Dad was always a bit squeamish when it came to pain or any kind of medical procedures. So it’s not surprising that he wasn’t exactly a “hands-on” Dad when it came time for Mom to give birth to me.
Even though Mom was 37 and I was her first (and as it turned out only) child, Mom had a surprisingly easy labor. Mom’s water broke while Dad was working one evening. He rushed home and off to the hospital they went. I was born a little after 10 p.m. Mom was only in labor for a few short hours. (Well, once the contractions kicked in, the hours may have stretched for Mom, ha.)
Apparently Dad disappeared shortly after Mom was taken to a hospital room and was being prepped to head to the delivery room. He took off in search of some aspirin for his “headache.” He probably needed something a bit stronger than that to get him through my birth!
But he was certainly eager to see me on my first day on this earth, even with a knot on my head and some wisps of red hair sticking out from it. To Dad, I was a perfect, beautiful baby.