Tomorrow is my birthday and unfortunately I am turning 43. My mental age however, is a whole other story. The day before I was born my dad tucked my mom into their VW bug and headed for the hospital. My mom was in labor with her first (and only) child. It was a lovely spring day. So far they had chosen my first name but were still deciding on my middle. After reflecting on the beauty of the weather, Mom decided my middle name should be "Day." I guess the weather got the best of her, plus it was 1971. No further explanation needed. As they were driving the song, "Here Comes the Sun" by the Beatles came on the radio. My parents thought it serendipitous that THAT particular song should play as the birth of their one child together loomed ever closer. To this day I cry every time I hear that song and even now as I reflect on that lovely little story, I am making a mess of myself in Starbucks. It truly was a happier time, a simpler time. A time before the harsh realities of marriage, bills, health, jobs, money and making it work, set in. My parents were only 23 when they had me. They had extremely loving and supportive parents. My birth was planned. They lived in a small home next door to a catholic elementary school. They had an amazing garden where beautiful Daphne bloomed and made the whole yard smell heavenly. My mom's pregnancy was celebrated and my birth was very anticipated being the first grand kid born to both sets of grandparents. My sweet beautiful mother went through hell to birth me and consequently became very ill after my birth, requiring 2 weeks of mega bed rest. Her and my dad were awesome parents and we lived as a family of three for about 2 years in that little house on Almond Avenue. My mom still claims those years as the best of her life and I love her for it. So Happy "Birth" Day to my momma. And for the record, I am really grateful they didn't name me "Sun."