamas or fail to clean the house and prepare hearty food for all of us any time we needed. Never once did she exempt herself from contribution on a larger scale, even though our family and needs were, without a doubt, the main priority.

6. My mother let me see her flaws. She cried in front of me and let me know when she was frustrated. When we moved to Europe and she was homesick and not so thrilled with how things were panning out, I saw that. By the same token, she protected me from the more heated exchanges between her and other adults when possible. I don't fear my own flaws as much thanks to my mother's transparency.

7. My mother hugged me. She's hugged me throughout my life. However, there are times where the hug was more memorable than others: the first night I spent in my dorm room and realized I had bitten off more than I could chew; the day I cried because I saw her fight with my grandparents over something they said in my presence; the day I came home and my great-grandmother had passed away while I was gone; when I was scared as we walked through Dachau; when Nathaniel and I had that pre-wedding fight that is terrifying; when I got accepted to college; when she left me in Miami; when I came home from Miami; when I left for Boston; when I came home from Boston; when I got to hold Emory for the first time; after I said goodbye to Emory in December; when I held Elizabeth for the first time; after I said goodbye to Elizabeth in December; when I had 3 positive pregnancy tests lined up on a bathroom sink ledge and felt terrified. She hugged me.

8. My mother chose my father and continues to love him. And together, they allow me to see that roses and hearts and whispering sweet nothings are not that which truly sustain a marriage - hard work, devotion, and careful prioritization does.

9. I know what I will look like in 22 years thanks to her.

10. The 12039447566829349145745608923489578965429 other things I have neither the time nor energy to list.

I know that most women who are afforded a childhood and mother-daughter relationship such as mine feel similarly about their mothers. On this day, however, March 2, I choose to take the time to be thankful for my mother and the uniqueness that is our relationship, and to be hopeful for that which is yet to come.