Valentine’s Day really isn’t my favorite holiday, but I’ve said that before. It just never lives up to those movie-made expectations. I’m always left feeling sort-of bah-humbug. But this year I didn’t have a bad Valentine’s Day…
I didn’t sit around and write 65 cards for my kids to pass out. I sort of hate that tradition because I know where those cards end up. I also didn’t spend 19 hours perfecting the most amazing Pinterest cupcakes ever. Because I also know exactly where those cupcakes wind up. Instead the ZooCrew requested “Fruit Rollup Valentine’s”… AHHHH! The best of both worlds! A cool valentine + a snack for the party rolled into one! I’m loving the Type B personality that has taken over my life. Simple AND impressive: that’s how I roll! (OK, that’s how I’m learning to roll. Better?)
The truth is, I had one Valentine’s Day that I will never forget. Maybe the real reason I don’t get amped up over V-Day is that one year is just impossible to beat.
February 14th, 1999
I was 8 months pregnant. I was supposed to be on bedrest. Valentine’s Day fell on a Sunday and our Church hosted a dinner banquet. I insisted on going!
They served steak shish kabobs and rice pilaf at candlelit tables. The guest speaker talked about AGAPE love, a word I still sometimes say to myself. I was tired, but so excited to be out of the house.
My husband asked if I was feeling alright and I responded: “I’m so ready to have this baby!” He laughed. “You’ve got one more month!”
“Ha! I’m having this little guy this week!”
I will never forget that conversation. Maybe because wives love to be right. Maybe because there are some things mothers just know. Maybe because I was finally about to meet the one guy who would change my life forever.
Three days later he entered this world.
Last night I sat across from my husband and at the table next to us a young pregnant girl boasted that she is “so ready for her baby to come” and I almost cried!
It didn’t help that the girl was one of Blondie’s lifelong friends, and that I’ve seen these kids turn into parents.
It doesn’t help that my little baby, the one I held so close and never put down, the one who gave me smile hugs and snuggled for hours- well, he’s turning 18 years old in a few days.
It took all my strength to choke back those tears. I don’t wanna imagine his filthy room empty. I don’t want to picture my yard without all of his trucks. I just wanna rewind the clock and put him in a pair of baby overalls and let him ride his power wheels and wait patiently on the porch for his great big smile hugs.
The gift of those precious memories is the catalyst for everything I have ever accomplished or even dreamed of. It’s hard to think of a day where he’s not right under my feet without crying. It’s even harder to hold in those tears when my husband looks over and says “Thank you for being my wife!”
Damn, I’m one lucky girl! He’s never remembered the chocolates, but he never forgets the love!