The Story of How My Father Has Not Won an Argument Since 1983

Also know as Enna's birth story. I am taking a  break from my ...well, from my break from blogging to tell you about how I came about living on this earth 26 years ago today.

My parents, after having my brother, decided WHAT THE HECK let's have another one.  So, they got pregnant with me.

My mother decides that she cannot sleep one night towards the very end of her pregnancy, and goes on downstairs to take a bath.  Halfway through her bath, she realizes she is in labor. So she starts calling out to my father. Seeing as it is the middle of the night (and my brother probably ran him ragged all day), my father is asleep. He doesn't hear my mother screaming his name. So, she gets her pregnant butt out of the bath, and goes and wakes up my father.

You probably think this is where the title comes from, but no, it gets better (or worse, if you're my mother.)

So they drive to the hospital - Little Company of Mary in Evergreen Park, for those of you wondering.

They get to the hospital, and I am born. I am a 9 pound 3 ounce baby. And no, this still isn't where the title comes from.

My father, being very excited about having a daughter - the first girl on his side in 50 years (shout out to Aunt Micky! Hi Aunt Micky!) - runs out to tell his mother. (This has a double purpose - one, he is excited, and two, she owns a florist) and leaves my mother at the hospital, he assumes she is resting.

My grandmother, being so excited that she had a granddaughter, started kissing random people on the street.

In the meantime, the hospital won't let my mother see me unless my father was there, because they wanted someone else in the room with the mother and baby. (Keep in mind, this was the early 80's.)

So, my mother is just waiting, drugged up, and feeling very woozie in her hospital bed. She still hasn't really seen me.

My mother is getting woozier and woozier, and still, no one has come to check up on her. Finally, a nurse's aid (Nan Harris, in the event she googles herself) comes in to check on her. She puts her hand on the bed, and when she lifts it back up, the blood has soaked through where she put her hand. The whole time my mother is waiting there, she has been bleeding out on the bed. She is rushed into surgery, and obviously, based off of her comments on this blog, survived.

But seriously, can you imagine how every single argument between my parents went?

Dad: I cannot believe you didn't put gas in the car before you came home!

Mom: You left me in the hospital to die.

Dad: Damn.

Obviously, everything worked out, they even went on to have another kid, the wonderful Julie.

So here's to my parents, for having me, and giving me a great sense of exploration and independence.