One of the downsides of being adopted is the lack of a birth story. That doesn't sound like a big deal until you don't have one. When I was growing up, all my friends knew what time they were born and how much they weighed. Most of them knew how long their mother was in labor and many had some amusing anecdote about the day/night they were born. I had none of that. None of my friends ever made me feel bad about that, but I didn't need them to, I felt bad about it simply because I didn't know and didn't think I would ever know.
When I was an adult I made a tongue in cheek remark to someone who knew I was adopted (I don't now remember who) which was "I may have been born at night, but it wasn't last night". They obviously didn't get the sarcasm, because their response was "I thought you didn't know when you were born". I didn't say anything because I knew the slight wasn't intentional, but it hurt my feelings. It was yet another reminder of what I didn't know and wasn't likely to ever know, information that most other people took for granted.
I finally learned my birth story at 42 years old. I was thrilled to learn it, as they say, better late than never. For the record, I was born at 3:15 am and weighed 5 lbs. 4 oz. I was six weeks early, hence the small size.
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