There has been a mystery to my life going on for as long as I can remember; whether I was born February 28th in the AM or PM.
No one who is supposed to remember remembers. Mama forgets. Papa forgets. Sisters don't care.
Thats what happens when you are baby #3. Your parents just remember the fact you were born, not details like the time of day. Being baby #3 also means you only get two newborn pictures in the back of a photo album (when your older siblings got 2 albums each for their first day of life).
Even my lovingly hand embroidered baby blanket forgets.
It reads I was born at 10:53 M. How convenient.
The telling A or P has managed to unstitch itself and fall off, leaving no telltale holes of where the embroidery might have originally been.
I am sure if my family and I tried hard enough we could rustle up some paperwork or my birth certificate to put this to question to bed, but none of us have ever cared enough to root through old boxes or check hospital records. And so the mystery has remained.
Until today. I have learned my official time of birth.
Got a call from my Mom at noon saying...
MOM: Hey Bek, you were born in the AM.
ME: 10:53 AM?
MOM: Yeah I found your baby book in storage and it said you were born in the AM.
ME: Woah! I have a baby book?
MOM: Yeah you do.
ME: That's new. And here I thought I had like just those 2 pictures in the photo album.
MOM: Well...you practically do. Theres not much filled in here, let me tell you.
Ah. For a second there I thought I also learned that baby #3 got more infatuation than I thought.