When I was in the dating world, I had a boyfriend whose mother absolutely lost it if she didn't get to see her son on his birtday. She always said, "It's a holiday for me, too!"

I was thinking about that comment in Mass yesterday as I was listening to the homily about Mary and her fiat. Now that I'm a mother, Christmas takes on this intense, joyful meaning to me. Not because I'm a parent, but because I'm a mother. Mary said "yes," and I know now what it feels like to know that you're going to have a baby. Every mother across the world is one with Mary in this, that we know what Mary must have felt when she found out she was going to have a baby. It doesn't matter if it's your first or your fifteenth. Finding out you're going to have a baby takes your breath away. We're one with her in that we know what it's like to feel your baby move inside you. We know how it feels to see that baby for the first time. She may have given birth to the Savior of the World, but each birth saves someone, doesn't it? I always wonder if she spent her nights in bed wondering what he'd look like, like I've spent so many nights of my own.

Hearing Mary's story as a mother just thrills me every single year. I think in my head, "Oh Mary, you're going to LOVE being a mom!" I think of all the things Andrew and I have to laugh about as parents, and I know that Mary and Joseph must have had such fun together, even in the midst of the intense positions they'd been given. When there's a child in the house, there is joy. When I think of joy at Christmas, I think of all the joy that children bring, and I know that Mary must look down on us now and think, "If those weren't the best years..."

Now if you'll excuse me, I have a "wiwwy hot" wooden cucumber to eat.