Lucky Rabbit’s Feet
By definition, I am not a superstitious person. I don’t bat an eye when walking under ladders and opening an umbrella in-doors is forbidden only because I don’t want my walls or cornea’s scratched. When I see a black cat cross my path, I am really just hoping that it isn’t returning from a trip to my kid’s sandbox.
I would say that my lack of superstition stems from a powerful combination of belief in a God who orchestrates all things and a personality that lies on the more practical end of the spectrum (although, my husband may debate the latter statement by pointing out the sheer number of shoes I own, continue to buy, and yet never wear).
I credit it to my lack of superstition when, on June 6, 2006, I was oblivious to the unordinary date–– 06-06-06–– and laughed off my doctor’s quip at what a strange day he was having. I was there for a routine visit to check the status of our growing fetus when he confided in me,
“It’s strange,” he said as he applied the goop to my belly to start the sonogram.
“… I suppose it’s the date being 06-06-06 and all…” he continued moving the wand over my belly, “… but I just gave a woman news that she is having triplets.”
“Oh, wow,” is all I said thinking only for a minute about that woman and the news she had just received and how her life was about to be totally changed by three babies. With the self-absorption only a pregnant woman can have, I quickly directed my attention from the woman down the hall and to the screen with thoughts only of how my own little peanut was doing.
And then I began to feel a sense that the room had become very quiet.
“Is everything ok?” I managed to squeak out suddenly wishing my husband were with me and not away on a trip for the next two weeks.
“Well,” said the doctor as he cleared his throat and glanced at the nurse whose eyes were now the size of saucers, “there is a heart beat here. And well, over on this side, there is another sack with a heart beat.”
“Twins?” I asked immediately, “Twins would be ok,” I say this as I try to get my mind around twins. But I don’t ever finish getting used to the idea because the doctor cuts me off and at this point I learned first hand how unnerving it is to have your doctor turn pale.
“I-I- well, um…” at this point he was running his hand over his face and I thought to myself that medical school really needs to include classes on how to teach doctors NOT to turn pale or rub their hands over their faces.
“There are actually two heart beats in that one sack,” he said as he confirmed a third pulsating black spot on the screen.
The nurse let out a sound similar to a whelp.
And after that I remember only bits and fragments with the phrases triplets, and very unusual identical and a fraternal. There were congratulations and I do clearly remember hearing the doctor tell the nurse at the front desk that he would be taking the rest of the day off.
A couple of hours later, when I started breathing again, I very pragmatically decided that leaving the news of triplets for my husband on his voicemail might not be the best way to fill him in on the changes in our family planning. After all, he could be driving. And when I told my mother the news of triplets and she asked why I was hysterical, I could only wail that we would need a bigger car. I was very practically absorbing and analyzing the needs of our growing family.
Well, fast-forward three years to September 9, 2009. This time the significance of the date was not lost on me as me as my husband and I are driving home (in our family vehicle that very practically accommodates four car seats) from the airport after a night away celebrating our nine years of marriage. We now have beautiful, healthy triplets and a darling “bonus” baby to boot. I glance at the clock as my cell phone rings and I see that it reads 9:00 p.m.
Are you with me? 09-09-09, nine years of marriage, nine o’clock at night and my phone rings and it is my mom who has been keeping the children for us.
“What?” I gasp and my husband looks at me with concern as he begins to accelerate. “Nine? Babies?” is all that my terrified and now thoroughly confused husband hears. After gathering all of the information from my mom, I learn that our two bunnies, which have been cohabitating for the last six months, have either immaculately conceived, or they were not both female bunnies after all.
And there were nine baby bunnies.
My mom was giddy with excitement over the arrival of the tiny little bunnies. My practical side began to feel familiar waves of panic as I voiced my concerns to my mom: where would they sleep? Where would we put them all? What in the world would we do with nine baby bunnies?
“Oh, honey. You do realize that you are reacting exactly like you did when you found out you were having triplets, right?”
She had a point.
“And look at how that turned out.”
Right Mom. Thanks.
I have no reasonable explanation for why my household is seemingly incapable of reproducing in conventional numbers. For that matter, it is beyond me as to why everything seems to happen in multiples of three. But I will say this; it’s almost enough to make this non-superstitious mom count her thirty-six lucky rabbit’s feet.
