Not a Leap Year Day Baby

G'ma delighted in telling the story.  Feeling contractions on February 26th, my mother tried to get me to wait. 

"You're missing the opportunity of a lifetime, kiddo," she told me as Daddooooo got us to the delivery room.

I couldn't agree with her more. I'd have been a great Leap Year Birthday Celebrant.

But, alas, control was ceded to a higher power and I arrived just before 2 in the morning, on the 27th.

I'm older than I might have been.  10 years ago we sat with The Golden Gopher and Elsa Peretti, toasting the fact that I was on the couch to celebrate.  Tonight, we'll celebrate with more friends from graduate school and from Big Cuter's Lamaze class and from next door.

It's the 68th anniversary of my birth, my 11th bonus birthday.

All I want is the birthday card Little Cuter promised to mail once she bought stamps, the phone call from her brother, and a few opportunities to thank a first responder or a doctor or a well-trained stranger.

It feels good to be able to do that.