Today is my daughter’s birthday. Finally, I can let a little of the responsibility and worry go. She is old enough to make good decisions, and if not well, she will have to live with the consequences. But I’m not worried. I don’t know how it happened, but Hubby and I have managed to raise two kids, who turned out to be responsible, caring, and productive individuals. Really, that is amazing, because when we got married we were young, clueless, and it was the sixties.
I remember that day when Hubby proposed. It was not the most romantic proposal, but then, we were in love and I hadn’t seen many Hollywood movies yet.
Me: “I think I’m pregnant.”
Hubby: “Well, I guess we’ll have to get married.”
Short and sweet, but that conversation seemed like the most natural thing in the world. We were both just nineteen at the time, in love, and for some reason it just felt “right”. Thank goodness my parents liked Hubby, he knew how to play crib and had a job, and I think his parents liked me too. I knew how to cook, and didn’t wear too much eye shadow. So we were married, and some months later the big “birth”-day arrived.
Here’s how I remember it, however, his memory may be different. The evening before, my water had broken on our way to a wedding. (I said “A” wedding not our wedding.) We opted for returning home, since everyone was worried I would give birth in the middle of dancing the “Funky Chicken.” During the evening the contractions started, and since we were both rather naive about childbirth, I decided that we need not rush things. I may as well lie at home in pain rather than in the hospital. Come morning, I had reached my limit and gave Hubby the go ahead to get the wheels to the front of the apartment, and to make it snappy. He took off like he was shot out of a cannon, and I grabbed my overnight bag and headed down the third floor stairs. On the second landing, I had to rest and wondered what the heck was taking him so long. As it turns out he had forgotten me and had to turn around and come back, losing valuable time. I managed to get to the lobby just in time to see him park out front. He helped me get into the back seat, and I told him to step on it. Even though we were only ten blocks from the hospital it seemed like forever. With me urging him to “step on it!”, and him dodging traffic, the thought that maybe I had left it too long crossed my pain riddled mind.
“Hang on!” “Hold it in!” Hubby encouraged me. I was sure this was because he was terrified that he would have to deliver the baby and was not out of concern for my well being. I wanted to tell him that it wasn’t like holding in gas, but decided to let out a large moan instead. We careened through moving vehicles, and zig zagged around pedestrians, pulling up to the hospital emergency entrance unscathed. I was whisked away to the delivery room, leaving Hubby to take care of the admission details. Twenty minutes later, we were the parents of a tiny baby girl.
So, today I sit here wondering where the time went. It seems like just yesterday, and yet forty three years have blown past me. That baby has grown up, has children of her own, and has become my best friend. I can’t imagine not having her, or my grandchildren in our lives. We may have been young at the time, but we made the right decision with the grace of God.
Maybe we weren’t so clueless, or maybe we were just unbelievably lucky.
Happy Birthday Cindy! Love Ya.
Author Val Enders resides in Spruce Grove, Alberta. She married her high school sweetheart, Richard, and they’ve been together for over 40 years. Val doesn’t consider herself a writer by profession, rather she writes more for her own enjoyment. An accomplished artist, Val’s a member of the Allied Arts Council of Spruce Grove. Visit Val’s “Journey Into Art” website at www.vals.webs.com