My middle child, Stella turns seven today. My kids birthday’s are like New year’s to me; a time to reflect, rehash the day they were born, and feel a touch melancholy that they are getting older.
I have spent the morning fielding questions from Stella:
Stella: Was I out of your vagina yet?
Me: Not yet. You were born at 10:37 pm.
Stella: So I came out of your vagina at night?
Stella: Were you hungry?
Stella: What did you eat the day I was born?
Me: Funny question Stella, but I can answer it. I had sushi for lunch, and after I had you I ate McDonald’s.
Stella: That’s what I want to eat today.
Me: You said you wanted hotdogs and hash brown casserole.
Stella: Oh yeah, I forgot.
What do we have planned today? Nothing. Stella asked for Juicy Fruit, which I was happy to get her. That’s it. To celebrate her inexpensive taste, I am going to splurge on a lovely bottle of red. After all, I gave her life. Perhaps I should make this day about me?
Stella has become a very imaginative, independent demonstrative little person, whose observations make me laugh. Currently, besides saying vagina, she loves saying un phoque (baby seal in french) which sounds like fuck. I know time accelerates, contrary to what physicists say. I want it to stop, slow down-let me replay some moments.