Us homies have to stick together. I’m 29 by the way. Spent most of the first 8 years of my life within a hundred feet of where I came into this world. Which was this little green shack my dad threw together so my mom wouldn’t have to give birth in a tent. They were living in a tent because the house they were building was still just a frame. I was just a few months too early for that.
P.S. We need a good name to call those hospital born babies. The best I could come up with was medicanos. But that doesn’t make much since. It sounds like that’s what you should be calling the doctors.
P.P.S. I’d also like to hear if you were born somewhere that was neither home nor a hopital. Regale us.
I’m Dutch, and it is very common for Dutch women to give birth at home. The GP and/or a midwife assists.
So I was born in the bedroom of my parents house, the same house I lived in for my first 18 years.
My brother was born at home with a midwife in attendance. (Washington DC suburbs, late 70s). It was, I think, a wonderful experience for my parents, but fairly embarrassing and frightening for me at 10. I ended up hiding in my room.
Whoa. Didn’t realize how many “almost made it” babies there were.
Hmmm, none of those names really seems to point at the babies themselves Nvme77. Methinks those are a little too mean as well.
If “born at home” folk are going to be called “homies,” then perhaps those of us born in medical facilities could be termed “hospies?”
(Now, if you’re looking for a interesting birth story, I can help you. I was born in 1977, on the day of the Johnstown Flood. My uncle was living in Johnstown, PA at the time. My mom’s family had the phone lines so tied up by trying to check on him that she couldn’t get through to anyone to tell them I’d arrived. In addition to that, the delivery room caught fire just moments after I was born. I was born at midnight, on the dot. And I had “milk teeth.” My mother was understandably freaked out. This is all true- I couldn’t make this shit up. Despite my extremely strange beginnnings, I’ve turned out relatively “normal.”)
Both of my kids were born at home, same midwife for both. The first was born in an apartment; the second was born about eight feet from where I sit, over my right shoulder.
My third was born at home, unintentionally. I was getting the older two ready to go to the sitters in between contractions, whilst Bluesman was in the shower, having been hurriedly called in from a three-day field exercise. When I squatted down to tie my daughter’s shoe, I knew we weren’t making it to the hospital. Bluesman called the ambulance, then hustled the kids next door. The ambulance was dispatched from the base hospital with a doctor on board, who came bounding up the stairs just in time to snap on a glove and catch the baby’s head.
We don’t live in the house anymore, but I do still have the comforter!
I just came in to see what the hell this was all about. I’ll be moving along now…