you were born.
did i tell you how you refused to come out? when time came for birthin', you were not interested. so as to expedite the process, i hiked around and down a mountain, then walked up 20 flights of stairs.
it was cute at first, this clinging to the womb bit, but your apathy towards birth started to get old when your estimated weight approached nine pounds. the doctor decided to make it uncomfortable for you in there by draining you out. didn't take long after that.
you were big and blond. you had funny long hairs on the right side of your head. your hands were, as one doctor put it, like saint bernard paws. your toesies were long. when the doctor broke my/your (our?) water, he accidentally scraped your little head, which actually turned out to be helpful... if we lost you in a nursery full of black-haired, five pound chinese babies, all we'd have to do was look for the guy with the lacerated scalp.
did i tell you how happy you made me? how happy you make me? everyday?
oh how i love you, sweet little eggroll boy.
happy birthday, chief.
photo by kathryn whiting