This is the first picture of me, on what appears to be day one, which was really night one, since Mom waited to have me until after Dad got home from work.
True stories about my birth day: In one of Mom’s notes somewhere, she described her trip to the doctor to confirm that she was in labor. Remember that I’m the youngest of six, so that meant that she drove down there herding five other kids the whole way. Oh, and did I mention she was driving while in labor?
Also, at one point, Mom explained to me that she called Dad to let him know she was in labor. Dad asked if he should come home early. She told him that it looked like he didn’t need to, and then she went grocery shopping to make sure that the house was fully stocked for her week in the hospital. I asked her how she managed to do that while in labor–trying not to ask “Weren’t you afraid that you’d deliver me in aisle 2, amidst all the cookies, crackers, and snack food?” Mom said, “Oh, well, some of the contractions were so bad that I had to pull over.”
Grocery shopping + in labor + 5 kids in tow = Rock Star
- Apparently my hairline isn’t receding, since I appear to have been born with what we’ll politely call a long forehead . . . a pre-receded hairline? . . . great comb-over potential?
- Judging by the stark shadows, the startled expression on my face, and the defensive position of my hands, they were still creating flashes for pictures by igniting a pile of flash powder on a mortar board when I was born. Funny, I don’t feel that old.
- I have that wristband in my “baby book.” It seems that my wrists were about as big around as a yellow Dixon-Ticonderoga #2 pencil.
OK, kibbitz away.