I was pregnant.
VERY pregnant. My second baby was due on Valentine’s day and my three year old son was making me crazy and my husband didn’t seem to understand what the big deal was.
I was tired, cranky, roughly the size of Mt. Rushmore and not feeling the love.
Naturally, the TV was playing all these fabulous commercials with skinny women getting candy and diamonds from amazingly gorgeous men and there I sat. Waiting on a baby who had no intention of showing up and trying not to shriek as my son’s bottle of glue spilled on the floor. Of course, a heartbeat later the dog “cleaned” it for me, then threw it right back up again.
When my husband called from work and asked, “What’s for dinner?” I lost it.
Crying, shouting, giving into all of the weird hormone surges within, I had a mini-breakdown. Even my son and the dog paused in their destruction derby to watch the festivities. By the time I hung up, I was spent. All I wanted to do was find a hole and crawl in for awhile. This was not how I pictured Valentine’s Day. There should be romance. Dancing. Dining.
I put my son down for a nap, tossed the dog outside and whimpered alone on the couch. My little pity party was just getting into full swing when my husband showed up, an hour early.
He had take out bags from my favorite restaurant, a big box of Sees Bordeaux, (clearly having not noticed my elephantine size), and a wary smile on his face. He walked into the living room like a man about to tiptoe across a minefield and who could blame him?
And while I sat and relaxed with a cup of tea he made for me, my husband bathed our son, fed the dog, cleaned the living room and then set up dinner. At my place at the table, there was a gaudy Valentine’s card, lovingly decorated by my son with clumpy blobs of glued on glitter—explaining the glue incident from earlier—and another, smaller card from the yet to be born baby, apologizing for being late.
My husband served the take-out dinner, cleaned up afterward and tucked our son into bed, insisting that I do nothing more than relax and watch TV. So I did. And when those commercials with perfect people doing imitations of romance came on, I paid no attention at all.
Real romance comes when you need it most. And even the worst Valentine’s day can turn out to be the best.
And when our daughter finally arrived four days later, she was worth the wait.
Maureen Child
http://www.maureenchild.com
NEVERMORE, Silhouette Nocturne, Feb. ’07
THIRTY DAY AFFAIR, Silhouette Desire, March, ’07
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This was awesome. I got teary too…I’ve so been there.
Hope you had a wonderful Valentine’s Day!
🙂 d
Kate, thanks!!
Mary, Aww…I still have the painted hand and footprints my kids made for me…not to mention the glue and glittery card!
Kitty, Thank you! They are pretty great, if I do say so myself!
Oh, this is my VERY FAVORITE story!! I cried at the paragraph about the great cards you received. What a great little family you have!
Kitty 🙂
I just received my first Valentine’s from my son – his footprints in red paint – and I’ll never forget the look on his face when he and daddy handed it to me. Thanks for sharing!
Mary C.
Aw, this is the sweetest story!!
Thanks for sharing the moment with us, Maureen.
Aw, thanks, you guys! Every once in awhile, our guys do something to remind us exactly why we married them!
Love this story, Maureen! I so remembered those big-as-a-house days! You have a great guy 🙂
I’m leaking from the eyes…this is exactaly what I thought about when I came up with the title for this contest.
HOME RUN KIDDO. I bow before your greatness. I hope you have a wonderful Valentine’s Day this year.
Always, Michelle
Great story, Maureen! All women who feel 13 months pregnant on Vanentine’s Day should be lucky enough to have YOUR romance.