Today is my birthday. It is my mother's tradition to flashback on birthdays and tell the story of our birth (and you thought I made up the flashback?).
Now I share it with you.
I am the youngest of six and was by no means planned. Accidents happen to the most careful of us, especially when you’re pressed for time because you have FIVE other kids.
The morning of my birth my mother felt that maybe...yeah...she was in labor. My dad was called home from work and they jumped in the car and headed to the hospital. There seems to be some discussion of random driving that has yet to be cleared up but eventually they arrived at approximately 1:30 in the afternoon. My mother was rushed to delivery because I had gotten tired of waiting. Have I mentioned I hate waiting? It seems to have always been the case.
I was born at 2:30pm, an hour after they arrived. The hospital was undergoing major reconstruction, all beds were filled, and they wheeled my mother into the hall on a gurney and left her there. My father waited almost three hours before losing his mind and let me tell you that may be the longest it's ever taken. He demanded to know when my mother would have a room and was told by staff that due to the reconstruction and the availability of beds, it might be two days. This is the conversation that followed:
Mi Papa: "My wife is NOT staying in the damn hall for two days. I'm taking her home."
Evil Nurse: "Sir, that is ill advised."
Mi Papa: "Listen, lady. I don't give a s*** what you say, I'm taking her and my kid home now."
Evil Nurse: "Sir, you cannot take the baby, she is only a few hours old."
Mi Papa: "Lady, I'm taking my wife to the car. If you don't get my kid now, I'm going in that nursery and I'm picking me out one to take."
I'm thinking after five, they all looked alike to him.
Evil Nurse: "Please, Sir. At least speak to the Doctor."
Mi Papa: "Only if you hurry."
So, my father spoke to the doctor, an agreement was reached, and I was taken home at 4 hours old. I think it turned out pretty well...although I suspect at times I am really the love child of some wealthy, artistic couple.
My mother says she had to have six to have one like me.
My father says...which one are you again?
Happy Birthday to me.