Familiarity breeds sentiment

My day started much like every other day, with Jessie scratching the bed rousing me from sleep. Except not only do I have the day off, but it was 6 in the morning. I mumbled something unintelligible and got her to settle back in to bed again. An hour later, she stood on her hind legs again and scratched the bed.

Ok. I got it. Your Highness. I’m up.

To any other person, it’s just another day. But today, it’s my birthday. King for one day.

Nothing really special, if you think about it. But, for my family, birthdays are special.

Just the night before, my father had called right at my birth hour. My mom was complaining that my father is such a stickler for such “nonsense.” I thought it was very sweet.

My father would like to tell me that when I was born, I cried and cried for hours. It was only AFTER they allowed him to carry me, that I quieted down and went to sleep. The moment they pried me away from him, I stirred and began my weeping again. He had no choice but to leave. Hospital policy. When he returned the next morning, I had lost my voice from crying all night and was hiccupping, gasping for air. Once in his arms again, I was knocked out cold.
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