Twenty years to the day when I had that first wave of labor pains engulfed me. It was nothing like the ones we describe in ob/maternity nursing. That low back pain that radiates to the front that gradually increases in intensity, that period of contraction that makes everything else stop except that one piercing moment of excruciating pain that slowly recede as the contraction eases out, that moment I slipped off the chair not actually realizing I had slipped off. And so that was the signal you were about to come.
On moments of reflection, I still cannot believe it’s been
twenty years. You are twenty. A grin
would not escape my lips on that thought. That's about 1.9 years in doggie years. My baby, my boy is now all grown up.
You were Shualai, you were Jota. You are now everybody’s kuya, Tita Mila’s
boyfriend, Mama Charing’s personal caregiver, and Lyanne’s Osh; and you are my
younger brother to the vendors in the market.
Twenty years wasn’t always fun but that’s the way it is supposed to
be. We made the most of those times and
it was never short of fun or happiness. Two wonderful decades. How
time flies but I guess I wouldn’t have had it any other way.
On your special day, I celebrate with you twenty years of
motherhood. Like any mothers’ hope and prayer for her children, I hope I had
inculcated in you and your brother the essential values in life that will make
you good if not better men and I pray that you will have that zest for life and
make you see what more you can offer to it and what it has in store for you. I
hope I had the done best for you and I pray that I continue to do so.
The birthing pains is all but a fleeting memory now,
replaced by wonderful happy new memories and more new ones to come; it’s no
wonder the greeting is always a happy birthday.
Son, happy happy happy birthday!
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