When Katy was born, I promised myself she wouldn't be slighted, as the third child syndrome threatens. So we took lots of pictures. As you can see she wasn't nearly as thrilled to be here, as her siblings were to have her as their new plaything!
I bought her a baby book, similar to Kimberly's pink
one and Kent's blue one.
Thirteen years later, Katy was thumbing through her yellow baby book. She'd giggle at the pictures, "Aw-www" at her little footprints and smile as she read her 'firsts.' Suddenly she exclaimed, "Mo-ooom! You got the writing in my book mixed up with Kent's."
"Mama, right here under 'Daddy's first words upon seeing me were____' you wrote that he said, 'It's a boy!' This is MY book, not Kent's! You got mixed up."
"Katy, sit down with me. I've been waiting thirteen years to tell you this."
Her scowl softened into curiosity.
"Honey, you see when your brother and sister were born, they didn't allow the fathers into the delivery room. By the time you came along, fathers were more a part of their children's births. So you were the only one Daddy actually saw born."
"Hang on, Honey. Another thing back then was parents didn't know if their child was a boy or girl until that moment of birth. Sonograms came along later. Dad was leaning over my head when you made your grand entrance into the world, so he asked the doctor, 'What is it?' since he couldn't quite see you yet.
The doctor spun you around, umbilical cord still between your legs, and told Dad, 'See for yourself.'
Daddy saw the CORD and his first words were, 'It's a BOY!'
'Better look again,' the doc said, lifting up the cord.
When I filled in your baby book, Daddy really didn't want me to write this, but it's the true history and I can't change his first words. I've just been waiting all these years for you to get old enough!"
Our very feminine Katy laughed and loved the story of her birth. Me too. Not so much Doug though.
I could have embellished his first words, adding my own commentary, like "WHAT a boy!" or when they cut the cord, something like, "He's not Jewish!" or "There go the bass notes!"
He still winces a bit and gives a crooked grin while we laugh hysterically at the delivery room story. One day I'll have to tell you about Doug in the labor room!