Thursday, September 21, 2017

The Letter: One Year Later

"Let's make sure we have someone escort Britney into the newsroom the next couple of mornings.."

That's an excerpt from an e-mail one of our station managers sent out one year ago, that followed my decision to "go public" about a deeply hurtful viewer letter I received.

I knew sharing it could go three very different ways:
1) No one would care
2) People would care
3) People would disagree with me and be angry

If there were ever any threats, I didn't see or hear them.

But some nasty comments did follow.

It had also only been a few months since I met with the Lake Charles Police Department after my vehicle had been egged, over who knows what.

I didn't know if I could expect something like that again or worse.

But you know what, I truly didn't care.

Someone had crossed the line with indefensible words about my son, words that still create a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach.

"Give back the little black boy while you have a chance."

I felt anger. 



This "concerned viewer" had sent a card to the station to encourage me to "give back the little black boy," my one-year-old son, while I still had a chance.

The handwritten card went on to detail the concerns, such as him being a "breed" because of his skin color - and ultimately that in keeping him, my white daughters would be at risk of being raped by him one day.

Even all these months later, it's hard to type out those words.

I let them sink in for a couple of days.

I let them bother me - and honestly, I felt them start to sour me.

There were insecurities I had buried that suddenly rose to the surface about whether or not Matt and I truly were the best parents James could have.

What many people might not know is that we were still in a "placement period" with James. We were three months away from his adoption through foster care being finalized and there was a chance he could be removed from our home - or we could tell our caseworkers that he would thrive more with someone else.

Would he be better in a home with parents and siblings of the same race? 

Is he going to have an invisible target on his back in today's society because of our family dynamics?

Are we enough for him?

As a therapy of sorts, I sat at this very keyboard and started typing...

When I typed out this post last year, I didn't really think anyone would take the time to read it.

Still, it was healing to me to put my words out there in the universe, to shine light in the dark shadows of the painful words that had been sent my way.

Then, something happened, yall...

Something big and incredible - and I can't think about it without my eyes filling with tears.

People cared.

They reached out.

They sent kind cards.

Entire schools wrote notes and even drew pictures of my family.

They talked down racism and talked up acceptance, diversity, and love.

They did this by the thousands.

Within just a couple of days of publishing my blog post last year, it was read, shared, or clicked on over one million times.

The attention one little piece of my heart garnered was overwhelming, but it was the outpouring of support that taught me so much - and ultimately changed my life:

We are more similar than we are different.

Our backgrounds might be different.

Our skin color might be different.

Our interests probably span around this globe and back again.

But our similarities win.

We are human.

We have feelings.

We love fiercely.

We ultimately want to leave our world a better place.

We need each other.

There are things I cannot offer my son, that other people can.

One example: I am still learning how to style James's beautiful, tight curls.

The first time I showed up at an African-American barbershop, I stepped into a world I couldn't believe I was just experiencing for the first time!

It was a party! There was a table with older men playing card games. There was food for the taking. Football was on the TV.

And, the barber said something that made me feel so encouraged about James's experiences in the years to come:

"I want this young man to learn to play spades here with us," he told me.

I want that, too.

I want men of color to be willing to invest their lives in my son, because it will make him better. 

And I want women of color who will love on my white daughters as I love on their kids, too.

We need to live out the fact that racism is not natural. It is learned. We must stop it.

We can share so much across racial lines if we just take a moment to give a bit of ourselves to others.

We must talk about improving race relations.

The Letter  opened up the door for dialogue with strangers that I now call friends.

It brought hugs in grocery store aisles and unexpected tears from people who have lived out a similar scenario.

I even got a second letter that I can only guess was from the original sender. It was short, but the words "I'm sorry" were part of it.

I imagine the sender was an older woman - someone who grew up in a very different time and with very different values.

Maybe she is someone's grandma.

Nothing makes my heart soar more these days than images like this: seeing my grandma embrace her great-grandson who became part of our family in such an unexpected way.

Every time she holds him, she rubs his arms and says, "Your skin is just so beautiful."

It is - and so is the picture of love across generations.

Still, this year has also caused me to look at our world a little differently.

I realize just how "white" our family experiences can be at times.

Sometimes it's not until I look back through photos that I realize James is the only black child at a big event.

Or we're tearing up the dance floor at one of our favorite restaurants and I notice he's the only black person in the entire building.

At two years old, he is too young to notice something like that now.

My family will have to be more intentional about diversifying where we eat, where we shop, and the events we attend.

We need to make sure that we are supporting places that will welcome a 22-year-old James today just as they would welcome a two-year-old James.

My hope is that one day soon, we have a better reflection of  community.  That it is a true place of fellowship and connection - where our lives are richer because of the differences we can celebrate - and the commonalities that weave us together.

I love this quote from author, L.R. Knost:

"It's not our job to toughen our children up to face a cruel and heartless world. It's our job to raise children who will make the world a little less cruel and heartless."

That's a task we are committed to seeing through.


Friday, March 3, 2017

More Than We Can Handle

This was the weekend, exactly one year ago, when Matt, one-year-old Lila Rose, and I made the four hour drive to meet our son for the first time.

I cannot explain to you the range of emotions I felt that day, with fear overshadowing the excitement that had been building until just two days before...

I felt different.  I knew something was off.

I sent Matt to the store for a box of pregnancy tests, just in case, because I knew if that was the source of my churning stomach and nausea, that everything would be different.

The little boy called "JT" that we had grown attached to over the past several months through pictures and videos would likely not join our family if the pregnancy test was positive, because it would be more than we could handle.

I took the first test and saw the faintest line.

It can't be, I thought, my heart racing and my legs turning into jello as I sat alone in the bathroom with the door locked.

One more test - a digital one - will show me the words, "not pregnant," and we can move on with life as we had planned at that time.

I took the test, praying that it would not be positive.

Time seemed to stand still - then the words popped up: Pregnant: 1-2 weeks.

I couldn't breathe.

How was I going to tell Matt?

This was more than we could handle.

I sat the test down next to him, not even able to say the words, as tears streamed down my cheeks.

What were we going to do? Were we going to make the trip to meet JT that weekend?  Could we allow our hearts to stay open to his adoptive placement with this unexpected news?

We decided to not make a sudden decision - giving ourselves time to talk it out, pray over it, and beg the Lord for direction.

Our four hour drive felt like it would never end.  I stared out the window through each passing town, looking at minivans and family-hauling SUVs passing by and wondering if those moms ever felt the panic I was feeling about motherhood in that moment.

When we walked in the door of JT's foster home, his foster mom handed him to us and said, "Here's new mommy and new daddy, JT."

The weight of what those words meant was more than we could handle.

Two more months would pass before the legal hoops had been cleared to move JT into a permanent home.

We were at the top of the list and still had the option of telling his social worker we had changed our minds.  But we knew our hearts were committed to being the forever parents this little boy needed, even though it felt overwhelming.

On the day James was brought to our home, we got a crash course in his daily care regimen.

There was acid reflux medicine, an inhaler, a nebulizer, cans of special formula, and James was wearing a helmet to help correct a problem with his skull.

Two hours after arriving with our 11-month-old son, a suitcase, box of his favorite toys, and box of medicine, James's foster mom he had been with since birth, and his social worker, were gone.

"God never gives you more than you can handle!"

That's the message we heard from countless well-wishers in those first weeks and months to follow the addition of James to our family, along with my obvious growing belly.

Three children under the age of two, and two full-time working parents felt like too much.

At the grocery store, "God never gives you more than you can handle!"

At the doctor's office, "God never gives you more than you can handle."

At daycare, "God never gives you more than you can handle."

Even at church, "God never gives you more than you can handle."

But we did - and do - have more than we can handle, and I believe that's exactly how God planned it.

It's when we are weakest that God's strength is even more evident.

It's through our shortcomings that God's power takes over.

It's through our fear that we run to God for peace.

It's when we are weak that He is strong.

It's when we can't handle the weight of life that God promises his yoke is easy and his burden is light.

Y'all...the past year has been TOUGH.

We've had dozens of specialist appointments and therapies for James that have taken us back and forth between New Orleans, Baton Rouge, and Lafayette.

We've gone through the roller coaster of getting to know a child who came to us as a stranger and the work that goes into creating a trusting bond between parent and child.

We've done our best to let Lila Rose know how special she is and that she is the best big sister a kid could have.

And we've added Adeline to our family, a precious, cherished baby I truly cannot imagine not having in our lives today.

There's a framed Bible verse in Adeline's room that I stop and read every day.

"He has made everything beautiful in its time." Ecclesiastes 3:11

Everything includes the messy, the unexpected, the challenges, the tears, the "more than you can handle."

Take heart if you are feeling like God has given you more than you can handle.

He is right there with you and promises he will draw near to you when you draw near to him.

The narrative being written is one of beauty that might not be seen today, but it will emerge.

Our hands our full, but our hearts are overflowing.

What a blessing to have more than we can handle.


Wednesday, September 21, 2016

"Give back the little black boy"

We were in a commercial break during our morning newscast.  It was 6:40 and my co-anchor, John, made a quick trip to the KPLC mail room to pick up the mail of the day.

Sometimes it's an encouraging card from a viewer, a news release about an upcoming event, there are the random letters from inmates, and sometimes it is a "concerned citizen."

You don't know what you are getting until you open it up.

John handed me a piece of mail addressed to "B. Glaser" with no return address.

I knew that was a red flag.

But, I could feel there was a card inside of the envelope, which made me think it could be a kind note.  Who would want to waste a piece of stationary on criticism?

So I opened it...

"Give back the little black boy while you have a chance."

I stopped there, feeling my heart racing and the tears starting to rise to the surface.

I couldn't cry.  I was about to be back on camera to read the next news story.

I handed the letter to John, who read it, and whose face could not hide the disgust I knew must mean every word was hate-filled.

In the next commercial break, I picked up the card again:


Give back the little black boy while you have a chance.

They grow up to be out of control and rapists.  It's a breed you cannot deny.

I work with black teens 2-3 times a week.  They talk about having sex.

Don't let your daughter get raped when he is a teenager.

I'm older, but have seen what happens when blacks get to be of age.

Maybe you are trying to make a point with adoption.  You don't need to do that.  You are already well liked.

A Concerned Citizen.

I'm not racist.

I think I forgot to breathe.



My daughter being attacked by my son - all because she's white and he's black?

Making a point with adoption?

And all of this was written inside a patriotic-themed card with the American flag on the front.  The flag that represents liberty and justice for all.

The wheels in my head were spinning.  I kept telling myself, "This is one person.  One person's opinion.  One person's perception.  One person's ignorance."

But the harsh reality is that where there is one, there are more - who claim "I'm not racist," yet identify certain people as a "breed," or intrinsically criminalistic.

I do not have concerns about our son - the person being referred to as "the little black boy" -  morphing into a rapist as he "gets to be of age."

I would be lying to say I don't have concerns, though, about raising a black child in today's society.

All I have to do is read the news of the day to have some of those concerns in my face: two more deadly officer-involved shootings of black men in one week.  Regardless of where you fall on the "were they armed," "were they reaching for weapons," or "what's their rap sheet" spectrum - the fact is my heart aches watching another video of a black man shot to death.

Adding even more pain is the audio recording of an officer who states one victim "looks like a bad dude" based solely on his appearance as he walked to his stalled SUV with his hands in the air.

Our son will be taught by us that there is never, ever, in any circumstance, a reason to resist an officer.  Don't move unless you are told to move.  Do not reach for your license, your insurance card, or step out of the car if you have a question.  Don't adjust your pants if they seem off center.  Submit.  Period.

Will our two white daughters have to worry about taking such a cautious approach?  Probably not.

We recognize our son will encounter obstacles and prejudices that we never experienced.

It's pretty easy to accept and love on an adorable one-year-old, but what about when he's a little older?

Will he be invited to a classmate's birthday party?

Will he be watched more closely on the toy aisle as he tests out the wheels of a race car?

Will he be followed at the store as he tries on a pair of shoes?

Will he be able to ask a girl to the homecoming dance, regardless of the color of her skin?

Will he be accused of "trying to be white" or "not being black enough" because his family dynamics look different than the norm?

Will he know how much it matters to us, his parents, to respect and honor his racial heritage?

We do not need to be color blind.  Color is beautiful.  Differences can be celebrated.

It's okay if the first thing you notice about my son when you see him is the color of his skin.  But it's not okay if the next thing you do is make judgments based on that color.

I promise you that if you take a second to see him for more than his color, you will see his beautiful amber-brown eyes that smile when he smiles.  Then you will notice his dimply cheeks.  And that gap-toothed smile...oh my gosh.

He just started giving fall-into-you-with-all-of-my-weight hugs.  He will blow you a kiss when you say "goodbye."

And his newest word he can sign is "pretty," a word that he does not use discriminately - because we are all made in the image of God.

To the "concerned citizen" who wrote me that card: thank you for reminding me of just how lucky we are to be the parents of "the little black boy." He's a special guy and we know God has big plans for him.


Wednesday, May 25, 2016

Fear, Faith, and a Family of Five

There has been a long drought in this blogosphere...

It's because if I had shared what had been going on since the last post almost four months ago, it would have just looked something like this for several weeks:


Followed by...WHITE NOISE.

That is the best way to describe my thoughts, emotions, sleeplessness, etc. while deep into pursuing an adoptive placement Matt and I had been efforting since November - and then this news in February:

Hello, life!

So, here we were a few months ago, set to meet our potential son at his foster home for the first time and digesting the reality that by November, we could have three children under two. 

The logistics of it all felt overwhelming and we still had time to stop the adoptive move from happening.

I didn't know how I was going to get three little ones in and out of the house - into the car (that I will grow out of when three car seats are installed) - into daycare - and back to work in a one hour window of time.

I didn't know how Matt would handle the early morning hours alone with two, then three, when I had to leave the house at 3:15 A.M. for work.

I didn't know how I would possibly be able to nurse an infant while having two one-year-olds running around.  Heck, I just exited pumping/nursing land and am not ready to re-enter!

I didn't know if we would sleep again for the next few years.

I didn't know if Matt and I would have an uninterrupted conversation at home or go on a date again before the posse enters school.

I didn't know if we had the time, patience, and unconditional love that the little boy we wanted to adopt so desperately needs.

I didn't know if we had enough love to spread around for Lila, little brother, and the next addition.

We didn't know A LOT.

And guess what?!  We still don't.

Yet, all of that not knowing brought us to a place of knowing that this big, crazy life is exactly what God wants for us. 

"As the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts." Isaiah 55:9 

I assure you that the "plan" Matt and I had for our family didn't involve growing quite so quickly.

We figured we would continue in the adoptive process this year - and maybe, just maybe, add another biological or adopted child to the family in a few years after we were nicely settled in as a family of four.

When we learned that life was moving in a very different direction, fear creeped into both of us.

Should we continue in this adoptive placement?  Should we hit pause and revisit it after the birth of the baking baby?  Is now the right time?

It did not take long before we found ourselves begging God for discernment and clarity.

I found myself asking God, "Please, will you just show me exactly what we're supposed to do? Can you just tell me?"

And then, it's as if he calmly whispered to me, "The answer is right in front of you."

So, I opened up the Bible and turned almost instinctively to the book of James.

It's only five chapters, so I was able to quickly read through it and every chapter had verses stand out which seemed to perfectly describe our situation.  Here are the highlights:

*Consider it joy when you face trials, because the testing of your faith produces perseverance.  When you ask for wisdom, believe God is giving it to you and stop doubting.  (James 1: 2-6)

*Do not just listen to the Word.  DO what it says.  (James 1:22)

*Care for the fatherless. (James 1:27)

*Faith without action is dead.  (James 2:26)

*Our lives are so temporary. (James 4:14)

All of that was in one short book.  Over the next several weeks, I found myself more eager to dive into the Word, listen to more sermons on faith, trust, caring for "the least of these," and refocusing on God's will for my (our) life.

The more I looked, the more clarity and peace I found.

"You will seek me and you will find me when you seek me with all your heart." Jeremiah 29:13

When we boiled down the source of any of our "no" answers in delaying the adoption process, it was all rooted in the same concern: fear.

I'm not talking about ignoring a protective warning or refusing to seek godly counsel.  

I'm talking about allowing crippling fear to stop us from taking a big step of faith into what God is commanding us to do - and getting out of our cozy, comfy lives that oftentimes keep us from recognizing just how much we need to lean on the Lord.

Saying "yes" to this placement meant saying yes to a tough calling, yes to a bigger faith in God, yes to a new normal, yes to more sleepless nights and even busier days, yes to LOTS of unknowns, and yes to giving a little boy who has spent his entire young life in foster care a permanent, loving home.

I can't wait for the day I can share the incredible story of how we learned about this child and how much he has already overcome.  While he is freed for adoption (parental rights have been terminated in his case), the state requires that he is our foster child for six months until we can adopt him.

Until then, we cannot share pictures of his adorable face or tell you his story.  It's one that we want to be transparent about, because we want to be part of an open dialogue about adoption, foster care, and fostering to adopt.  There are 400,000 children in U.S. foster care today and nearly 100,000 of them are eligible for adoption.  We have got to be willing to open our homes to them, even when it disrupts our comfortable lives.

We are still in the early weeks of transitioning into a family of four.  There have been some rough moments, and less than warm, fuzzy feelings at times.  We are all learning to love each other in a new way and that takes work.  Yet in the morning wake-ups or afternoon story times, there are unexpectedly joyful moments that allow us to catch a glimpse of what a day might look like when we are settled into this big, beautiful life.

And then, we will add another GIRL into our family!

Matt and I couldn't have imagined how much our lives could change since this snapshot six months ago:

There will be five stockings hanging on our mantel this Christmas.

Life can surprise us sometimes.

Don't let fear keep you from stepping into that great unknown.  It's there that God can stretch us, bend us, and reshape us into the masterpieces he designed.

"We are the clay, you are the potter; we are all the work of your hand." Isaiah 64:8

And that, my friends, is something we want to exemplify.


Friday, February 5, 2016

It's my (child's) party and I'll cry if I want to

I've been in a funk this week.  Like dark cloud arrived over me and I can almost touch it.

It feels silly because I know why it's here.

Lila Rose turns one today.

I haven't shifted into celebratory mode yet.  I know it will come, but the tears definitely beat it.

I went into Lila's room twice this morning before heading to work at 3:30 to tell her I love her and Happy Birthday.

It did not phase her.  I know today, for her, is just another day.

But for me, it marks the end of babyhood.

This week has been full of more firsts, as Lila literally toddled into toddlerhood:

1) Taking several independent steps.

2) Adding the word "bye bye" to her vocabulary.

3) Intentionally putting off her bedtime bottle to give countless hugs.

4) Taking creative measures to make people laugh.

All of these additions make me smile and cherish this stage of life, but I also recognize with each new "thing" my baby is not a baby anymore.

From the day Lila was born, everyone told me, "They grow up so fast!"

And's true.  They really do.

I knew I would love becoming a mom.  But I didn't know the love I was capable of sharing with a child.  It's so deep.

You know what I'm talking about.

If you see my eyes glazed over today, you know why.

I'm thinking about what was happening at this exact time one year ago.

I'm thinking about how I couldn't wait to see Lila's face for the first time.

I'm thinking about how I pre-planned everything about delivery day, except for actually asking anything about how to deliver a child.

I'm thinking about the flood of emotions I felt when we had our first time alone that night and everything hit me.

I'm thinking about how quickly Lila transformed from a stranger to my daughter.  Just. Like. That.

Lila will be waking up any minute now and I can't wait to hear my phone buzz with the daily morning pictures from Matt.

I will push through this glass cage of emotion and put on the happiest face.

But my eyes will be seeing my little girl a little bit differently today.

I know Lila will still let me rock her to sleep for her morning nap and I will savor that precious time.  Tears might fall, but they truly aren't tears of sadness.

They're "transitional tears" full of pride, love, and raw hope for her future.

Happy Birthday, sweet girl.  We love you so.


Monday, January 18, 2016

The Milky Way

Simple. Complex. Beautiful. Awkward. Natural. Easy. Hard. Fast. Time-consuming...

Those are my feelings on breastfeeding - a touchy topic for many moms, deeply personal decision, and for some, a source of heartache when their bodies just couldn't follow through with what their hearts desired for their newborns.

If you breastfed, formula fed, used a mix of the two, or even used donor milk: that's great!  You chose what was best for your baby and for you.  

I never knew how mixed my feelings would be about feeding Lila.  There were times when I loved the quiet moments of just the two of us in a rocking chair as I fed her - and other times when I wanted to pass that baton to someone else.

Now that Lila Rose is almost one year old, my body has decided it's slowly shutting down production.

I thought I would look forward to that day.  But oddly, it's bittersweet for me.

I certainly won't miss lugging around my pump and cooler each day.

I won't miss seeing the clock in three to four hour increments each day, figuring out when I'll hear the motor running again.

I won't miss finding places to pump when I'm out and about...

Or slumping down in the backseat of my car.

I won't miss zipping off set at work as soon as our morning show ends to "relieve myself" or the concerns I had of leaking through on live TV...which unfortunately happened.  Talk about a close head shot that day:)

But I will miss giving Lila something only I can give.

I will miss seeing her look up at me with a big, milky smile.

I will miss the way she rubbed my back while she nursed.

Feeding Lila has been an interesting journey since day one.

When the nurse put Lila on my chest on delivery day and told me to feed her, I was lost.

I didn't want Matt to look in our direction.

Everything in that moment felt foreign for me.  But not for Lila.

For her, it was natural.

In the early days and weeks, I literally logged every feeding: which breast, how long, did I pump, how many ounces, etc.  It was exhausting, and felt like a full-time job at times, but was something that I felt like I was doing successfully in the midst of my own doubts about my adjustment to motherhood.

When I returned to work and had to rely on multiple pumping sessions each day, I began feeling like I was drowning in a milky world.

My body must have thought the same thing, because I started making lots...I mean lots...of milk.

Morning pumping sessions before leaving for the office started reaching the 17-20 ounce mark.  I had much more than Lila needed.

Enter what became a beautiful new world, that I have to admit I found odd pre-baby: milk donation.

I loved being able to share with other moms in need and feeling the connection that this universal club of motherhood brings.

But now, my body has stopped making extra...

I can no longer share.  I am depending on a dwindling stash of frozen milk for Lila.

It's the end of this chapter and the clock is ticking down to retire the ole pump.

I stopped nursing a couple of months ago, when Lila decided making faces at me and giggling was far more fun than eating.  Oh...and then she got several teeth:)

I never marked a day that defined my final session.  That would have been too emotional for me.  Instead, it just sort of happened.

This milky season of life has opened my eyes to the struggles of moms who work outside of the home, moms who wrangle other children while juggling breastfeeding, moms who feel judged when choosing formula as plan A, and heartbroken moms who tried so hard to make this whole nursing/pumping thing work.

If I'm honest with myself about why this transition has been harder than I expected, the answer is pretty simple:

I don't want to be less needed.

I think we have to remind ourselves that whatever choice we make or our bodies make for us does not affect the unconditional love of our little ones.

Lila doesn't care about the source of milk in her bottle.  She cares that she's fed.  She cares that the person feeding her holds her tightly and lets her touch his/her face as she eats.

She's like every other baby, who just needs love and security - that's something I know I can give through every season of her life.


Friday, October 30, 2015

The Forgotten Celebrations

I've always been one to make a big deal of birthdays, and have always enjoyed when someone makes a big deal about my birthday.

Today I turn 32.  It's not a fun round number into a new decade.  It's not a birthday that comes with any new privileges.

But it's already my favorite birthday.

It's the first birthday I get to celebrate with my favorite pumpkin: Lila Rose.

I know it's cliche to say, "Having a kid changes everything," but does!

On my first birthday post-baby, here's what it's changed: my appreciation for my mom on this day.

It was on this day 32 years ago, that she checked in at Beauregard Memorial Hospital, ready to deliver an impatient baby.

She had given birth two years earlier to an almost 11 pound baby girl, so I can only imagine her anxiety going into this delivery!

It was before a time of crisp ultrasounds that can show the hair on a baby's head, let alone a definitive answer on gender.  It was a 50/50 guess.

It was also before a time of birthing suites where you can pile in friends and family to see the miracle unfold.

It was just her and the medical staff.

That afternoon, I arrived.

And just like that, October 30 became about Britney Leigh Glaser.

That's how I thought it should be, until this birthday.

After going through the life-changing experience of growing another human, followed by the labor and delivery of bringing her into this world, birthdays have taken on a whole new meaning!

Today is not just my birthday, it's my mom's delivery day!

I'm sorry I have not celebrated you on this day for the previous 31 years.

You were always the one in the background on my birthday, baking the cake, creating a Halloween-themed costume party, stuffing treat bags, and blowing up balloons.

I know that while you were celebrating me through the years, flashes of your delivery day were running through your mind.

I wonder what you felt like: nervous, excited, scared?

I wonder if your reaction to seeing me for the first time was the same way I reacted to seeing my own child as she was born.

I wonder if you got on the hospital room phone to call friends and family and share the news.

I wonder what it was like watching Dad walk into the room to see me for the first time, and make sure you were okay.

I don't have any pictures of you on delivery day.  I know it has nothing to do with you not being put together.  I'm certain your hair was hot-rolled and your make-up was on, just like your two daughters on their delivery days.

I don't have a picture of you holding me at the hospital, but I can just imagine that you had the same pride and love beaming from your face that you show me today.

October 30 changed both of our lives forever.

Today - for the first time on my birthday - I celebrate YOU, Mom.

Happy Delivery Day!