The story (from what I've been told and somewhat figured out on my own through deductive reasoning) begins with a trip my parents took to Calgary. It was the 80's and fuck all was happening.
It was late spring, and Alberta's farmlands were in full swing. Imagine what Lethbridge smells like, but everywhere. Mixed with the hustle and bustle of a big city and the joy of a working economy (at the time).
My father had family living there and thus, a place to sleep when relatives came calling. The house was blue and it was owned.
My mother also had family (albeit a bit more distant) living in the region.
The house I'm told was empty for the weekend during the visit. What better way to commemorate the occasion but by fucking on my uncle's bed? Now, no one has confirmed this for me and what married couple didn't screw whatever chance they got while still childless?
The reason I'm able to confidently proclaim I, a man who's experienced much life, was conceived on that bed was because of my birth date. Slyly I poked and prodded at these events by asking "Mummy, what were you doing around X date?" No that's not an actual quote, but it gets the point across. I'd get my answer but things didn't add up.
Turns out I was 2 weeks late, with no vacancy date in sight. Working backwards again I found out about the Calgary trip. Memories were relayed as to what, where, when, and why my parents took this trip. Long story short, it was to get out of the hometown. With that said, lets skip ahead the 9.5 months.
My mother ended up being induced because I was adamant I wouldn't come out until I was good and ready. Labour induced Friday night, coupled with moderate labour for the next day, and finally 36 hours of gross, sweaty, shitty, painful, screaming, agonizing, I'll kill anyone with a penis if they come for my lady bits again, hard labour.
"Congratulations lady, it's a boy."
There I was, a screaming (mostly indignant) healthy baby boy. Do I remember those events? Nope. Thank fuck. I pity anyone with a clear enough recollection of the event of their own birthing (or cesarean, no judgement).
That is when my life began. I popped out with no idea what I was doing, what was even happening, and expected to figure it out by the time I opened my eyes for the first time.
