Mama, Tell Me about the Coldest Day of the Year

It’s hard for me to believe that I have a fourteen year old. My oldest son’s birthday was this week and it always brings me back to that time in my life when I thought I could control just about anything.

The story begins on Friday, the day before Owen was born. I was thirty-six weeks pregnant…and still didn’t believe I was having a child. Owen wasn’t an accident…I’d been married for nearly five years…but I wouldn’t say he was planned. Just ask Jon. (Yes…I did get married very young. My hubby tied the knot so I wouldn’t run off with the doctor in training. That’s another story.)

Driven, even at the young age of 28, I was convinced that Owen would arrive on my schedule. Working nearly sixty hours a week and attending my evening MBA program two nights a week and Saturday, I was a busy young lady. With the exception of vomiting constantly for the first four months, I had a fairly easy time forgetting that I was pregnant.

The Friday was a snowy cold day. I had a television commercial shoot that I needed to attend for my company. The shoot was located at Hyland Hills Ski Area in Bloomington. We were filming at the top of the hill. The best place to capture the beautiful falling snow. At the bottom of hill, I looked up and saw the small crew. Afraid of heights, for a moment I wondered how the hell I was going to get up there. A small chair lift was an option. There was also a man on a ski-doo traveling up and down the small hill with lighting equipment.

“Hey Sir,” I yelled to the man on the snowmobile. “Would you give me a lift to the top of the hill? I need to be at that shoot.” He took one look at my oversized stomach and said, “I don’t think that’s such a good idea.” Off he went without me. Next I walked over to the ski lift. The lady at chairs said, “Pregnant people are not allowed to ride the lift.” Damn. Now what was I supposed to do? I stood there and looked up the hill. Determined not to disappoint my company…and myself I stubbornly walked up the slick snowy hill. Me and the seven pounder in my tummy.

My back hurt like hell the next day when I woke up. Realizing now it was a bad idea to walk up and down the ski slope, I dragged myself out of bed for my morning Business Law Class at St. Thomas in downtown Minneapolis. It was the coldest day of the year. 25 degrees below zero. Jon was kind enough to take me to class that morning as I wasn’t feeling well. I made it through class and parked my huge body on the sofa for the rest of the afternoon.

Jon, on the other hand, wasn’t interested in hangin’ around the house with his grumpy pregnant wife. (Who could blame him?) He had other plans for the day. St. Paul Winter Carnival plans – surely to include lots of adult beverages to keep warm. Sending him out of the house to have his fun…I armed him with a cell phone and a pager and begged him to be on the look-out for a message from me. He graciously checked in with me several times that afternoon and early evening as I still didn’t feel well.

At around 10:00 that evening, I was starting to have horrible back pains. Instinctively, I knew something was wrong. I called. I paged. I called again. No sign of Jon. Apparently both devices were left in his jacket at the sports bar. He frantically called me at 12:30 when he saw the 30 some odd pages and phone calls. Racing home now, he arrived about 1:00 am.

When he finally arrived, we went to bed and I felt even worse. At 2:00 am, Jon got up to call the doctor and they instructed me to come in as soon as possible. I wasn’t prepared. No packed bag waiting for me, as all of the books I meticulously read instructed.

It was 2:15 am. We sat in our small car at the intersection of White Bear Avenue and County Road E. Not a soul on the road, it seemed forever until the light would change. I looked up into the midnight blue cold sky and saw the brightest full moon ever. It was the coldest night of the year. Now 30 degrees below zero. I could still see my breath in the car as we didn’t have time to warm it up. Van Morrison’s “Moondance” was playing on the radio. The pain in my lower back was excruciating. I was terrified that I wouldn’t make it to St. John’s hospital just a few miles down the road.

We made it to the hospital at 2:25. Owen arrived at 2:45, four weeks early and completely unexpected. The doctor said I was lucky that he didn’t arrive right there in the car at on White Bear Avenue. That early cold morning, life changed forever. Owen taught me that life can’t and shouldn’t be a series of planned events. And he wasn’t an accident. He was my angel sent from heaven!!

The best part of my son's birthdays is the time I have alone with them. I sit them down, hug them tight and tell them about the day they were born. They never get sick of the story. Neither do I.