Everyone should have someone that recalls their day... today I'm that someone.
Twenty-eight years ago, a boy came into this world a tad early. He was supposed to be born October 3rd, in which case would've been the same date as his maternal great grandfather, William Angus. Though we had no intention of naming him either Will or Angus.
William would have turned to Will or Willy, Bill or Billy... none seemed to roll off our tongues very easily without some lick of distaste.
Angus definitely could be a contender, if one's last name was Ferguson, or McKenzie, yet with a surname of Severloh, it didn't quite fit. Angus, being far too Anglo Saxon for such a strong Germanic appellation.
Back in the day, when gender identity was still cloaked in secrecy, we had no idea whether we would have a boy or a girl. We simply knew that this child would be Michael if a boy and Sarah if a girl. Funny how things turned out, as almost three years later we did have our Sarah. We then had what the older folks referred to as The Millionaire Family... I'm still waiting for that fortune to arrive!
I remember the night I went into labour. We lived in a small house in the North End that was rented from my Dad. We'd refurbished the attic to become our bedroom, which was accessed by a steep set of creaky stairs, which contributed, I'm sure to jostling my first born out of complacency and into my arms.
That night I was heavy with child. I couldn't sleep, every position I lay was daunting. This child consumed my entire torso, every move I made was countered by a jab in my ribs or a punt to the kidneys.
Ascending that slender staircase one last time, (by all accounts it was the third), I clambered onto the bed and attempted to lie in a comfortable position. Jealous of the body slumbering so peacefully next to mine. The rythmic rise and fall of each breath triumphant over the wriggling and tossing of my entire being. Once more, my bladder pinched, I struggled to an upright position, my water broke. Prepared, from all the parenting know how books we'd read, we knew this might happen, so had lined our mattress with a rubber sheet. I lay back down thinking of the journey about to begin, tapped the inert arm next to mine and whispered, "I think it's time."
Happy Birthday, Mike. xo
-j-
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