They Say It’s My Birthdaaay

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Can I shove 8 cheese curls in there? 

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Yes, yes I can. 

Today, I’m 25. But on the inside. I’m 5. Example: my birthday party involved shoving too many cheese curls in my mouth, wearing sequins, drinking from Disney Princess cups, and bowling really badly a la my first grade birthday party.

My actual birthday involved leaving work early, watching ABC Soaps on the treadmill, then watching ABC Soaps in my bed. A little Jonathan Jackson for my birthday? Yes, please.

Twenty-five years ago my mom was sent via MedEvac to Johns Hopkins hospital in Baltimore and I was born three months early. I weighed 3 pounds, so really I was kind of fat for a preemie, and I could fit in my father’s hand. Some family members refused to greet me just in case, you know, I croaked and the world was short one Sarah.

After spending many, many weeks in the hospital looking like, according to my family, a purple spider, I was sent home with a heart monitor. Sometimes my parents had to hit me to make my heart start again. I was just a barrel of fun and good times. And medical bills!

I was the ugliest baby ever, but 25 years later and I’m no worse for the wear, though I can’t say the same for my poor parents.

My birth taught me two important lessons:

1. I love to be early – usually way too early

2. I’m resilient

So Happy Birthday to me! Here’s to 25 more years. You couldn’t get rid of me 25 years ago, and I’ll easily be here for 25 more. Can’t hold me down!

– Sarah #2

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