Enjoy The Show

The other day I asked my 9 year old if she wanted to be in the room when I had the baby.

She gave me a “DUH!” look and said, “NOO!”

I don’t know what I would have done if she said yes.

If we’re gonna get real honest, I don’t want to be there either.

I’m still scarred from the time I was invited into my mother’s room to witness my younger brother come into the world.

By the time she was ready to give birth with him she figured she was better off having him at home. I was born in the hallway of the hospital on the way to the delivery room, my next brother was born in an ambulance, brought into the world by a fireman. So why not just stay at home and invite a midwife and a sikh (turban and all. I thought the turban was there in case they needed an extra towel.) into your bedroom to have the last one, right?

Totally makes sense.

Anyway, I was 5 or so years old and apparently it was the midwife that suggested it was a great idea to have us older kids come in to witness this miracle of life aka “watch your mother scream and cry to the point you think she’s dying”.  Now, we didn’t have front row seats or anything, we were just at the side of the bed. I have no memory of my brother coming out, his first cry or anything. All I remember is my mom doing her own version of that chick from The Exorcist.

And the fact my dad buried the placenta in the backyard. Man, that plum tree was fruitful after that!

I still call my brother “The One That Almost Killed My Mom”.

So yeah, I think my daughter will have to just stick to watching “The Baby Story” on TLC.