Houdini, Foster the People

Today is my twenty second birthday. Three years from now, I'll be in my mid twenties. On my birthday, I sometimes wish that my mom and I had a relationship like Rory and Lorelai on Gilmore Girls (make fun of me for that later, I'll delve deeper), where my mom comes into my room and tells me the (gruesome) story of my birth. She's told me a few times, usually with me not being the direct audience, just there. Apparently, my impatience started far earlier than most would assume; that's the big thing I take from this story.

My dad was working in San Francisco, and left for his morning commute around 7. I was supposed to be born the day before, so my mother was very pregnant. Very, very pregnant. For those of you who know my mom, you know how impatient she is with discomfort. I can only imagine how she was willing me out of her belly. Well, I must have gotten the message, because less than a half hour later, she went into labor. Rushing to the hospital, after letting my dad know (who rushed to meet her there), she begged and begged for an epidural. She didn't get one with my brother, getting to the hospital too late, but she learned from that mistake: ask immediatly upon arriving. Natural childbirth is apparently overrated.

Well, it was too late for an epidural with me too. An hour and a half after my mom sent my dad to work, not to worry about her and the baby kicking it's way out of her stomach, I was born into this crazy world. It was 8:30. I remembered this today because, today, at 8:30, I was stuck in traffic, hoping to make it to work on time. (Yeah, I'm working and it's my birthday. Welcome to the real world.)

So an impatient baby out of an impatient mom, and I'm disappointed my mom doesn't tell me this story? I might be certifiably insane. I got the impatience from her, shouldn't I be complaining about that?

I'm going to veer this story off a little bit to my relationship with my parents. We have always had a great relationship, but in the past few years, it's been starting to change. None of the changes are bad, they're just changes. We're still close, I have no real secrets from them, but still, they're my parents.

Most girls relationship with their mom changes when they hit puberty. I was older when I went through puberty (one of the last girls in my high school class - if I wasn't the last), so my mom and my relationship didn't so much change as, well, fall off. We put it on pause. When I was in college, we hit play again. We talked often, exchanged emails (like: (in reference to Charlie Sheen's son Bob) If you were a boy and Patrick (my big brother) was a girl, you would have been Jenny and Bob. We would have been Charlie Sheen! (I'm not kidding: I received this email...) ), but now that I'm home again, for a longer time than usual, we're both playing with hitting the pause button again. Hopefully, this time, we put off hitting pause until I leave. Then everyone will be on pause.

My relationship with my dad has been a little different. I've always been very close with my dad, I mean, the guy taught me how to ski - of course we're close! But in the past few years - well, actually the past year - he's been acting more like the "traditional" dad, far more protective than usual. At first it shocked me, thinking that he was trying to limit the freedoms both my parents have always let me enjoy, but then I realized: I'm the youngest. Not only the youngest of my family, but I'm the youngest of my cousins, on both sides of the family. No matter how adult and mature I may act, I still need to remember that I'm the baby. But still, I'm a big kid, let me act like one!

Usually, I go through life, taking one day at a time, not really thinking about the changes that I'm sensing, unless they're sudden and immediate, but recently I read something reminding the reader to be introspective sometimes. What better day than my birthday.

Damn, I'm getting old.