Miracle Baby

Here is the story of my birth.

My folks were living in Kingston, NY- the Catskill Mountains- in the late 70s. My mom had had miscarriages and an emergency abortion when she fell off of the back of a truck and broke her back, so she was at the point where she didn't feel it was God's Will for her to have children. That and she was 35 years old, which in 1979 was "gettin up there" in age to have a baby. Plus, Dad had two sons from his first wife, who were 10 and 15 years old, so he was done. So, rewind to spring-ish of 1979 when a mosquito bit my dad.

Sidenote: Years later, my dad worked for IBM with a man named Jim Foxworthy. Jim and his son used to come over occasionally after work for beers on the back porch with my dad. In lieu of the story you are about to get back to, my Dad would surround himself outside with bug zappers. "If a 6 pack and a bug zapper is your idea of entertainment, you might be a redneck." You can't make this up. //end sidenote.

Mosquito. Dad contracts a virus (that was never identified- viles of his spinal fluid still live in the CDC in quarantine) with the symptomatic result of spinal meningitis and encephalitis of the brain. In short, he was dying. Half the time he had no memory of who he was or anyone else around, they were writing out wills for him- his parents (who we'll get to in another story one day I'm sure) even hotfooted it up to NY to see him. So, needless to say, my mom was a mess.
My mom. Mom was a hairdresser, belly dancer, and fashionista. She was about 5'3" and probably about 100 lbs with curvy little hips and a rack that turned heads. Basically, she was tiny and hot. Unlike her size and style, I share with my mom the trait that when we get very stressed out, our cycles get shy. TMI, I know, but you are reading my blog. Just sayin.
All of that to explain why, after my Dad had been in the hospital for about 3 months, she was quite a bit surprised to find an EPT test in the bag of groceries brought to her next to the cabbage and bread. She wasn't showing and chalked her lack of period up to stress. Didn't really have morning sickness or anything like that either, so her response was expected when she said "Jim's been in the hospital for 3 months- there's no way I could be pregnant." Regardless, she took the test, and I was a tiny blue donut. She went to the doctor to find out she was, indeed, pregnant. 4 months pregnant. So, she wanders into my Dad's hospital room- praying for many things.
1. Will he know who I am today?
2. He said he doesn't want any more kids- what will this mean?
3. Will he live long enough to help me raise a baby?
4. Many more questions, I'm sure- I wasn't there. Yet.

His response, "I can't think of anything I want more than a little girl."

A few weeks later, he was home, floating in the pool on a raft, in recovery. They never did find the virus, his body and will fought it off. At 66 years old, today, Jim is still alive and could maybe be showing the first long term effects of being so sick, but he could also just be really really forgetful.

So, back then, you didn't get 400 ultrasounds when you were pregnant unless there was a problem. Granted, as I said, my mom was 35 years old. So, they considered the possibility I could be born with a defect (insert joke here) but still only got the couple of necessary ultrasounds they needed to... which means they never actually SAW the hamburger. To remind you of my Dad's one and only response to my mom being pregnant: "I can't think of anything I want more than a little girl." Now, my folks are stubborn, but I'd have one helluva complex if I were born a boy. They picked out a girl name, I got all pink frilly stuff and dresses at the baby shower- they were going to have a little girl. So, on December 31st, in the hospital, when the nurse said "Oh, what a strong heartbeat! I bet you've got a little boy!" Dad went completely apeshit on the the poor woman.

Fastforward to that night. Mom's all preggers and not "due" until January 17th (don't worry, I'm not a premie- I was fully cooked) and Dad's pretty much well by now. They were taking a nap before going to a NYE party, and Mom's water broke. Well, at first she just thought she had to pee real bad. Then she thought she wet the bed when she went back to her napping and continued "peeing". So, they hop in the car. Under a full moon. A Blue Moon. In a Blizzard. With No Gas. and found the one gas station still open with a little old man- like 103 years old- who maybe had 2 teeth? Who said "Wull, you came in here on a wang and a prayer". I have never figured out how this played so heavy into my birth story, but Mom always includes it, so I wanted to as well.

Not too long after that, I was a beautiful, fat, wrinkly little tax deduction with ginormous lips. I don't know why I had such big lips as a baby, but I did. Seriously, you look at pictures of me as a baby and that's the first thing you see. Well, that and the look of boredom on my fat face- I don't know why I look bored in all my baby pictures but I do. The world had nothing to offer me till I was... at least 3. Or maybe I still make that face all the time, but now people call it "bitch"... who knows.
I digress.

That, folks, is my miracle baby story. I know my parents had to go through a whole lot for me to ever come around. I like to think my impending birth was what brought Dad's health back. I know that my Mom considers me her own miracle, after so many defeats in the having-children area. I have hope for myself, being an almost 30 single woman who is surrounded by women younger than me on their 2nd and 3rd children. But, if you consider every birth a miracle, which I do, I think mine's a super miracle. An über miracle, if you will. My miracle birth was more miracle than your birth. Bascially, that's what I'm saying.

Okay not true in every circumstance, but it was a biggie for my parents and, well, obviously for me, as it is the beginning of my existence. And the first story in this blog. And I'm stickin' to it.

Prologue

It's daunting to figure out where to start with a new blog, especially a specific one like this is currently intended to be. I may change my mind later, but for now, I'm planning for this to be a place where I can dump crazy stories in no particular order. Bascially, any time anyone says to me "you should write a book" I will write it up here instead. For now. Readers should beware- I write like I talk, which I've come to find is more monotonous than I should be comfortable with as a working actor, but whatever. Let's call that "dry". That means, though, that my grammar is potentially crappy, I make up words when I can't come up with the one I want, and I type looking at the keys, so typos are gonna happen. But, I digress.
So, with so many stories, how does one pick which one to begin with? I should probably take this time to tell you that they will involve other people. I'll change the names where I find necessary, to protect the people involved, but they will probably be similar. For instance, my parents can hereto be recognized in this blog as "Jim" and "Gail", which is only funny if you know them. If someone finds themselves recognizably mentioned and has a problem with that, let me know and I'll change the first letter of your name to something else so no one will know that you were the Butthat who dubbed me "Abby Porker" in 4th Grade. That was "Mustin Mills", by the way.
Not all of these stories will be funny. Most of them won't be inspirational. I can assure you, though, all of them will be mostly true.