Tag: birthday

Birthday Cows #SOLC26 27/31

Ok, hear me out on this: years ago, when I started participating in the March Slice of Life Challenge years ago, I didn’t think things through to their inevitable end. I just started writing. But I’ve been at this for 8 years now, and every year, March 27 arrives – and every year that day is my spouse’s birthday – which means that every year I have to decide if I’m going to write about him. 

He’s pretty wonderful, so the issue is never if he’s worth writing about (he is!); the issue is if I’ll embarrass him by writing about him (I will). He’s not big into birthday celebrations, and for several years I didn’t mention his birthday at all; my writing and his birthday did not need to occupy the same space, even if they occurred on the same day. But he is impossible to buy gifts for (today he picked up his own birthday cake and his own bottle of bourbon as well as a board game he’d been waiting for – how on earth do I buy a gift for someone like that?), so instead I’m going to share one little story to let you know the kind of human who has my heart.

18 years ago, when I was pregnant with our oldest, someone gave me the book The Girlfriend’s Guide to Pregnancy. It was full of great advice and funny anecdotes and I loved it. Andre, read it, too, because he was intrigued by the idea of reading what women might say to each other. Somewhere in the book, she talks about how it’s a terrible idea to moo at a pregnant woman. How did this come up in her life? I have forgotten. It was funny and silly and made me giggle which made Andre want to see what I found amusing. Now 18 years later, I occasionally come downstairs and find something like this in the kitchen:

Why is there a wooden cow on top of the coffee container in front of the vitamins? Because 18 years ago, this made me giggle. So now we have a wooden cow – and a stuffed cow, in case you’re wondering – and a cow mug. And when I’m least expecting it – for example, on the morning of his birthday, Andre might decide that he needs to moo at me. Probably while I’m drinking my tea. And even 18 years later I will start to giggle – and he will somehow think that this is a birthday present to him. Because that is the person I married.

Happy Birthday, my love.

The day he was born

I was running back upstairs for something – well, “running” is probably a generous term, let’s go with “waddling quickly.” I was waddling quickly back upstairs for something when my water broke. I had heard that sometimes women can’t tell for sure if their water has broken, but this was unmistakable. Andre was about to leave for work, but instead we called the midwife. “Well,” she shrugged, “statistics tell us that you’ll have a baby in the next 24 hours. Let me know when you’re in labour.” Before she hung up she suggested keeping busy. We decided Andre might as well go to work and get things organized before the baby came. I had a coffee date planned with a pregnant friend – they’re the most forgiving when it comes to last-minute “I can’t come; I’m in labour” cancellations – and she had invited her friend Kate – also pregnant – who she wanted me to meet. I told them my water had broken but that I was still up for meeting if they were. “We can always leave if my contractions start,” I said. They were both game.

I waddled the four blocks down to the coffee shop to meet the girls. Before we went in, we decided to walk a few more blocks to the grocery store to buy a pack of Depends. I immediately put on a pair, then gave the package to Lindsay, who was due in a few weeks. She put two in her bag and gave the rest to Kate, who had a few months to go. That taken care of, we went to Bridgehead. 

We laughed and talked. Kate, my new friend, was delightful. (Our two babies, who met before they were born, are now in the same class at school.) We gloried in the last hot days of August, knowing that none of us would be teaching this semester, that our commitments lay elsewhere. I relaxed into the moment before the beginning, before everything changed, before this new life entered our world. For a few hours, I lived fully in liminal space.

Then the occasional twinge of something that I had been feeling became more clearly a twinge of… maybe a contraction? It was time to go. As we left, I tried to hug Lindsay – whose baby would arrive a few weeks later, bigger at birth than my baby who’d had time to grow outside of the womb. Our giant bellies made the hug impossible and we laughed again. Someone passing by wanted a picture. “When are you due?” he asked as he snapped the shot. I replied casually, “Oh, I’m actually in labour now.”

How I wish I had a picture of his face. How I wish I had the picture he took of us, laughing, our bellies so big we couldn’t wrap our arms around each other. Still, I doubt a picture would have captured the joy of that moment; probably better to hold the image in my mind.

A few hours later, the liminal space was gone, and our second child arrived.

Happy birthday, Mr. 11. You make our world better.

Thanks to the generous hosting of Two Writing Teachers, I write a slice of life every Tuesday. You’re invited, too.