14 years ago today, I was hugely pregnant and tired beyond belief. I was 2 days away from my due date with no end in sight. This was both relieving to me and vexing. I was, typically, so done with being pregnant but I knew that each day I wasn't in labor was one more day with my baby boy before he was gone to live with his family.
The day before, on Christmas Day, my parents and 2 sisters and I had gone to my sister Suzette's for a Christmas morning breakfast. I recall eating too much, feeling too full and then feeling tired. Sounds like a pregnant lady, right? But my poor brother Jon and his wife, upon not being able to find anyone at my parents home, thought that surely I had gone into labor on Christmas and then spent some time on the phone calling around to the hospitals to find us. That memory has always made me feel a little bad and made me laugh. How spectacular would it have been to have a baby on Christmas, just like my Grandpa Whiting had been born as well. And also, all these years later, I'm grateful for the few days cushion between Christmas Day and my son's actual birthday. It helps me to have time to be happy before I find myself lost in my memories and the celebration of a life lived separately from mine.
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