It was a set date. October 18. Forever and ever, that would be the most important date in my entire life. All the other dates before then were meaningless. Birthday? No biggie. Anniversary? Whatever. Christmas? Loved it, but it didn’t compare for me personally. Graduation from high school? Hardly. From college? No.
October 18 was it. Whatever came before it mattered little now. A Friday. The fun day of the week. TGIF. Woo-hoo. It was underlined and circled and bold-faced and italicized. I practiced writing the date more frequently than I wrote my first name with the last name of boyfriends du jour in elementary school and junior high.
Wow. It was actually going to happen. Any doubts I had faded away. That was the date that I would prove my mettle, that I would show the world what I could do. “Look at this here,” I’d say. “All you people of little faith who doubted me from my earliest years. I’ll show you.”
I woke that morning excited beyond belief. This was the date! The date. Everything would be utterly different from this point on. A new name for me. It felt like a baptism.
Except it didn’t happen. In fact, it didn’t happen for another two weeks. That’s right. It was many more days past that illustrious date before I earned the name “Mom.”
Due dates, who needs ‘em?
[Read about the dates of others at Sunday Scribblings.]