When You Wish Upon a Star
It’s a big date in the Maher-Watkins household. Regardless of when Mardi Gras falls each year, for me, it always happens on February 24. My favorite restaurant closed for good that day. I still miss that tiny interior space with no real kitchen and the specious courtyard where I could fritter away an entire afternoon.
MTM asked me to marry him there, a post I wrote back in October. It was Mardi Gras, February 24, 2004. I’m glad he gave me the triple gift of himself, an appreciation of Mardi Gras and a love of February 24.
MTM often laughs at my superstitious personality. “It’s a sign!” is something that pops forth from my mouth with regularity, always to justify something I want to do anyway.
Example 1: J Crew put that dress on sale, and it stayed in my cart for two weeks, meaning it is a sign that I should buy it.
Example 2: I thought about french fries today. It is a sign that I should eat them.
Example 3: If there is a parking space on the street when we drive around the block, it is a sign that we should go out to eat on Upper King.
On and on this goes in my pea-brained, frivolous noggin. If I want something, I will make it my mission in life to contrive a sign that gives me permission to do/have/eat/buy it.
But, what about this one?
When my Mother was pregnant with me, she was given a due date. I was her first child, and to my knowledge, she was never pregnant before she carried me. She did everything her doctor instructed her to do, carefully charting the signals her body gave her that I was preparing to make my debut.
Only, I was the laziest fetus that ever existed. I moved so little that Mom thought I was dead more than once, and I was not interested in being born. My due date came and went, with not even a cramp or any other sign that I would be forthcoming.
I ended up finally making my grand entrance – crying and passing gas at the same time, all 9 pounds 12 1/2 ounces of me – on March 24. A full month after my Mother’s given due date – February 24.
Lots of people have said the doctor calculated my Mother’s due date incorrectly. Being me, I wonder. Is it a coincidence that MTM asked me to marry him on February 24, marking the date that I verbally committed to a rebirth as his wife? Or, is it a sign that February 24 is a day that was meant to be special to me since before I was born?
You know which one I believe.