I was supposed to be born in Thailand. But I decided to come two months early which meant that my Mom went into labor in September, in Bangladesh, on a Friday evening after everything had shut down. Because Mom had a rare blood type, they refused to operate on her so, while Dad went out into the night to find travel visas, she packed for an international flight to India.
Now, mind you, even though this was in the days before TSA checked your socks for terrorists, they did have rules about people flying when they’re in the process of having a baby. Especially internationally. So Mom actually had to pretend she was not in labor for the entire flight.
One emergency c-section later, there I was, the newest member of the nursery. I looked a little funny since I didn’t have any ears yet (they’ve grown in just fine, thank you very much), but the comfy 110 degrees in the hospital made an incubator unnecessary.
I had my first passport issued at two weeks of age and, though there was a little administrative stickiness on the way back to Bangladesh (they weren’t sure if they could give me an “exit” stamp since I had no “entry” stamp), I made it home in one piece, having behaved moderately well on my first flight.