Until five years ago I never considered myself a superstitious person. I didn't cringe if a black cat crossed my path. I could easily walk underneath a ladder. I even broke a couple of mirrors without losing any sleep.
But when I started to feel labor pains in the evening of Thursday, June 12th, 2003, I locked my thighs together tighter than Suzanne Somers on her Thighmaster. I was NOT giving birth to my first child on Friday the 13th. Images of Jason in his freaky ski mask filled my head as I writhed around on my couch in pain. My husband urged me to let him take me to the hospital. I muttered something, probably obscene, and he backed off. The pain would subside then return with a vengence. (I wish I could remember who told me childbirth is like having bad cramps so that I could smack them.)
My original due date was June 6, so the 13th had never been a concern. But as the days wore on I had done some research. It turns out that an estimated $800-900 million dollars is lost on this day because so many people just stay home. And when have you ever seen a 13th floor in a hotel or office building? A quote from the 1800's states that a child born on a Friday is doomed to misfortune.
In the end I didn't need to worry. I was in labor for 36 hours and didn't have my son until the 14th. I realized later how ridiculous I was being. I blame the pain. Besides, the Olsen twins were born on a Friday the 13th and look how UN-misfortunate they've been!
Are you superstitious? And will you be seeing The Happening this weekend? (Tina, I already know your answer!)