I was born the day my mom graduated from college with her Bachelor's degree. Not the week or the month, but the day. (Luckily-- for her, I guess, since I evidently didn't care so much about inconveniencing people-- not the hour.)
I once asked her about how she decided, at nine months and three days pregnant, to drive the then-at-least-six hour drive from Blackfoot, Idaho, to Provo, Utah so that she could participate in her graduation ceremony. Her reply was typical Mom: "I worked hard for that degree; I wasn't going to miss it!"
So she drove down, and she went through the first day of graduation, and then on the second day of the graduation, there was a big snowstorm and I started to come. Mom claims that there are home movies of her in labor and walking across the Madsen Recital Hall stage to receive her diploma, though I've never seen them. 56 babies were born in the Utah Valley Regional Medical Center, including me. She said that a couple of women didn't even make it out of their caps and gowns, though she did. She also said once that I was her easiest labor, because she was distracted during it. I am unreasonably proud of that.
I found it particularly appropriate that this last birthday, I was back in Provo for my own graduation. I spent much of the morning of my birthday and some of the afternoon standing in line for my cap and gown, with two nephews and a niece in tow. After the second hour in line, I let them each go get a second cookie from the spread which The Powers That Be had laid out, but even without the cookies to sustain them, they were being as good as gold. After that, we walked to the park and met their mother and had a picnic. It seemed like a peculiarly fitting way to mark my coming in to the world.
