A year ago today, I was feeling pretty lousy. With Christmas only three days away, there was plenty to do.
I still needed to shop a bit, bake cookies with friends and finally get around to wrapping gifts.
Meanwhile, my sinuses were throbbing and my body ached.
By the end of the day, I realized I was going to need a little help to make it through the holiday.
So the next morning I skipped church and headed to the doctor, thankful for Sunday office hours.
Sure enough, I had a sinus infection and was prescribed an antibiotic.
I soon had reason to be glad I had opted to see the doctor rather than tough it out with over-the-counter remedies.
Early the next morning, Christmas Eve, the phone rang. It was my very pregnant daughter. Her baby wasn't due for two more weeks, but she was in labor.
There was no need to hurry, she said, but she wondered if I could come to stay with her 2-year-old so she and her husband could head to the hospital.
The drive took less than 10 minutes. I arrived to find my tech-savvy daughter and son-in-law both using their smart phones to time the contractions.
With my daughter deep breathing and braced against the couch, her toddler would lean against her and grin at me.
It took my breath away to be part of such a moment. Did I mention it was my birthday?
Soon, the mom and dad were off to the hospital, and the youngster and I proceeded to do what we do best. We played.
We also worked our way down the long, detailed list my daughter had prepared for their holiday celebration. If social scientists needed proof of expectant mom nesting, this was it.
In early afternoon, my son-in-law's family arrived from northern West Virginia. They were there only a short time before it was time for them to head to the hospital.