Four years ago today I was due with my first and only child so far. This boy right here:
Every time someone asked what my due date was and I’d tell them it was Valentine’s Day, they’d usually say, “How sweet!” or “How precious!” or “Oh, too bad you aren’t having a girl. She’d love the pink and red!”
And I would nod politely, but deep down I’d cringe.
Because I secretly hate Valentine’s Day.
I hated it when I was single and felt that it was a reminder of my singleness, and I still don’t care for it now that I’m married and can share it with my husband. Because who are you, St. Valentine, to tell me when and how to celebrate my love? Cheesy gifts? No thank you. Cheesy V-day cards? Uh, no. Cheesy crappy candy all covered in red and pink? Am I the only one who thinks these two colors do not go together? Isn’t it greedy of red to want to star in yet another holiday? Isn’t Christmas and the 4th of July enough?
Anyways, thanks to my stubborn son, he did NOT make his appearance on this day but waited 3 days later instead. I was relieved, for more reasons than one.
So Happy Valentine’s Day. Or whatever.
This post is inspired by Mama Kat’s writing prompt 1.) A memorable Valentine’s Day.