So imagine our surprise, 7/7/91. Yeah, well, I was surprised I was alive. So was the doctor who told Dan she couldn’t guarantee twenty minutes more, let alone survival. But that’s not important right now. The kid was born at just after two am — I think he was making sure it would still be 7/7 on Colorado time and didn’t realize we were in NC. (What? No crazier than the next writer, who, admittedly is in an I-love-me jacket.) As soon as he was born, my adrenaline levels must have dropped and the three anesthesias they’d pumped into me with no effect plus the spinal block, plus three days hard labor without eating ALL hit me at once, and I woke up 24 hours later. All of the kid’s birthdays have been more fun than THAT.
When I woke up, I found Dan had called my brother in Portugal (Alvarim is the only one who speaks English fluently enough to be a point of contact in this situations) and told him poundage, name and that we were both miraculously alive.
And Alvarim told him, “Oh, born on Heinlein’s birthday, too.”
Which is how we figured it out, because frankly we had been kind of busy to pay attention.