Granna to Kate: No "Wednesday’s Child"
As most people who know me already know, I grew up in a very close, family-centered, multi-generational household. Added to that is the fact that my parents grew up across the street from one another and shared in a long-standing family relationship that preceded them by more than a generation. The closeness among everyone meant that I grew up thinking that all families were “one” family — no such thing as a “mom’s side” or a “dad’s side” — and in fact, this concept was frankly something that did not occur to me until my late teens.
One of the beautiful things about how I was raised, particularly as the eldest and a girl, was that I became the default historian for our family’s oral history. Living with extended relatives day after day means that you have the gift of knowing, truly knowing, who they are — not just who they are through birthday cards and yearly visits. You share in their daily beliefs, fears, joys, faults, and triumphs.
Following my Grandmother’s beliefs, we had fish on Fridays (especially good Friday and on each Christmas Eve, when fish was joined by homemade pierogies). I still have the urge for fish each Friday. When I spill salt, I always throw a pinch over a shoulder (this drives Paul crazy). And when someone on the street irritates me, I mumble curses in Ukrainian. I feel these little things connect me to those who came before me and it makes me feel grounded and secure in who I am.
My Mother had a similar situation growing up. She was the eldest and a girl and grew up steps away from her grandmothers and great aunts. Her large Italian family passed down many superstitions. For example, my mother and both of her brothers were born on Tuesdays. These were the 50s, when it was believed that women were too delicate to handle childbirth. My Grandmother, petite thing that she is, was therefore thought to be incapable of delivering a child vaginally — she was knocked out and each child delivered via Cesarean. Dr. Wolf (my Grandmother’s OB) only performed surgeries on Tuesdays and Fridays. My Great-Grandmother, Ann DiMarzio (my namesake), urged Grandma Betty to go with Tuesdays because she worried that one of Betty’s children could end up being born on a Friday the 13th, which she viewed as unlucky. So Tuesday was everyone’s birthday. I’m told that everyone breathed a sigh of relief when I, too, was also born on a Tuesday (of my own accord). My brother was born on a Saturday, which was a little upsetting to the women in my family. This is all due to the old rhyme:
Monday’s child is fair of face,
Tuesday’s child is full of grace,
Wednesday’s child is full of woe,
Thursday’s child has far to go.
Friday’s child is loving and giving,
Saturday’s child works hard for a living,
But the child born on the Sabbath Day,
Is fair and wise and good and gay.
My own Mother will tell you that this contributes to her belief that Skip (my brother) will always have to work hard; similarly, my Dad was born on a Saturday and she says the same thing about him. I don’t actually think she takes it to heart, necessarily, but having grown up around those who took these things very seriously, I say that it definitely weighs on her mind.
So now we come to Kate. My Mother was very concerned that Kate would be born on a Wednesday. Thursday is not a choice day either, but would be preferred over Wednesday. Since things have been getting a little more interesting in the past few days, Kate’s birth day-of-the-week has been regular conversation.
We’re almost through Wednesday and I feel quite confident that today will not be Kate’s birthday. Kate must be listening to her very wise and loving guardian angels (and her Granna) who were all holding their breath that she would wait at least another day.
(I’m still thinking Friday, Paul’s birthday… and I’m hopefully for this day as well. It’s not Mother Goose but meconium which weighs heavy on my mind!)
(Incidentally, Paul was born on a Tuesday. Will on a Friday.)
