Popping out like a lamb-that would chew your head off.

Dad and I-about 1 month old.

Ah my first memories: So blissful

A soft hum, warmth, the smell of my Moms lotion (Jergens I think) and the feel of the bed rocking back and forth. A Saturday or Sunday morning- In bed with my parents, wanting to snuggle. Mom cuddling and rocking me back to sleep by putting her foot on the floor and bouncing the bed. Warm, safe, loved and spoiled in the early morning half-light.

The spoiled part produced strong memory number 2: Cold water hitting my head, taking the deepest, most shocked breath of my short life and trying to figure out what the hell just happened.

Apparently I was 1) Adorable and 1) An unholy terror.

As a great joke God imbued me with the early skill of holding my breath until I passed out if you didn't: give me what I wanted-or didn't do it fast enough- or tried to do something I didn't like. And I mean I had it from birth. At a month or two old, I terrified my parents, my Doctors, my sitters.

The Doc told my Mom it was a phase. I couldn’t hurt myself. “Don’t worry-it will pass.” That was her advice right up until the point she tried to look in my ears. I made eye contact, (picture baby laser death glare), stopped breathing and in a pretty advanced way for an infant set her straight. My Mom said the Doc was pleading with me to stop by the time she got over there.

So for many of my early memories (because God has a sick sense of humor?) I ran the ship. My overdeveloped little sense of personhood pushed around people much bigger and older than me.

I have never figured out the question of nature or nurture-probably partially because of this phase.       How the hell does a baby come out with that confidence? Or should I be asking what happened to it?

Anyway, my Dad was patient until I was about 18 months old. I guess he just got tired of waiting. I don't remember what the final battle was over. I just know I lost. This time, instead of getting scared, my Dad got pissed. He picked me up and stuck my head under the cold water tap of the bath tub. This produced aforementioned  memorable deep breath-and in that one moment, Der Kommandant ceased her rule. I was never a pushover, but I lost the ability to control the house in a cold, wet hurry. There are plenty of other stories of how spoiled I was, but it just wasn't the same. I had surrendered my ultimate weapon.

Ah, the good old days!