The best way to get to the top is to write about something extraordinary.
And when that extraordinary thing happens, you’ll know it’s you.
That’s how I got to writing about the birth of a first-time mother.
It was 1997, and I was living in New York City.
My mother was in labor and was being rushed to the hospital, but we could make the trip with only a short walk in our neighborhood.
She was born on a Monday.
I was a big fan of Mother’s Day, and the day seemed like the perfect occasion to celebrate my mother’s birth.
She’d been doing this thing in Brooklyn, where I grew up, where people would gather and eat at this little Mexican restaurant called El Pollo Loco, where my parents used to go to eat lunch.
They would come over, talk and drink, and my mother would give me a big hug.
Then she’d say, “Mom, we’re not done yet.
I want to tell you something about my first pregnancy.
So, you know, don’t worry.
You’re going to love this.”
And that was all it took.
It was so sweet, it was so comforting, and it was a little bit scary, but the way my mother had told it, I had always been an introvert.
I had never been shy, but she had told me this about her first pregnancy and I just thought that was a really sweet thing to say to a new mom.
I was just a little nervous, but I just did it.
I wrote my story about my mother and then I just kind of went in there and started writing.
I just had this idea that I wanted to write an article about her.
I started writing it, and within two weeks, I was ready to get the story out to the world.
The first time I wrote about my mom, it wasn’t a really emotional story.
It didn’t really talk about her birth or her grief or what it was like to have a baby at 27 weeks.
I knew I was going to write something about how she was feeling, and she was still crying, and we just talked about her pregnancy.
And then I wrote a story about how my father and mother were going to try and make it work for their son.
I started writing about that, and then we went back to the city and did the story again.
We just talked.
And it wasn’nt about her crying, it just talked, and what it had meant to me as a kid.
It just felt like a normal conversation that I had with a woman, but with a very different kind of person.
It felt like it was really moving.
The story started out very emotional.
I didn’t write it about how hard she was going through.
It wasn’t really about her trying to tell me she was sorry she had a baby.
I think my mother, who had been in labor for weeks, was trying to be helpful and encouraging, and if I thought about her and her grief, it made it really real for me to think about it, too.
I felt like I had to be honest with her.
And she just said, “No, it’s not about you.
You are doing what you need to do.”
And I thought that’s what I was supposed to do, and that was the first time that was true for me.
She told me she had to give me the baby, but it was not about me.
It really was about her, and about giving me the gift of life.
And I wrote that first story, and from that day forward, I wrote stories about my parents, my sisters, my friends, about life, about my family, about how we were born.
And every year I wrote more, and every year, the stories were different.
Some were about the first pregnancy, and some were about later pregnancies.
And all the stories I wrote were about her being pregnant.
I remember when my mother was pregnant with me, and a lot of stories were about what a terrible baby it was.
There was one story that had my mother screaming and crying for the rest of the story.
And in the beginning, she didn’t know whether or not it was going into labor or if she was even going to be able to give birth.
My father said, when I read that, I thought, wow, this was going in the right direction.
And he did give her a cesarean.
That was one of the things I told her at the time.
I told my mother to just go into labor and be calm.
It would be okay.
The doctor would give her an epidural.
And that’s how we learned to know she was ready.
It’s a really wonderful thing to see people respond to the way that I write stories about mothers.
They respond to how they see my mother as an adult, because I’ve spent so many years writing about her as an infant. I don’t