You say it’s your birthday

It seems like yesterday I was walking through the fish section at a grocery store in New Jersey and nearly vomited. I forget the name of the store, but it was small. It didn’t even have a bulk section. Let me repeat.  There was no bulk section.  (audible gasp) What do people do if they only want one cinnamon disc, one tootsie roll, a caramel cream and a single root beer barrel?   I live in Western New York, the birthplace of the most incredible grocery store in the world: Wegmans.  What is Wegmans?  Oh, it’s just heaven on earth.  In addition to affordable grocery prices there is a huge selection of prepared foods and desserts.   This grocery store is better than some restaurants.

I didn’t puke in the seafood section in that Jersey store, but I realized my life was about to change.  No, I wasn’t going to join the fight to stop cruelty to crustaceans.  I was going to become a mother.  I peed on a half a dozen sticks before admitting I was a pregnant.  I was 25-years-old, unmarried and working as a nanny.  This was not part of my plan.  I had just graduated college.  Plus, I never imagined myself with children.  Nothing mattered more to me than having a successful career.  I cannot have this baby.  The people I worked for encouraged me to have an abortion.  Now, don’t get me wrong, I am not going to buy a box of crayons, make signs and stand in front of a clinic, but thank God I couldn’t do it.  Speaking of poorly made protestor signs, if you believe in a cause so much that you are willing to stand on a corner and scream, could you spend more than two minutes on your sign?  I don’t know, use a ruler or a dictionary.  Perhaps you could even splurge and buy some stickers.  Tibet’s freedom depends on it.

My son just celebrated his 14th birthday. He is a smart, funny, caring young man.  He can also be a giant a-hole.   It’s nearly impossible for teenagers to answer a question without sounding snotty.  Is it too late to abort? I am kidding. I love him anyway.

I didn’t give up on a career. In fact, I worked my way up (without getting on my knees) to become a news reporter.   It just turned out that my life plan sucked.  A job couldn’t give me what I really needed: saggy breasts and stretch marks   true love and happiness.


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