He is 6

Happy. More photos at here.

After his birthday tea, we settled into our pajamas at 7pm relieved from all the tidying up but overwhelmed by the extra pizzas and sandwiches that could last us another week.

Instead of story time, we talked about how Zak was born. The questions mainly came from him, i.e. how many patients were in the hospital when he was born (erm...i didn't have the chance to ask - I was giving birth, remember?), how many doctors (two), what did daddy do during that time (holding my hand while trying not to faint), and so on.

He laughed when I told him that the 'bed' in the delivery room wasn't really a bed. It was a piece of wood with green vinyl on it, about 6 inches in width. Two pieces of covered wood also extended on the sides to support my arms. It was in the shape of a cross, except that a real cross is a lot better. The delivery bed I was in only supported the middle of my body up to the bottom of my spine. My whole bum was left dangling while my feet were supported by stirrups. If Jesus died on the cross to save my sins, I thought at that moment that he was in a better position that me. And it wasn't even a state hospital in the Philippines. It happened to be the 'best' hospital in the city.

I told him that it was indeed a difficult birth. That awful bed made it so damn difficult I thought it was meant to deter women from giving birth. It was also hospital policy to NOT allow the husband to be at his wife's side during the birth in case the wife becomes pathetic and complains about the pain. My husband had to be smuggled in by our doctor.

What freaked my husband out was when one of the nurses started to bath the baby. The kettle where she boiled the water was rusty. The little bathtub/basin was hygienically suspicious. And the cot was rusty as well. When he sent the photos to his parents here in England, they were so shocked at the site of the rusty cot. But the baby was fine, they were assured.

A few hours after Zak was born.

This is the most interesting story in the family, and until now, it still fascinates Zak and his grandparents. But this also sends shivers down my husband's spine. But I tell this to Zak, and probably in every birthday celebrations he has, because this is his story. The next time we go back to the Philippines, the hospital might have improved a lot, and hopefully have thrown away that bed and refurbished the delivery suite. I might not even recognise the hospital anymore.

In Zak's mind, his birth is the most fascinating story.

Before he went to sleep, he asked one last question: how did he get to live in my belly? I thought, there now, that will be another fascinating experience for you one day. But we settled for the simplest answer: Daddy put you inside mummy's belly. And the follow-up question of: But how? was shushed with a quiet whisper: 'time for bed, birthday boy...' while I lingered in his warm, cozy, and comfy bed.