I remember....

... my father telling me how he came up with the idea of having a photograph taking with me every birthday. He told me that my mother was wheeled away around nine to have a ceasarion. He was left alone in the hospitalroom to wait. A nurse came to ask him whether he wanted to have something to eat, which he thought was a good idea. And then he heard a noise in the hallway. It was me being wheeled to him in a glass basket on wheels. He was told that I was his daughter. He held me for the first time, with only a nurse there. She asked him if he wanted her to take a picture. He did and she toke a picture around ten past half past nine. It was the first picture taking of me. I always thought that that was my time of birth, but it isn't. I must have been born around twentyfive past nine or maybe even twenty.