My name is not really relevant. Perhaps a later post will contain it, but this one will not.
I was born in the late 1980s in a hospital in Michigan, USA. I do not know the exact time of day, though I am assured it was not a bad day to be born, even if my mother had to be cut open to retrieve me safely. Fortunately I do not recall those events, though my mother assures me it was painful and worth every moment of it to ensure I was delivered successfully. I apparently fought my own battle to live, wailing and pounding tiny fists and being carted off immediately to be taken via helicopter to a more complex facility where my various health issues could be treated. I survived (I have been told my issues would have killed me not even a decade ago) and was given over to be taken home in my mother and father's care.
It is now a few months over 21 years since then. The wailing little baby now sits up in bed, types in a blog post creation form and may in fact be beyond the point of "mature". Time, actions and words will tell.
