Aaaah Valentine's Day.
That love-fest of a day in which I snuggle on the couch by myself and watch romantic comedies like My Bloody Valentine (the original one from 1981!) and eat chocolates which I stole from my kids, who actually got Valentine candy and drink a whole bottle or maybe two of wine.
And I reflect upon past Valentine's Days...
...like the one where I was dating that clown I met online.
No, seriously, like a real clown. With the makeup smile and big pants. And MAGIC TRICKS, like pulling a quarter out of my... ear.
And BALLOON ANIMALS! Actually he did make me a cute balloon thingy for Valentine's Day, it was two little balloon lovebirds surrounded by a big balloon cage heart.
And NO, he did not wear the clown makeup on our dates.
Except that one time. But we don't talk about that.
...and the one where Valentine's Day came WAY too soon after we just started dating, and I didn't know what to do. I mean it was only like our 3rd date - I got him a card (a funny one, of course, no mush)...then I panicked. Do I have to get him a GIFT? And what do I get him? Plus also THIRD DATE! That's like the sex date, right? So ... do I get him a box of Trojans and wrap it up in sparkly heart paper with a card that says "Guess who's gettin' lucky tonight!"? Do I vajazzle? Stick a red bow down my pants?
I ended up giving him a tiny stuffed "heart" bear with candy hearts attached to it...that I had actually bought for MY SON.
I'm embarrassed just thinking about it.
On the other hand, he bought me a really nice gift basket with bath stuff and lotion. So clearly he thought I needed to smell like something called Moonlight Way (which frankly reminded me of cat pee juniper bushes).
I don't know why I'm still single, do you? I KNOW, I AM SUCH THE CATCH!
But then I always finish the night thinking about the BEST Valentine's Day, which was sad and sweet and scary and excellent all at the same time.
Valentine's Day 1995.
The day I first laid eyes on my children.
You see, they were born on Feb 13, the day before V-Day. They were 3 and a half months premature (which, if you read yesterday's annual birthday post, you already knew - and if you didn't read it, what the hell is wrong with you? Scroll down when you're done here)...and I wasn't allowed to go from my hospital (University Hospital) to Children's Hospital (where the NICU was) until the next day.
Of course I was so full of morphine I barely noticed. (also? HOORAY FOR MORPHINE! ♥)
Valentine's Day I was wheeled through a series of connecting tunnels and hallways to the Big Scary NICU, where I had to scrub my hands and arms for 10 minutes before I could even go in and still wasn't even allowed to touch them, except to cup my hand over their bottom & legs - which wasn't even a handful.
And there were these two beds with hot bright lights over them - sort of looked like where they keep the burgers warm at McDonald's, you know the metal thing with the heat light? Like that.
And there were these two red, scrawny, ugly, spider-monkey-looking babies with folded down ears (!!!) and covered in tape and tubes and wires and IVs and O! they were beautiful and scary and pitiful and hurting and painful to look at and my heart broke and bled and loved.
Given less than 50% chance to live, they turned 18 years old yesterday.
Best. Valentine. Present. EVER.
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