Product of Dysfunction

My family is fiercely independent. At least, where outside help is concerned. My first act of both independence and defiance was in the labor room. Yes, I am dating myself. I was born in 1979; there were no birthing suites. There were the labor rooms, and then, when it was go time, mothers were wheeled into the delivery room.

My father considered it a gallant effort to be in the labor room. There, his chivalry stopped. He swore, be damned, if he was going into that delivery room! He meant it too. Strong, yet stubborn, Irish characteristics make up his DNA.

As luck would have it, he wouldn't have to. I am, after all, my father's daughter.

As the story goes:

My mother had been in labor for hours. The doctor, showing mercy, sedated her. My dad sat vigil over my slumbering mom. Dad was trying to sneak his own nap. Sadly, his nap was interrupted by this gurgling sound coming from the bed. He snapped to attention, oblivious to what he was about to discover.

In my head, I hear suspenseful music playing as Dad pulls back the sheet. There I was, covered in slime, and ready for a good cry!

Apparently, I possessed my hard-headed impatience from the womb. Along with my love for DIY.

What happened to my dad and The Delivery Room? Well, after getting the doctor, he tried to excuse himself. His exit was thwarted by the small army of nurses flying into the room.

So, I am stubborn, independent, and determined. On the flip side, I seem to be prone to impulsive, self-sabotaging, and plain risky behaviors. Believe me when I tell you, I was born this way.

Nice to meet ya!!