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I want to be able to apologize for what we put you through in your first trip to Cincinnati, but, honestly, I don’t think I should because it was a trip you had to make. While the traveling threw all kinds of baby wrenches in your schedule, the payoff was immeasurable and I can assure you, you had a great time.
Thursday we left for your parents’ ol’ stompin’ grounds – the Queen City of Cincinnati. This is the place where, above all other places we could have gone to college, your father and I chose to go to Xavier. This is the place we met, where we became friends and also where we got married. It’s an important place to us and we will always be visiting – and not just because my favorite restaurant, Ambar, is in Cincinnait, but because some of our closest friends are here as well.
So, you’ll have to forgive us for what we put you through. Oh, I could see it in your muddy olive-colored eyes — you couldn’t recognize anything or anyone around you. We, as the books call it, overstimulated you. In return, you wailed like you had never wailed before in your entire 3 months of existence. This broke our hearts.
But they mended quickly when we got to introduce you to all of our friends, including the long time server at Ambar who I once thought I would eventually marry because I tipped him well enough over the past twelve years to purchase a new Ferrari. Luckily, I didn’t marry him. I married your Dad, who celebrated his 31st birthday on Friday, March 19.
And to prove how lovingly patient your 31 year old Dad is, let me tell you what happened Friday morning…
We were staying with Julie and Pat Ryan, aka Julie and Goatee, and that morning we were getting ready for a full day of visiting. I thought to send a quick email reminder to my family that it was Nick’s birthday and wrote, “Don’t forget that tomorrow is Nick’s birthday…”
Your Dad, who loves to read over my shoulder, gently cleared his throat, “Um, you know that TODAY is my birthday right?”
Me. I fumbled the days of the week. Me.
The person who makes a SPEECH on her birthday every year. I got your Dad’s birthday wrong.
But, as usual, he was laughing and forgiving while I buried my face in his shoulder and two fat tears of embarrassment sloped down my cheeks. I felt horrible. He thought it was hilarious which only made me feel worse because you know, my dear son, had the situation been reversed, I would’ve been bawling my eyes out if Nick got the wrong day for MY special day.
You slept like a true Factora on the way back home. You even slept through the fist pumping as we listened to Northern Iowa take down the indomitable Kansas over the radio in a true NCAA thriller.
Anyway, you met some very wonderful and important people and got your first taste of southern Ohio and March madness.
So, in addition to seeing Grandma & Grandpa Borchers and your Uncle Keith and dine at Palomino’s (didn’t you LOVE your window seat overlooking Fountain Square?), you learned some important lessons:
1) Forgive like your father.
2) Always root for the underdog.
Sleep well, little one.