Birthdays. Why do we celebrate them? Is it the fact that we have sojourned long and hard thus far in our trip through mortality and have not yet died? Is it the fact that we are egocentric and just need an excuse to celebrate a day just for ourselves so we can boss everyone around and do the things we want to? Perhaps we should be celebrating why we are even here. Not the grand “why are we here?” but the mere fact that 22 years ago, there was a woman who went through months of awful back pains, swollen feet, retarded cravings, cranium busting migraines, and then had to patiently wait until you felt you were ready to get out. I mean, it wasn’t like she even had a choice or a say in the matter! She waited as you kicked her around and kept her from sleep until you said, “oh now… now I’m ready!” How awful that we spend that birthday celebrating our increased age just because we get to hold up more fingers. She is the one closest to heaven that brought you here– and that is something to admire. And one more thing: moms don’t go away. Yeah- all that time between that awful day in her history when you got here until now- she was still there! Who knows what will cure a kid with Cassy Day Syndrome? (Duh… Mom) Who is the first to clean up the vomit messes? (Usually Mom) Who was the one you told all of your date stories to? (Surely not your girlfriends!) Your best friend through all the “not really” friends? Who is the best venting/swig buddy? Who has been the best cheerleader through it all? I submit to the void that (if it wasn’t cheesy to be honest and deep everyday…) that perhaps everyday should and could be Mother’s Day.