Oddly enough, even though I was there, I don't remember anything about my birth. But I can share the stories my mom has told me. I know I was due November 11 or was it 12th? Then again, maybe I don't know anything. Mom, please correct me if I'm wrong.
My parents were living in a cold, drafty farmhouse on Furnace Road in Geigertown. I was overdue and my mom was ready to be done! I know her labor lasted for days--and when she finally got to the hospital and they took her into the delivery room, Robert Goulet was singing over the sound system. My mom always joked that I am a singer because of that. I also know that Mrs. Harris (as in Miss Harris, the science teacher's mom) was my mom's labor and delivery nurse. I was born in Reading Hospital and delivered by Dr. George Sexton (yes, funny name for an ob/gyn, huh?) at 9:28 p.m. As you saw from the comments above, my dad was busy watching OJ Simpson and, to this day, he has a hard time remembering exactly when my birthday is. However, I bet if we asked him right now, he could tell us the final score of that college football game without hesitation. I try not to take that personally.
I was named Jennifer Robin. My mother insists that at the time she named me "there we NO other Jennifers", and we all know how THAT turned out. Thankfully, my parents were wise enough to never call me Jenny, but most people call me Jen and that's fine with me. Thankfully, they were also wise enough to spell my name "normally". (My sister, Amie, was not so fortunate!). I went to college with a Jeniffer and also know a Gennifer. Seriously? I would never choose "Jennifer Robin" but the alternative was "Martha Louise" so, as you can see, I got the better end of the deal. My mom wanted to name me "Brooke" but daddy didn't go for that. And while I would have much preferred "Brooke", I am thrilled to have my own "Brooke Ashleigh" now.
The only other detail I know about my birth is that my poor mom, likely in an unsuspecting moment of pregnancy-induced stupidity, agreed to have Thanksgiving dinner at her home in November of 1967. Of course, she thought she'd be home with a new baby and all settled and ready to go. Well, naturally, things didn't turn out that way, and we ended up coming home ON Thanksgiving Day to a house full of eager relatives. Mom doesn't remember that day very fondly--and those of you who have had a child and know how that first day/night home from the hospital is--can understand why. I do know that after all the festivities, my Aunt Judy stayed for a week to help mom and I'm sure that was wonderful!
So there you have it-Installment #1. A few days late. Just like me.
(I'm working on getting some pictures to spice up these posts a bit and embarrass myself into oblivion. Stay tuned.)