The Lament of the Second Born Child

Our three toed sloth turned nineteen this past week, and, yes, dear reader, even at that age a big to - do must be made. Part of our festivities included lunch out on the big day. Over dessert, the sloth inquired,
"mysuestories, what time of day was I born?"
To which I replied without even glancing up, "4:51 p.m.", 'cause I'm quick like that. And when you experience pain like child birth? You tend to remember preciselely!

The converstaion continued with our 13 yr old gamester chiming in with,
" And what time was I born?"

Again, without missing a beat, I said, "Somewhere between six and seven a.m." Apparrently? The hospital was offering better drugs that time around....

So goes the lament of the second born. Hell, if I'd had twins, I probably would have carried around just one photo and said, "I have two of these".

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My curiousity now peaked, I hunted for and checked their birth certificates when we got home. (Most parents don't keep track of paperwork like birth certificates, do they? Hey, they were in the third place I looked. Not so bad.) Turns out the gamester? He wasn't even born between six and seven. A.M. or P.M. He was born at 9:50 a.m.

Feeling guilty (to myself...I wasn't about to let the gamester know I was off by THREE hours!!!), I glanced at the sloth's birth certificate. He wasn't born at 4:51 p.m., either. More like 5:09 p.m.

Well, at least I'm an equal opportunity FAIL mother.