When I was very small I liked to look through my baby book; see the pictures, the lock of hair, and beautiful cursive in my mothers hand. The past few years I’ve become more curious about my birth. The answer is often that it was a difficult time and it’s best I not know. Not know what? The baby book mysteriously misplaced, and as I age and become more self aware I notice a concerning trend in myself that causes me to wonder, what happened?