Nearly thirty years ago, at 4:32PM on a Tuesday in June, the human race gained ten pounds. I remember the day and specific time because I was rooting around my parent's bedroom and found my birth certificate while I was in elementary school child. In those days, TV's Night Court was in syndication on Fox; it happened to air on Tuesday's at 4:30.
"Great," I thought to myself. "I was born in time for Night Court." And the details of my arrival have remained with me since.
To some people this might seem precocious. I would've agreed, until I watched an episode in my adulthood. Then I wondered what was wrong with my father, who used to watch with me, on occasions when I wasn't rummaging through his drawers. Maybe there was nothing wrong. Perhaps it was merely a simpler time. Though I do like to think of myself as precocious...
I was born breech. This has always made sense to me, and if I were president of the baby's union this would be standard practice. Not only does it seem more reasonable spatially, but it strikes me as cautious. Adults would never go head-first into a void. My parents didn't even want me going head-first down the slide. And yet we expect babies to be forced out of the only world they've ever known, to heaven knows what awaits beyond, head-leading-the-way.
Even if only as an act of self-expression, arriving breech strikes me as having value.
