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Post 0

Friday, July 8, 2005 - 10:31amSanction this postReply
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I don't mean to suggest that I was really this sophisticated the day I was born. Why, I didn't even know the difference be a regular and a Bombay Saphire Martini...



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Post 1

Friday, July 8, 2005 - 12:09pmSanction this postReply
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That's a cute little thing you wrote there, James.

I was told that when the doctor slapped my butt, I spit in his face and cussed him out. But I don't remember that too well...

Michael




Post 2

Saturday, July 9, 2005 - 9:53amSanction this postReply
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Thank you, Michael. I didn't want to list it under humor, because it would ruin the surprise, but maybe I should have.....I have a feeling that there are several people out there scratching their heads, say "What the hell is wrong with Kilbourne NOW".





Post 3

Saturday, July 9, 2005 - 10:16amSanction this postReply
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James,

I just thought "Damn, what a memory, I don't remember anything until I was at least two."



Post 4

Saturday, March 28, 2009 - 4:05pmSanction this postReply
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Men! They never get these things right. Always focused on the political, from the first instant. Sheez.

This is what it is really like:

My waterbed and my lovely, soft, stretchy covers are shrinking! It is getting so tight in here, I can't turn, I can't get my thumb back into my mouth, I can't even get a good kick in any more.
Maybe it's time for new digs.
Tight. Too tight. Squeezed. Squeeeeezed! How long does this go on? ... ... ... ... ... ... ...I'm slipping, I'm slipping, I'm cold! Mom!!!! Mom. Here's Mom. Warm, soft, shaped to hold me, hold me, Mommy. I can hear her. Pulsing. Leave me right here. Mommy has me.

Hands! Poking! Cold again! Yuck, cloth. I want skin. I want Mommy. Mom!!!!!!!!!!!!

Ok, here's Mom. Warm...skin...nipple...milk. Mommy. Mommy's voice. Mmmm. Mommy.
One eye opens. So this is that muffled jumble I've been listening to all this time. Hmmm. Too bright. Too white. Hard. Loud!  
Eyes closed, tiny mouth nuzzling, tiny hands on Mommy's skin. Sigh of contentment.
His first worldly sleep, that first release of full consciousness; he will awaken already familiar with brighter lights, larger spaces, harder surfaces, and noise, already processing the insistent strength of these new/old stimuli, a naif no more.

But if the new world is still mostly Mommy, what those others call birth isn't too bad. About when I actually came to be, Mommy and I know what we know.

Mindy Newton




Post 5

Sunday, March 29, 2009 - 9:17amSanction this postReply
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My brother-in-law was born on the bathroom floor of my mother-in-law's home.

He and I and our whole family are glad he doesn't have your memory, or Thanksgiving would be dreadful.

regards,
Fred



Post 6

Sunday, March 29, 2009 - 11:14amSanction this postReply
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Hey Fred,

Assuming he wasn't born on Thanksgiving...and that you-guys don't eat Thanksgiving dinner in the bathroom of your mother's home (pretty safe assumption)...why, exactly are you glad? ;-)

Mindy




Post 7

Sunday, March 29, 2009 - 12:27pmSanction this postReply
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Tho this is all in the wrong forum - should be 'humor' at most - the whole fantasy is rather moot...



Post 8

Sunday, March 29, 2009 - 12:40pmSanction this postReply
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Why is it moot, Robert?



Post 9

Sunday, March 29, 2009 - 12:44pmSanction this postReply
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Because it is all fantasy...



Post 10

Sunday, March 29, 2009 - 2:11pmSanction this postReply
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It is moot because it is made-up: this from an artist???



Post 11

Sunday, March 29, 2009 - 6:06pmSanction this postReply
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I imaginate, not fantasize... there is a difference - one is reality oriented, the other is not...



Post 12

Wednesday, April 1, 2009 - 1:23pmSanction this postReply
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Mindy:

re: ..why, exactly are you glad? ;-)

Exactly, there are many reasons:

1] Thanksgiving is our traditional family time for getting together and regaling each other with memories of times past. (The rest of the year, we mostly just safely talk about each other behind our backs.)

2] My b-i-l is a terrible storyteller. Terrible storytellers with fantastic memories are a really bad combination.

3] I don't want to be put off of my cranberry sauce; I like cranberry sauce.

4] There is nothing more off putting than visions of vaguely wet bathroom tiles covered with cheesy vernix and the odd placenta when plowing into a platter full of turkey and filling.

5] The second last thing you want to hear at the Thanksgiving table is "It looked just like Mom dropped a lasagna next to the crapper." Once is enough to hear that line in anyone's life.

6] Don't ask.

regards,
Fred





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