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| Why I feel sorry for the baby born at Glastonbury | Why I feel sorry for the baby born at Glastonbury |
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| Here are three things you don’t know about me. I have a secret desire to be a dentist, I’m scared of bananas, and I relax by googling bizarre birth stories. | Here are three things you don’t know about me. I have a secret desire to be a dentist, I’m scared of bananas, and I relax by googling bizarre birth stories. |
| You heard me. I love me nothing more than a cracking birth story. Yes, this hardcore feminist wants every detail of every birth – the more bizarre the better. It’s my sport; I even have a poster in my living room of the Mozambique woman who gave birth in a tree above swirling floodwaters. And so far, it’s been a bonza week for wild birth stories. | |
| On Saturday night, Australian political adviser Stephen Beckett delivered his new baby with wife Shayne Sutton, a Labor councillor, by the side of a Brisbane road in the pouring rain. Then a few hours later on the other side of the globe, a baby was born at Glastonbury after the mother watched a Rolling Stones gig. I know – talk about "got the moves like Jagger". Who wants a standing ovation when a punter can show their satisfaction by pumping out a baby? Not many people can say the Rolling Stones were their support act. | |
| If your first thought was the same as mine ("please God, don’t tell me a baby was born in one of those putrid portaloos"), calm your farm. The little girl was born in the medical centre. But man, I do feel sorry for the yet to be unnamed squirt. Born at Glastonbury after a Rolling Stones concert? What a legend to live up to. It’s one thing to be great at sport, impersonations or drawing – to be known for something you become or achieve – but let's take a moment to think about the weight of the legend of your birth before you have even been named. We all want 15 minutes of fame, but that’s got to be tough. | If your first thought was the same as mine ("please God, don’t tell me a baby was born in one of those putrid portaloos"), calm your farm. The little girl was born in the medical centre. But man, I do feel sorry for the yet to be unnamed squirt. Born at Glastonbury after a Rolling Stones concert? What a legend to live up to. It’s one thing to be great at sport, impersonations or drawing – to be known for something you become or achieve – but let's take a moment to think about the weight of the legend of your birth before you have even been named. We all want 15 minutes of fame, but that’s got to be tough. |
| Despite all the modern birth plans complete with custom aromatherapy mixes, music selection and micro-managing, somehow those recalcitrant babies come when and how they damn well please. And when a baby enters the world in a way that becomes the stuff of myths and legends, how much does this story stick to them and reputation precede them? | Despite all the modern birth plans complete with custom aromatherapy mixes, music selection and micro-managing, somehow those recalcitrant babies come when and how they damn well please. And when a baby enters the world in a way that becomes the stuff of myths and legends, how much does this story stick to them and reputation precede them? |
| My third son was born in the bath rather unexpectedly. I delivered him myself a quarter of a second after the midwife said "you’ve got a while to go yet love". The birth was such a shock that my partner’s first words were "bloody hell, that looked like a magic trick!", to which I said "from where I’m sitting it looks like a shark attack". I was thrilled of course to have my very own "extreme birth story", and doubly excited by the thought that thanks to my water-based contractions, Charlie would be an excellent swimmer, a true water baby. Not so. The kid didn’t put his head under water again until he was about seven years old, and when you put him in the bath he would scream like you had dipped him in boiling lava. | My third son was born in the bath rather unexpectedly. I delivered him myself a quarter of a second after the midwife said "you’ve got a while to go yet love". The birth was such a shock that my partner’s first words were "bloody hell, that looked like a magic trick!", to which I said "from where I’m sitting it looks like a shark attack". I was thrilled of course to have my very own "extreme birth story", and doubly excited by the thought that thanks to my water-based contractions, Charlie would be an excellent swimmer, a true water baby. Not so. The kid didn’t put his head under water again until he was about seven years old, and when you put him in the bath he would scream like you had dipped him in boiling lava. |
| I was amazed and annoyed in equal proportions when I found out that Lou, my 67-year-old mechanic who had been working for us for 15 years, was a triplet. A triplet! All three survived and are still alive. I was annoyed because how could I, the queen of bizarre birth stories, not know that this man, who was by now almost part of the family, had been a celebrity in his village by virtue of his birth? His mother had assumed she was having one baby as she labored away in a little villa in Veneto – and out came three. | I was amazed and annoyed in equal proportions when I found out that Lou, my 67-year-old mechanic who had been working for us for 15 years, was a triplet. A triplet! All three survived and are still alive. I was annoyed because how could I, the queen of bizarre birth stories, not know that this man, who was by now almost part of the family, had been a celebrity in his village by virtue of his birth? His mother had assumed she was having one baby as she labored away in a little villa in Veneto – and out came three. |
| The village asked what the mother wanted in way of help. She said a washing machine. Visitors were apparently keener to see the washing machine than the triplets, so rare was it to own such a wondrous contraption. Lou hinted he was so sick of being known as "the triplet" (or perhaps "the boy who’s mum owned a washing machine") that he migrated to Australia as soon as he could, never to mention the story again. | The village asked what the mother wanted in way of help. She said a washing machine. Visitors were apparently keener to see the washing machine than the triplets, so rare was it to own such a wondrous contraption. Lou hinted he was so sick of being known as "the triplet" (or perhaps "the boy who’s mum owned a washing machine") that he migrated to Australia as soon as he could, never to mention the story again. |
| Of course, I want more. Will you do me a favour and amuse this baby story junkie as she hangs out for news of Kate and Will’s first issue (she’s apparently bang up for a bit of natural hypnobirth action), and share with us the legendary birth stories in your world? | Of course, I want more. Will you do me a favour and amuse this baby story junkie as she hangs out for news of Kate and Will’s first issue (she’s apparently bang up for a bit of natural hypnobirth action), and share with us the legendary birth stories in your world? |