today I am 22 years old. Old. last night as I was watching (with trepidation) the clock ticked away the final minutes of my 21st year (or 22nd, I guess, since the 0th year is really the first...), I asked myself what I ever did to deserve the congratulations I knew I would receive today. and the answer I came up with?


nada.


twenty-two years ago today (Old), all I did was scream. my mom did all the work. she's the one who lugged around an unborn baby the size of a three-month-old for five extra days. she's the one who spent over 24 hours in labour. she's the one who got her stomach ripped open so I could grace the world with my presence.


and then? she changed diapers. cleaned up vomit. sewed little doll dresses and scrubbed muddy socks. stared down armed guerrillas in peru to bring me home a little bother. sat outside with me at 4am on dozens of cold winter nights for croup picnics. pretended not to notice when I stuffed beans in my pockets instead of eating them.


maternal unit? if you're reading this, danke, thanks, grazie et merci bien. sorry about those beans. and the vomit on the hall floor. and that wierd look I gave you saturday when we were at the ROM and you started talking about your will.


see what the units will do for me? m.u. and me in zermatt, switzerland. m.u.'s first time skiing in over 20 years! props to mom.