Valentine’s Day night, 1988.
How sweet, right? Except that my mother added the entirely unnecessary (thanks Mom!) detail that it took place during a quickie.
Gah.
Cabbage patch. It’s the only explanation I care to hear.
I was an accident. My Mom told me as a teen to emphasize how important birth control was. She missed one, single pill. When they decided to have my sister, my mother was 37 and had serious thyriod disease and radioactive iodine the year before. They were wanted conception could be difficult. They stopped using birth control New Years, 1985, with intent to try for six moths before exploring medical options.
My sister was born Oct. 4, 1985.
The irony is, with this example I spent 13 years being utterly obsessive about birth control, and have now been trying to get pregnant for over a year.
Not so much about my conception, but I know this interesting fact:
I have a brother who is 15 months older than I am. In between my brother and I, my mother had a miscarriage. I’m fairly sure I was full term. So she had time in the fifteen months to get pregnant again, miscarry (thank you, Matterhorn ride at Disneyland), then get pregnant once again and have another kid.
FWIW, my younger brother is 14 months younger than me, and one of my sisters came along a mere 14 months after him. They just don’t knock 'em out like they used to, I tell you.
I know that my mom was 17, my dad was 19, and that it was only the 2nd time my mom had ever had sex.
They got married, because that was what you did then (1970), but divorced shortly after my 4th birthday.
I was planned. My mother had had two miscarriages before me, and they were trying again.
That’s all I care to know.
Heck, that’s nothing. My parents waited fifteen years!
They got married when they were twenty, and Mum always wanted kids but Dad always had a reason to delay. First he wanted to finish his degree, then to get a job, then to get a better job, then to buy a house, and so on. Eventually Mum more or less gave up hope. Then one day as they were packing for a holiday, she mentioned that they’d have to buy some more contraception before they left. Dad said “What do we need that for?” and that was that.
Mom and Dad are together from the time she’s 24 and he’s 34. They get engaged say, a year/18 months later. They’re engaged FOREVER. Dad keeps begging her to plan the wedding, but they’re busy residents, who has time for that? Mom turns 30 and FREAKS out. She wants a baby like now. Plans for a wedding 3 months later. Six weeks after the wedding gets pregnant with me - strategically planned, since she had several months of training left in a different city than my father and only saw him every other weekend.
My younger brother is 4 years and 9 days younger than me, and I was 2 weeks early…
Youngest brother is (well, 4 and 8 years) and 5 weeks younger than us - and an accident. Clearly, since my dad was 49 when he was born :smack:
No I have no idea how (the steamy details I mean, I know the gist of it) I was conceived. However, being a curious sort I backtracked 38 weeks, and my birthday is about nine months after St. Patrick’s day.
Ew.
My parents met when they were both living in “his” town; her family moved back to “their” town (which back then was 24h away) a few years later. For the first year of their marriage, my parents lived in Mom’s town, but he hated it so, when he was offered job back home and with Mom thinking that she’d be able to get a job there (self-delusion is one of her greatest assets), they moved.
After almost two years there: between not being able to conceive, everybody asking “well, when are you having a kid?”, his younger brother having one in the way, and not being able to find a job, Mom was stressed out of her brain. So Dad’s Doctor Uncle ordered “three months bedrest at your mother’s.” Knowing my maternal grandmother and the rest of the gang who lived in her house at the time, it’s hard to imagine how could anybody have thought that three months in that madhouse, in the middle of preparing for the younger daughter’s wedding, could count as rest, but hey.
During those three months, my parents were able to sleep together only once, the night before my aunt’s wedding, in my grandparents’ bed. Then they were apart for two more weeks and, by the time he picked her up from the train to spend two weeks on vacation together, she was already suffering from morning sickness and from “throwing up any time she sees a cooked egg.” The people at the hotel would congratulate them, they would say “no, no, it’s not possible, we’ve been told it can’t be.” By the time she went to the doctor, we were four months along, but the doctor was so convinced that she was sterile, he wanted to scrape her clean then and there; according to what appears to be the most reliable version, I was saved by the equipment not being ready and the nurse pointing out that protocol called for running a pregnancy test for married women whose period had gone MIA, “even if they’re sterile.” When Uncle Doctor heard of it, he called the other guy on the phone and, according to my paternal grandmother, who was a lady, “called him a lot of things I did not understand and others a lady should not be able to understand; the lesser insult was ‘you murderous butcher’.”
The doctor insisted that I’d been made during the vacation, but that doesn’t match any of the other data, including having tried to be born 9mo after my aunt’s wedding (the doctor pumped us full of tranqs) and a lot of other info that came up during the actual birth (like weighing over 13lb). Oh, and Mom didn’t quite manage to believe that she was pregnant until, being at the circus, she was laughing at the clowns (I love you, Mr Tonetti) and I kicked for the first time. In that same circus visit, she won a raffle where you could walk to the center of the ring and pick one toy. One of the toys was a big doll, about 1m tall, which shared the name they’d chosen “if it’s a girl,” and that’s what Mom took: I used to play that she was my older sister.
After I was born, my mother figures she was pregnant any time she went through a bout of “ohmygawdafriedegg… hurl!” Two of them held.
I was left under the gooseberry bush. Wasn’t everyone?
My parents dated in high school. They were both seventeen and drunk. She passed out, woke up having sex with my father, and nine months later I was born.
Counting back, I was apparently conceived around the same day as the country - July 4th.
I was a complete accident. My parents didn’t even think my mother could conceive. Oops!
Of course, they thought when my brother was born 15 months earlier. :smack:
Fool me once…
I was a supersperm. A condom and a spermicidal lube were no barrier. I pretty much ended my parents experiment with artificial birth control. They had five kids already and after me they went back to natural family planning, which is how I got my younger brother and sister.
In similar news, my wife and I have three Leo’s, all born between July 23rd and Aug 11th, clearly we enjoy the Thanksgiving season.
Enjoy,
Steven
My parents fucked like bunnies, so I doubt they have any recollection of the specifics of my conception. They were always going at it.
I have no clue for my own, but I know almost exactly about my 3 kids.
Oldest was in a church parking lot in his dad’s truck. Yeah…I know.
Middle was not really planned but we weren’t doing much to prevent so it happened right around Sauron’s birthday.
Last one was conceived at Disney World. My husband wanted to name him EPCOT.
Your birth must have been like a pedestrian trying to cross a busy city street 
My dad was in the army, stationed in Germany. Nine months from the day he got home, I was born. They evidently didn’t waste any time with their ‘welcome homes’.
Nothing amusing about myself, but I had a friend who, due to her birthdate, considered herself to have a staring role in the 4 Seasons song December, 1963 (Oh What A Night).
I know that I was the product of on the order of ten years of trying and failing, nothing any more TMI than that, thank goodness, and I am (as are my younger brothers, I am sure!) very glad to be alive.