HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME!

Forty-seven years ago today, my mother took a taxi to the hospital in a snow storm and was delivered of her third and final child. She likes to tell the story so that I was almost born in the taxi, or almost born in the elevator, or at the desk while the receptionist filled out forms. Her doctor (may she rest in peace) had predicted daughters for the two previous births and been wrong both times. This time with stethoscope on belly she said solemnly, �Mrs. G, the baby has a long, slow heartbeat. I�m afraid it�s another boy.� Wrong again!

My father had to stay home to look after the older children, and so didn�t make it to the hospital for several days. My mother thought (I don�t believe it, by the way) that he was somehow angry with her, but his sister told her that when he heard he had a daughter he was just overcome with joy. So I did something right by being female. I felt a little sorry for the doctor, though. She just didn�t make a very good fortune teller.

So far today my mother has telephoned, my brother has called from Israel and played the White Album version of Happy Birthday over the phone, I�ve won two games of literati, had a really nice bubble bath, and I now sit here with those patch things under my eyes and rejuvenating masque on my face so that I won�t look my age. Pretty pathetic, I think. What happened to my great plan to age gracefully? Or is that what I�m doing?

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