A Mind Is A Terrible Thing

This afternoon Anna's teacher sends homework for the parents. Her class is working on an autobiography project that requires us to provide all the usual stats. I fill in date, time, place, etc., working from memory and fudging the parts I am not sure of. The most egregious response, for time of birth, is "dinnertime." I'm completely unrepentant.

After the basics are covered, feeling as though I've contributed enough, I pass the survey over to John so he can share an anecdote about the day Anna was born. He starts with, "Your mom looked at the calendar several months before you were born and decided May 1st looked like a good day to have a baby."

AWESOME.

But no way. I remember my mantra "38 weeks" worked. But fixing an exact date? C'mon, John...

He insists. Says my friend Amanda will remember. Amazingly, I get her on the first try and she vigorously corroborates the story. She says when she found out she was expecting her third, I encouraged her to pick a date and give it a try. How obnoxious. No wonder I've blotted it out of my mind.

But now that I think about it, I remember my sister Kristin telling me how she shared my plan with her visiting teachers, who laughed, "you can't just pick when you have your baby!" and how she said something like, "If anyone can do it, Sharon can." Which, apparently, I did. And then forgot about it.

How could I forget such a triumph? I remember the name of my kindergarten room mom (Mrs. Case) the first several lines of the "Wham Rap" (be afraid) and the tune of the theme from the Rockford Files... but not this?!

What a waste.