Sarah was our first baby and surprised us by being 16 days early. I went home from work on Friday, April 30, 1976 announcing to my office that the next week would be May and I was due in May, (May 19th) so hooray. I didn't realize that would be my last day at work. On Sunday I started having contractions, and on Monday (May 3) morning while heavily in labor, I suggested that Mark call my office and tell them I wouldn't be in today. Sarah arrived at 10:13 am, the sun streaming into the delivery room windows. It seemed a fitting way for her to enter the world as she really has been a ray of sunshine in our lives. As a mother of six children, sometimes her energy and vivaciousness (is that a word?) have made me tired. Like gotobedsoIcanrelax tired. People are always surprised to find out that Sarah is shorter than they think. She has presence. Charisma. People like her. And they remember her.
In the hospital I knew she was a redhead before I knew that she was a girl. The nurses made such a big fuss over her each time they brought her to me because of her red hair. (Yes, they used to keep the babies in the nursery, and you stayed 3 days in the hospital!) "Oh, you're the mother of this darling red-haired baby!" they would exclaim. I began to feel sorry for my roommate and her baby. In later years, I was simply "Sarah's mother" instead of having a name. That attention has always been something that has helped shape her as well. Because people don't forget the girl with the red hair. And I'm not talking orange or auburn. RED. You have to see it in the sunlight. Amazing. The hair I always wished I had: straight, but not too straight. Thick, but not too thick. Definite color, not the "started out blonde but what color is it now" hair that I have.
While visiting Sarah recently, a woman at church welcomed me, said that I must be *Sarah's mother*, grasped my hand warmly, and told me how much everyone in the ward loved Sarah and that I must be so proud of the woman she has become. Yes. Yes I am. She is my daughter, but also one of my best friends.
Happy Birthday, Sweet Baboo! You are my sunshine. But use sunscreen.
In the hospital I knew she was a redhead before I knew that she was a girl. The nurses made such a big fuss over her each time they brought her to me because of her red hair. (Yes, they used to keep the babies in the nursery, and you stayed 3 days in the hospital!) "Oh, you're the mother of this darling red-haired baby!" they would exclaim. I began to feel sorry for my roommate and her baby. In later years, I was simply "Sarah's mother" instead of having a name. That attention has always been something that has helped shape her as well. Because people don't forget the girl with the red hair. And I'm not talking orange or auburn. RED. You have to see it in the sunlight. Amazing. The hair I always wished I had: straight, but not too straight. Thick, but not too thick. Definite color, not the "started out blonde but what color is it now" hair that I have.
While visiting Sarah recently, a woman at church welcomed me, said that I must be *Sarah's mother*, grasped my hand warmly, and told me how much everyone in the ward loved Sarah and that I must be so proud of the woman she has become. Yes. Yes I am. She is my daughter, but also one of my best friends.
Happy Birthday, Sweet Baboo! You are my sunshine. But use sunscreen.
1 comment:
Even *I* think I'm taller than I am. Thank you for the lovely tribute. I learn from the best.
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