It was February, a cold and dreary month that year, and I was expecting my first child. The baby was due to arrive near my mother’s birthday, February 22. That’s what I was expecting, and that’s what I was prepared for.
I was not prepared to go into labor in the very early morning hours of February 14. “This isn’t really happening,” I assured myself. “You are going to do the laundry today. You don’t have time to have a baby.”
But was little miss Allison Elise listening? Of course not. She was determined to make an appearance that day, and approximately twelve hours later, in the middle of the afternoon of February 14, she arrived. I don’t suppose she’s actually to blame, but twelve hours later we had one of the biggest snowfalls our city has ever seen. The roads were so bad that her poor father couldn’t even drive all the way to the hospital to visit us. He had to park his car on the side of the road and walk the rest of the way.
Fortunately, Allison was healthy, I was fine, and her father survived the snowstorm unscathed. We learned over the years, however, that the weather around Valentine’s Day is unpredictable. In fact, for several years in a row, the weather on Allison’s birthday was so cold and sometimes snowy that she complained bitterly about having a birthday on Valentine’s Day.
To which I quickly pointed out that the only thing worse than being born on Valentine’s Day is having a baby on Valentine’s Day. That was the end of my being recognized on Valentine’s Day. But I always said that with a smile. Having my darling little girl sure beat a romantic card and flowers.
What about you? Do you have a particular memory associated with Valentine’s Day?