Back in the late ‘90s, I happened to see a contest asking for true humorous stories about pregnancies and births. The story selected as the best would win a prize of $1,000, and the runner-up, $500. Nearly 100 additional entries also would be selected by the editor, Mary Sheridan, all to be included in her upcoming book, Belly Laughs and Babies, 2nd Delivery.
Well, I’d never been pregnant, but my mother had told me the story of my own birth so many times, I was pretty sure if the contest wanted a humorous story, mine just had to be a contender. So I sat down, wrote the story and entered it.
Then I kind of forgot about – that is, until I received a call from a woman asking me if my story really was true. I swore to her that it was.
“Then if I called your mother right now, she would verify it?” she asked.
“Yes, definitely,” I said.
“Well, then, congratulations, you’re the contest winner!”
I honestly nearly needed CPR.
And
here, as it appears in the book, is the prize-winning story of my birth.
THE GOOD LANDLORD
Back in 1949, my parents owned and lived in a large tenement building in the city. They were determined to keep things running smoothly…and to keep the tenants, whose rent money paid their steep mortgage, happy.
That first year was more difficult than my parents had anticipated. Night after night, their sleep was interrupted by some tenant who had a plumbing emergency, heating problem or a malfunctioning appliance. Still, no matter how late it was, my father, eager to please, would get out of bed and immediately take care of the problem.
The last week of October, when my mother was seven months pregnant with her first child (me), something in the old building seemed to break or fall apart every other night. It was 2 a.m. on Halloween when my dad, exhausted from repairing a burst pipe on the third floor, finally climbed into bed and fell into a deep, deep sleep the moment his head hit the pillow.
An hour later, my mother was awakened by severe abdominal cramps. Because the baby wasn’t due for another two months, she didn’t suspect she was in labor…until her water broke.
Panicking, she shook my father and frantically whispered, “Lou! Wake up! My water just broke!”
There was no response.
“Lou! Lou!” she repeated more loudly. “My water broke!”
Still no response.
“LOU!” she finally shouted, her voice rising several octaves. “MY WATER BROKE!”
My father slowly opened his eyes, sat up and shook his head to clear it. Calmly, he stood and walked out to the kitchen as my puzzled mother watched. When he returned, he was carrying a huge pipe-wrench.
“Whose water did you say was broken?” he muttered, his eyes still half-closed. “Is it that darned third floor again?”
My mother swore she laughed all the way to the hospital.
# # #
Sally Breslin is an
award-winning syndicated humor columnist who has written regularly for
newspapers and magazines for most of her adult life. She is the author of several novels, including “There’s a
Tick in my Underwear!” “Heed the Predictor,” “The Common-Sense Approach to
Dream Interpretation" and “Inside the Blue Cube.” Contact her at:
sillysally@att.net.
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