The curse of New Year's past

I spent Sylvester (New Year's Eve) 2001-2 in a hospital (that's my surgeon in the picture) in St. Moritz. I had torn my ACL skiing - well, strictly speaking I imagine I tore it falling - and for a variety of reasons that I no longer remember opted for the ACL reconstruction right there in St. Moritz. From my hospital bed I looked at the little bottle of champagne the hospital delivered and which I could not drink - why did they even bother to deliver the bottle to a patient on pain meds four times a day and sleeping pills at night? - and listened to the fireworks going off over the lake that I could not see from my window.

I spent New Year's Eve 2004-5 in a hospital in Big City, 34 weeks and 4 days pregnant, hoping very hard that those contractions would not turn into full blown Pre-Term Labor. The hospital had delivered a little bottle of champagne. Yes, I was on the maternity floor 34 weeks and 4 days pregnant and I received a little bottle of champagne on New Year's Eve. How very European. I set the bottle aside and said we'd drink it after the baby was born (we still haven't popped it) and listened to the fireworks, some of which I could see from my window. I was discharged on New Year's Day and Small Boy held on another four weeks.

The New Year's curse does not appear every year, but it snowed last night - beautiful light airy snow from a movie set - and then rained this morning so that our street, our sidewalk, our front walk is a sheet of ice. Perhaps I should not tempt fate and just spend the day inside?

I have never made a big deal out of New Year's Eve - it feels like a high pressure holiday that never measures up and I long ago stopped trying to make it the Best! Night! Ever! These days I consider the night a wild success if I don't spend it in a hospital bed. I have no doubt that I will be asleep at midnight, though I also have no doubt that local fireworks - and by local I mean, you know, our neighbor - will wake me up. I'll roll over and hug and kiss R. and say Happy New Year, and then go back to sleep. No muss, no fuss.

Besides, no New Year's Eve will ever be as good as the New Year's Eve Small Boy was not born.

Happy New Years, everybody, and take care. It's icy out there.