January 13th is a Friday this year, as I am sure you are well aware. For some this is a day filled with superstition. Friday or not, I can’t help but grin from ear to ear on January 13th each year.
In January of 2005 babies were the furthest thing from my mind. In fact I spent the better part of at least three or four nights a week with two older gentleman. One had been around at least a couple hundred years the other was in his early 80s. Jim Beam. And Ralph. I was tending bar in the evenings and working at The Outer Banks Hospital in the dietary office during the day. Ralph was my favorite customer both places. Jim Beam was his drink of choice. My days were fulfilling and my nights were long and hazy but I had youth on my side and managed to pull it off.
I hadn’t been trying to get pregnant… but I wasn’t doing anything to prevent it. I’d been married for several years and I was 29 years old. It would happen when it was time.
On January 13th I woke up a little before five am, as was my norm. And I peed on a stick. Not a usual occurrence. Positive. I woke up Jeremy, he said not to tell anyone. That we needed to be sure. We’d wait a little while, we’d test again.
And I went to to work.
It was shortly after 9 am when I caved. I burst in to my boss’ office, closed the door and told my secret. Even though it wasn’t totally necessary to do so I had the luxury of a blood test at my disposal and by 10:30 that morning I had called my husband and my parents and spilled the beans. I was pregnant.
January 13th. I don’t think I will have a baby with a birthday on January 13th. But that’s okay. Because I became a mother on January 13th, 2005. And I never looked back.
Excitement on the side 