We’ve always heard the stories of the day we were born; what our mother’s were doing minutes before the contractions started, how long her labor lasted, how relieved our father’s were to not have to deal with our hormonal mother’s requests anymore, how our little toes and fingers immediately captivated the hearts of our loved ones, our first yawns or how loud we screamed seconds after delivery and how softly we nuzzled to sleep, as we were gently rocked back and forth. Do we remember any of it from our own experience? Of course not, we were told all about these exaggerated memories from time to time, the timeline and story changing slightly with each telling and from each perspective. Mother claims that she knew that morning that she woke up that today was the day, sometimes she was in labor for 14 hours and other times it was a 4 hour process, while father claims that he was coming home from work but mom swears he was at the grocery store picking up the fried chicken she requested. Grandmother proclaims that you were the cutest baby in the entire hospital and bragged to her bingo friends that you smiled the moment you were put into her arms. Can’t forget Grandfather, almost as proud as the real father, handing out “It’s a girl” cigars to the random people passing by, the most stubborn man in the world on any other day but not the day his beautiful granddaughter was born. Nothing could take the smile off of his face. Don’t forget the jealousy from your new older brother, not taking a liking to his new baby sister taking all of the spot light from him. His cries filled the claustrophobic hospital room, still too young to understand what was happening, but the grandparents claim that the second he saw you he smiled and ducked his face into their necks, bashful and trying to hide the smile as his tears dried. 

Were you ever told that you’ve known someone since the day you were born? That you shared the same nursery and were born only a few days apart, only a few rooms away? You can’t be sure if this is completely true because while you were there, you couldn’t possibly remember the first days of your birth. You rely on the stories that the elders tell you, as if the fact that you were born at the same time makes it so you share some kind of connection. As you get older your mother will stop and trade pleasantries with other women at the local grocery store, tell you that you should talk to the nice boy or girl because you were born only rooms away from each other. You simply roll your eyes not seeing the connection, once again as if that has any relevance to anything. Big deal, our parents were on the same floor of a hospital so many years ago. For some reason every time your mother sees someone that shared time with her in the maternity ward for that 6 day stay, she feels the need to remind you that you should talk to the boy or girl.