Flesh-colored on the outside, orange on the inside

I hope you all had fine weekends.

Mother's Day with my mom is always fun.

Yesterday as we sat and chatted, she started getting calls from my four siblings. In between phone calls, she would talk about the birth of each.

"And of course," she began, as she always does. "You know how you got here."

Yes (rolls eyes). It's a weird story (but sadly does not involve storks or alien space ships-- really bummed about that one).

My mom was told she could not have children. I am the youngest of five (yes, five).

My brother was born four years before me. My parents did not want more kids. As good Catholics, they went with the only Papally-approved type of birth control; an IUD (the copper coil variety). If you don't know what that is, here's a pic:


Totally self-explanatory, right? How do you like the perky orange flower? How did they know most women always associate their uteri with sweet, innocent orange sunflowers?

Or, it could be one of these alien torture devices that, if I am not mistaken, are used for nasal probing:

IUDs are reported to have a 99% success rate. They would be 100% effective if it were my only option, because I would never let one of those things even in the same town as my who-ha.

Needless to say, mom became pregnant with me after she had it surgically implanted by the same doctor who told her nineteen years prior to four kids, she was unable to have kids-- oh the irony. You think there might have been a hint there... She said he always just kind of scratched his head when she'd show up pregnant for a visit every few years. I was born in a teensy rural hamlet where I am pretty sure the ob/gyn doubled as the town's large animal vet.

My mom delivered me at a Catholic hospital (the only hospital in town), and after she woke up from the cesarean a little nun came by to let her know that I was fine, had all my fingers and toes, and that I was a wee jaundiced. (I was born a tad yellow, which really to this day I have no idea what that means and don't really care; I now match the racist Crayola crayon labeled "flesh" thank you very much.)


My mom said she was very relieved because of the dangers involving a pregnancy and delivery with an implanted IUD.

Mom's favorite part of my birth story: "I asked that little nun about the IUD. And she just smiled and said, 'Yes, she came out holding a rattle' (cue mom beaming)."

My favorite part of my birth story: after my dad found out my mom was pregnant with me, he had a vasectomy.

So in a very real sense I was an accident. But apparently a determined little accident in the right place, with the right crappy doctor, and the right goofy little nun...

Tomorrow's post might be about luck, or chance, or opportunity. Or broken mirrors, cracks in sidewalks, and black cats.

Happy Monday all.