Aw, today is my birthday. Whoo-hoo! Fifty-three years ago at about 4 p.m. my dad finally convinced my mom to go to the hospital and a couple of hours later, there I was. They were laughing about that today. “I didn’t want to go too early and have to lie there for hours,” my mom said, shaking her head and smiling. “I just told her to stop being stubborn and that we were going to go to the hospital,” my dad said, chuckling. Realizing for the first time how close I’d come to being born in a car or sidewalk or hospital hallway, I was the only one in the room not really amused by this story. But that’s OK. They then went on to the fun parts about how they set up the baby bed and brought me home to their one-room — not one-bedroom, but one-room — apartment and how my dad picked wildflowers in their backyard for my mom’s coming-home bouquet. Now, that’s a story. I also had a birthday party at Older Daughter’s house, and 2-year-old grandson Capt. Adorable generously shared the Elmo tablecloth, plates and napkins left over from his birthday party. We had the perfect birthday lunch: Nothing But Noodles takeout, beer, cute little cupcakes and chocolate and peanut-butter ice cream. Plus, the Captain gave me hugs and kisses and told me “Happy birthday cake,” because to him, “cake” naturally comes after “birthday.” I like the way he thinks.