Flowers for Giving-Birth Day
by Stephenie Freeman

My husband hurt my feelings four years ago today. I can remember the exact date because this was the day that the Cheese Eater was born. I can still recall even the smallest details from that day.

It wasn’t long after my epidural wore off that the flowers began arriving. Beautiful bouquets of blue with balloons announcing, “It’s a Boy!” With each florist delivery, and there were several, I read the card with anticipation.

You know where I’m going with this. My husband forgot send me flowers.
Now usually in this type of situation, I would defend him with the, “men are clueless” excuse. But I have several friends who had given birth before me and I had seen the beautiful arrangements that they had received. Many of them had even received jewelry! I even remember seeing a picture of my mother in the hospital when she gave birth to me. There on her nightstand were a dozen red roses from my father, who is oblivious to such things. So, allowing my husband to plead stupid was just not going to happen.

Oh, but how he tried.

“No one told me,” he pleaded. “I didn’t know! Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Why would I tell you to send me flowers? You’re supposed to know. You’re supposed to do it because you love me. You obviously don’t. Yes, it is quite obvious that you don’t. You just don’t have any idea what I’ve just gone through. Don’t you…”

“Look, honey! I think it’s time for you to take one of your pills. Don’t you want one of your pills? You’ll feel better if you take one of your pills.”
The stupidity excuse didn’t get him off of the hook, but the Vicodin sure did.
We women go through the weight gain, the nausea, the swollen feet and the dreaded stretch marks knowing how wonderful the end result will be. We don’t do it for extra flowers or even jewelry. Lord knows if that was the case the human population would cease to exist. Never the less, it hurt that it never occurred to my husband to thank me for this wonderful gift that I had just gone through hell to give him.

Granted, there was a lot of drama surrounding my son’s birth, but my husband had had nine months to call the florist. My pregnancy was miserable. It felt like I had the flu for nine months. I literally threw up until the moment he was born until I finally had an emergency c-section. I deserved the 2-carate stud earrings that I always wanted, but I would certainly have settled for some nicely arranged cut flowers.

Luckily, my husband learned his lesson by the time I gave birth to the Bald-Headed Monkey. I received a beautiful new ring and card. He even surprised me with flowers at a Sip-n-See a few weeks after the birth. Obviously, he wanted to avoid the pain and embarrassment that he experienced the first time around. Or maybe it was the guilt. Either way I was happy. I had new ring to show off along with my new baby.

I assure you that several years from now when our sons are married and getting ready to have families of their own their father will make certain that they are fully informed. If their father forgets, I plan to slip them the number for the local florist just in case.


Copyright 2006, Stephenie B. Freeman