A small rant about celebrating birthdays

Birthdays celebrated.

When someone becomes famous (or infamous) someone or another looks to find out that person's birthday.
Then many years (perhaps) later, a column is written, celebrating that "on this day was born so and so."

Excuse me.  The birth of that person, whoever he/she may be, is entirely the work of the mother.
Let's start giving credit where it's due.

Mother of (Washington, Lincoln, Ghandi, King) had labor all night long, and at (insert time if known here) o'clock, a healthy (puny?) baby boy (girl?) was delivered....nah, that's still being passive for that mother who did all the work.  A baby was born by mother with all her might and efforts, giving a new life by all the energies which she had.  She may have regretted (and many do) that this had happened (as a result of her pleasure,) or probably (definitely) that of a man.

Yes, many a birthing mother says she will never do this again!
Funny how we get over the pain, enjoy being a mom of that precious little helpless thing, and somehow again enjoy the way babies come into the world, and end up doing it all over again, and again, and again...

Thanks to all the women ancestors who gave birth to all the sons and daughters that ended up with my parents, myself, my children...and so on.

So let's remember that whether it's the first year of that child, or the 20th, or the 75th, that a mother had to push it into life. (Note, the exceptional easy labor, and the wonder of modern medicine where caesarean sections allow the birth to be less strain, but still require the months of pregnancy, and the recovery of a mother's health later back to normal.)

All hail mothers!