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Abstract

y that you know you were conceived on the floor of Uncle John and Aunt Marilyn’s guest bedroom because the bed was too squeaky and my cousin Julie was taking a very long time in the adjoining bathroom. (I’m also not sorry that now, 39 years later, almost everybody in my family knows this interesting tidbit) I <i>am</i> sorry that Aunt Marilyn turned that guest bedroom into her closet. It’s just not the same anymore. I’m not sorry that every year when Donna posts on her Facebook page that it’s her anniversary, I’m reminded that the next day I need to share “Happy Conception Day!” on yours. I <i>am</i> sorry that so many of your friends mistake “Happy Conception Day!” for “Happy Birthday!” and either wish you Happy Birthday or say “Isn’t your birthday in April?” I <i>am</i> sorry that every year you have to explain “It’s NOT my birthday! It’s my conception day!” over and over and over again. I <i>am</i> also sorry that they just don’t get it. (I mean really, geez)</p><p id="36d5">So, to my dear daughter, my firstborn, Happy Conception Day! July 27, 2020 We’ll celebrate your birthday in April. I love you♥</p><fi

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gure id="5a50"><img src="https://cdn-images-1.readmedium.com/v2/resize:fit:800/0*-3blaKkqepf4p4Tg.png"><figcaption></figcaption></figure><p id="6074"><b><i>Sydney Duke Richey</i></b><i> writes from the heart. Inspired by everyday experiences, her poems, haiku and creative non-fiction come from a slice of her life. Sydney lives in the Pacific Northwest with her husband. She has two children and one grandchild. You can follow her on<b> <a href="https://medium.com/@sydneydukerichey"></a></b></i><b><a href="https://medium.com/@sydneydukerichey">Medium<i></i></a><i>.</i></b></p><div id="5598" class="link-block"> <a href="https://psiloveyou.xyz/my-daughter-c53e05f23b68"> <div> <div> <h2>My Daughter, Herself</h2> <div><h3>Poetry Sunday</h3></div> <div><p>psiloveyou.xyz</p></div> </div> <div> <div style="background-image: url(https://miro.readmedium.com/v2/resize:fit:320/1*S4I2SaiDIbeYS1Uzq2VSjA.jpeg)"></div> </div> </div> </a> </div></article></body>

Family Humor

To My Daughter

Happy Conception Day!

Photo by Vanessa von Wieding on Unsplash

To my daughter:

I’m not sorry that I know the day of your conception. I mean, after all, how many people really do know the actual date. (by chance and not by plan) I’m not sorry that when I traveled to my cousin Donna’s wedding in California I didn’t bring my diaphragm because your dad didn’t go. I’m not sorry that two days later your dad missed me so much that even though I was half-way home and would have been back the next day, he drove 270 miles to pick me up instead of waiting for me to drive back with my parents. I’m not sorry that you know you were conceived on the floor of Uncle John and Aunt Marilyn’s guest bedroom because the bed was too squeaky and my cousin Julie was taking a very long time in the adjoining bathroom. (I’m also not sorry that now, 39 years later, almost everybody in my family knows this interesting tidbit) I am sorry that Aunt Marilyn turned that guest bedroom into her closet. It’s just not the same anymore. I’m not sorry that every year when Donna posts on her Facebook page that it’s her anniversary, I’m reminded that the next day I need to share “Happy Conception Day!” on yours. I am sorry that so many of your friends mistake “Happy Conception Day!” for “Happy Birthday!” and either wish you Happy Birthday or say “Isn’t your birthday in April?” I am sorry that every year you have to explain “It’s NOT my birthday! It’s my conception day!” over and over and over again. I am also sorry that they just don’t get it. (I mean really, geez)

So, to my dear daughter, my firstborn, Happy Conception Day! July 27, 2020 We’ll celebrate your birthday in April. I love you♥

Sydney Duke Richey writes from the heart. Inspired by everyday experiences, her poems, haiku and creative non-fiction come from a slice of her life. Sydney lives in the Pacific Northwest with her husband. She has two children and one grandchild. You can follow her on Medium.

My Daughter, Herself

Poetry Sunday

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