The Story of My Birth

Every once in a while, my mother tells others (while I'm around) the story of her experience of giving birth to me. It's a different experience listening to my mom tell the story but I suppose it's worth relating it in digital form.

I'm the youngest of five so she had four deliveries before me. But I was her sixth pregnancy. The fifth child was miscarried.

(That's a story in itself. They lived in U.P. It was 1971 or 1972. My mother was on her way home from work as a principal. The jeep couldn't enter U.P. because there was a protest at Quezon Hall. So Mama had to walk from Philcoa to our house which was way past where the U.P. post office is now. By the time she got home, she had to be rushed to the hospital but they had a hard time going through because there were several checkpoints. So she had a miscarriage. Footnote: the baby's name was Lillibeth).

One or two years later, I came along and by then, the streets were calm, martial law was in full effect.

But compared to her four previous deliveries, mine was different and my mom likes to remind me of everything she went through for me :-)

All her previous successful deliveries were natural births. No epidural. You see, my mom has this strange condition which makes her over-react to any medication (the only thing she tolerates is paracetamol. Considering that more than 15 years ago she was diagnosed with stage III colon cancer, it's a miracle she's still alive and approaching seventy-five. She attributes it all to faith).

She dealt with the pain by singing religious songs at full voice while undergoing labor. And she bargained with God that at least one of her children would become a priest or a nun. (That didn't happen. So now she's sponsoring seminarians. Hahaha).

Everything went well with the first four successful deliveries (come to think of it, my mother never told stories about their deliveries).

And then I came along.

I came out as an 8 lb baby. My mother back then was reed thin (imagine a 5 foot version of me carrying an 8 lb baby) so she must have had a difficult pregnancy.

And I was overdue. And I was in the wrong position (feet first) but since the doctor noticed I was moving around, he opted to wait until I corrected myself.

True enough, after a while, I made the turn and my head was where it should be. But when they were about to get me out of there, I continued on my journey and went back to the feet first position.

The doctor decided to wait again. And pretty soon, I was turning again and got into position but after a while, I turned again and was feet first yet again.

Seeing that my mother was getting weak (and maybe her singing was not full voice anymore), the doctor asked for permission to do a C-section. My mother protested and was shouting "Don't put me under, don't put me under..." and fell asleep because they had put the mask on her.
And so I came out and I suppose I was crying but the doctor spanked me anyway :-)

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It seems a little strange relating this story as my birthday approaches. Stories of a child's birth, I suppose, are on the minds of parents as their child's birthday approaches. But most parents, myself included, tell these stories to themselves and do not share it with others (have I ever told anyone, for example, that when sinta was born, I was in a t-shirt and rubber shoes and had no idea that was the day she would be born...)

I don't know of many birthday parties where the story of a celebrant's birth is the topic of conversation.

But if we come to think about it, there is one child's birth whose story is re-told every year at advent and at christmas time. Certainly, it was a momentous event worth recalling. God become man.

But I remember wondering, many, many years ago, how Jesus celebrated his birthday. I suppose if Mary were around, she would tell stories of the census and the manger (I wonder if she'd get into the part about the shepherds). But I suppose that would be a moment and the moment would pass and they'd move on to other topics of conversation.

I wonder, in particular, how Jesus celebrated his birthday with his apostles, his traveling crew.
Maybe Mary was with them and she would tell her story (or maybe not) but maybe the stories would also be about how he met each one of them, what they had for his birthday last year and where they were and where they had been this year and the things they saw. Those would be the stories, not of birth, but of lived life.

I remember wondering many, many years ago how the apostles celebrated Jesus' birthday after he had ascended. I'm sure that during his birthday, they'd all get together and celebrate. Then, they would tell their favorite Jesus story and since he had already resurrected, they would be happy stories or stories of grace and enlightenment. Or maybe they would ask, as we ask now, in the face of all their troubles, what would Jesus do or what would Jesus say? It would be a celebration of the life of an adult (and not really a baby) Jesus.

I remember thinking many, many years ago that we do celebrate Jesus' birth differently by always looking at his birth instead of celebrating the presence of someone who is 2009 years old, give or take, who promised to be with us until the end of time.

That promise, Jesus, is birthday gift enough for me.