No Stupid Questions

My kids were all born under very normal circumstances. Hospital births, no complications. Even though I don't have any crazy birth stories I have told each of them many times about the day they were born. The little things I remember.

I had a plate of spaghetti the night before Sam was born. The delivery nurse ate a tuna fish sandwich while I was in labor with him. I fainted after I delivered him, yet they insisted on wheeling me to recovery in a wheelchair, head bobbing, holding smelling salts.

I went into labor with Jake on September 30 but he held on until October 1, my grandmother's birthday. His nurse reminded me of my best friend from high school. She even had the same name. Jake was cranky when he was born. We took an early photo of him against my chest and sent it to several friends and family members before realizing you could see my nipple.

Abby was a complete surprise. We didn't know boy or girl, but I really didn't expect a girl. For some reason her delivery was the hardest.

I don't know if these tidbits are interesting to them, but I believe they remember them. At least in part. Every once in a while one of them will bring up a piece of the story and ask me to tell them again, which I'm happy to do.

Yesterday was one of those times. On the way to music lessons Abby asked me if I remembered the day she was born.

"Of course I do," I told her.

"Did you poop a lot when you had me?"