Twenty three years ago Sacha was born three weeks early.
He weighed 8.8 pounds.
French husband, Chelsea and I were spending the weekend with Yann's Great Aunt who lived two hours away from the nearest hospital.
During the afternoon we hiked into the forest to pick wild strawberries, and late that evening after dinner at French husband's Great Aunt's home I went into labor.
I won't tell you about the wild speed racer ride to the hospital. Nor about being lost, and going around, and around the round abouts, with the contractions coming fast and steady. I won't tell you how when I gave birth to Chelsea I was out of my mind with pain, and begged French Husband for drugs, better yet for a truck to run over me, and repeated every bad word I knew.
But I will say that during labor with Sacha, I asked French husband to sing so I could focus on his voice. He started to hum a song, one that was unusal and old fashion and as my mind tried to figure out what he was singing I forgot about being in labor, "… Dr. Zhivago? Are you singing Dr. ZHIVAGO?" We both cracked up laughing, my water broke and Sacha was on his way.
Happy Birthday Boy-Boy!
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