This is the first in a 15-week series that I’m participating in over at Mommy’s Piggy Tales.
It was hot in August the summer I was born. My parents had been married for a year and a half, having gotten married on Valentine’s day, 1980. In their
small tiny house in Loveland, they had a fan, but little else to keep it cool. Many days would find my mom walking the aisles of the nearby King Soopers just to be somewhere that had air conditioning.
Having grown up not knowing anything about nutrition, my mom battled hypertension and toxemia during the entire pregnancy, something that she completely overcame with a better diet with her second child, my sister.
When she went into labor on August 8th, everything was ready for me to come out, except me. The midwife came over and hung out as midwives are good at doing. They took several trips to said grocery store during that day and the next to get some relief from the heat. I was a stubborn little one and was comfy where I was, thankyouverymuch.
After 42 hours of labor, I finally came. My mom hemorrhaged, which we learned is genetic and happens at the first birth of all the women in my matrilineal line (happened to my grandmother, my mom, my aunt, and me at least). The decision was made to stay home and just take care of it there. Mom and dad were tired, but happy that I was a part of their family now.
I was a healthy little girl at 7 pounds, 14 ounces and 21”. My parents were the first ones to give the grandparents a grandchild, so both sets of grandparents were thrilled as well.
I found a photo album of me from the time I was born until the time my sister was born 2 and a bit years later at my paternal grandmother’s house, so here are a few pictures of my first month:
(As a side note, my name didn’t come from anywhere spectacular. My parents both read a fiction book and liked the name, but not the character, so it was decided)
There you have it, my knowledge of my entrance into the world. Next week, the topic is birth-age 5. See you then!