Musings on my birth

This woman's hands were the jaws of life.

To celebrate my six-week birthday, I'm taking a look backward.

Mom and I returned to Kaiser last week, and we met with the doctor who delivered me, Dr. Tilton. She posed for a picture. I don't remember much about the delivery other than trying to pee on Daddy soon after I left Mommy's womb. You have to mark your territory early in life.

Here I am in my six-week birthday suit.

It seems that Mom and Dad took to calling me Linus when I was just a wee peanut-sized being inside Mom. I got so used to Linus, I was surprised when they referred to me as Finn after my birth. Though they also called me Lucy at times because they didn't know if I was a boy or girl. Dad mostly called me Linus, while Mom reminded him I could be Lucy.

Many of you knew about the Linus nickname. You probably thought it came from Peanuts. But I'm told that it actually came from the Tour de France, which is why I bring it up at this time. Dad is obsessed with the Tour de France, which is a three-week race with guys on bikes riding up mountains and across the plains of this faraway land called France. I guess they don't have cars to get around this France place. Anyway, Dad has watched the race since he was a kid, and he still watches it with me every morning right now.

Dad wants me to be like this guy when I grow up.

A couple years ago, Dad found that he liked the name Linus after Linus Gerdemann of Germany won a stage in the Tour de France. He and Mom thought that if they had a boy, they might name him Linus. But rather than inspiring their name choice, it seems that Peanuts may have ruined Linus for them. They were afraid that I might get made fun of by kids asking where my blanket is.