Member-only story
I am “Mary”
My son was born on Christmas day
Three Decades Ago
My due date was Dec 31, but the pains started on Christmas Eve. I asked my husband to drive me to the hospital at about 4 am on Christmas day. The baby, a healthy 8 lbs-14 ounces, was born a few hours later.
At just over 5 feet tall, I had become so big during the final trimester that people routinely asked me if I was expecting twins. I had to push back the seat in the car so I could get in behind the steering wheel. By the last week, I was down to just one outfit that still fit me.
As I prepared for the baby's arrival, I worried about who would take care of my 4-year-old daughter. Being an immigrant family, our only support system was the handful of American families (neighbors, parents of my 4-year-old’s friends) who had accepted us as one of them.
But who would agree to watch her during Christmas week? That too at short notice when it came time for me to rush to the hospital? A friend who lived a few states away flew in on December 21 for one week.
When I woke her up to tell her it was time for me to go to the hospital, she whispered a prayer and put a pinch of sugar in my mouth. For energy? As a blessing? For good luck? I had no idea as I was unfamiliar with this tradition. But I was grateful for her presence and her…
