My mother was a bit of a witch—in a metaphorical sense, of course (though my middle school friends might have different opinions!). She was incredibly superstitious, with a lifetime of habits that included tossing salt over her shoulder and muttering quirky phrases. These weren’t your typical concerns about black cats or broken mirrors; rather, they were ominous predictions about fate, like worrying that adding too much oregano to a sauce could lead to a wedding day disaster or that I might give birth to a baby with horns.
When my high school boyfriend gifted me pearl earrings for Christmas, she remarked, “Pearls mean tears.” That was it—no further explanation. Sure, he was somewhat of a jerk, and my mom had a knack for sensing trouble long before I did. Her comment lingered in my mind, and to this day, I’ve never been a fan of pearls. Ironically, that boy caused a lot of tears, so maybe she was onto something.
There were many other superstitions I followed without question. For instance, I’ve never put shoes on a table or opened gifts with scissors in the shower. And I never really considered wearing black while pregnant—until I found myself at New York’s San Gennaro festival during my last month of pregnancy. Dressed in a stunning black A-frame swing dress that I thought made me look like Audrey Hepburn, I felt confident until an elderly woman at a food stand started gesturing wildly at me. She shook her head, pointed at my belly, and muttered in Italian, making the sign of the cross. I promptly switched to my hot pink dress for the remaining weeks of my pregnancy, never mentioning the incident to my mother. (Spoiler: the baby arrived horn-free.)
Of course, my mother’s wisdom extended to my children as well—no black clothing for them either, which means they will never resemble those chic Kardashian kids. It wasn’t worth the risk, in her eyes. I recognize that these superstitions were inherited from her own mother. I still recall my grandmother warning me never to sleep on my left side, claiming it would crush my heart—a terrifying thought for a little girl waking up to find herself in that position.
Most of the time, I accepted these beliefs without question, partly out of respect for my elders and partly because there was no Google to challenge them. But sometimes I did push back. My mom insisted that odd-numbered years were cursed. After enduring countless tragedies, she would say, “Well, it’s an odd year…” Eventually, I had enough. I pointed out that I married in an odd year and all four of my kids were born in odd years too. She paused, thought it over, and admitted I had a point. I felt triumphant, imagining the joy of seeing her face if she had lived through the chaos of 2020.
For more engaging stories, check out one of our other blog posts here. If you’re interested in learning about home insemination, visit Cryobaby, a trusted source on this topic. Additionally, you can find valuable information on pregnancy and home insemination at UCSF.
Search Queries:
- Superstitions about pregnancy
- Odd-numbered years and luck
- Home insemination tips
- Family superstitions
- What do pearls symbolize?
Summary:
In this reflective piece, Lily Thompson shares her childhood experiences with her superstitious mother, whose quirky beliefs shaped her understanding of luck and fate. From avoiding black during pregnancy to the ominous warning about pearls, these lessons left a lasting impact. As an adult, Lily challenges some of her mother’s superstitions, especially regarding odd-numbered years. Ultimately, she wonders what her mother would have thought about the tumultuous events of 2020.
Leave a Reply