Since my 31st birthday is approaching faster than Kanye making a B line for an award show podium, I thought I’d ask my mom how I came to be. Not like the gross details of my conception, but the story of my birth. Unfortunately for me I was the 4th child and my mother doesn’t remember much. I bet all her birth stories just run together now. In fact as she was recalling the details of mine she included two family members who actually weren’t even there, “Oh wait that was when your younger sister was born.” Thanks Mom. Anywho since she didn’t remember much I figured I could make my birth story up and obviously make it way better. So here goes the story of my birth, embellished by me and fact checked by my birth certificate.
It was a beautiful warm Thursday morning in February. I’d say around 70 degrees which was pretty hot for Los Angeles pre-global warming days. Mother was sitting down reading some magazine with the cast of Ghostbusters on the cover and a car was driving by bumping “Girls Just Want to Have Fun” when her water broke. My dad was called from work and rushed her to Centinela Hospital in Inglewood, CA. INGLEWOOD! – Mack 10 voice.
Once she was settled in, my dad told her he would be back and to call if she needed him. This is something that actually happened. I like to believe she told him to go because this was her 4th child and she didn’t need his help. Also, because her obstetrician was a hippie feminist who wore a long braid and cool dangling earrings. Let’s call her Dr. Turner. Dr. Turner made my mom comfortable in a number of ways including braiding my mom’s hair. (I have a strange theory about women and french braids in the 80s.) Dr. Tuner administered a tiny bit of Demerol to mother and I was out by the evening. Mother thought about naming me Kaliska which means coyote chasing deer in some Native American dialect. She said I looked like an Indian baby (politically incorrect term for Native American) so naturally she would give me a Native American name. But alas she settled on Kiana which means “living with grace.” I’ll take that. Later, my older teenage sisters showed up and took pics of me with their 35mm cameras, and posted them nowhere because social media didn’t exist yet. Damn I’m old.
And that’s how I got here. This post may have or may not have been inspired by a chapter in Amy Poehler’s book, Yes Please. I’m sorry I keep referring to it. I told you it was great though.
Editor’s Note: Please pretend like I posted this before my birthday. Also Mother would also like you to know that I was “almost born on Valentine’s Day”. And she was upset with my dad that day and chose to tweak my middle name as a way to get back at him. Thanks Mom.