I like to imagine that the afternoon of my nativity would have been a sunny and warm one. I also like to imagine that someone sent my mom some daffodils. Because when a mum gives birth the day after Mother’s Day, she deserves some daffodils. At the very least!
I was born somewhere between 3:32 pm and 3:34 pm. I don’t remember the exact time (I’m sure it’s written down somewhere), so I like to say that I was born at 3:33 because that’s just cool.
I also like to tell people that I’m Russian, because that’s cool too. But I’m not really Russian. My ancestors lived in Russia, but they were German.
At any rate, on that (supposedly) warm, sunny day-after-Mother’s Day afternoon, I made my appearance.
I was promptly wrapped in a orangy-pink receiving blanket and had my first mugshot. I had a teeny bit of reddish fuzz on my head and the cutest little pudgy round cheeks you ever saw. And my little fingers looked just like they do now, except that they were so tiny and cute back then!!
I was a tiny little thing. I made my debut a week or so late (that was the only time I’ve ever been late in my life, I think!), and I weighed in at 6 pounds, 3 ounces. My tendency toward tininess continued when I took my first steps at 10 months and my parents had to go shopping for a tiny pair of shoes to protect my little feet. They found a pair of cute little navy sneakers with rainbows on the sides. I still have those little shoes.
I don’t remember much from this part of my life. From looking at old photos, I can say that I had two adoring, attentive big brothers, and I learned at an early age that if you scream, you’re more likely to get what you want. And I also learned at a young age that dirt is pretty tasty (I have pictures of this!) and that I was an observer of the 3-month rule. I once found a cookie under the fridge and decided to chow down. (Again, I have a picture of this!) I adored my Gramps and Grandma, but my dad’s parents totally freaked me out. (Just observations from photos. I have several of me being playful, peaceful and serene with Mom’s family, and on the next page, Dad’s parents are holding me and I’m screaming my head off. I wish I could have given them the benefit of the doubt, but I guess when you’re a baby, you don’t really understand those things.)
My first birthday was awesome. Not that I remember it — once again, I’m going on the photos. I had this wonderful, huge layered birthday cake with gooey frosting. It was set on the tray of my highchair and I reached out a timid fist to check it out. I guess I must not have been too fond of the sticky gooeyness, because fist promptly found its way to mouth. And then it was all over…. I couldn’t get enough of the stuff. And to this day, I still love frosting!!!