I can’t figure out if it’s two words or just one. If I make it two words (home birth), does that imply that my house had a baby? I picture little sheds in my backyard that my house has given birth to. My parents and Aron’s parents would live in them when they are old.
Right now is the perfect time for me to have a homebirth … we have a tarp covering the floor of our master bedroom so we can paint (read: so ARON can paint).
And why do they call it a “MASTER bedroom”? That implies that I have slaves. Wait, I do. Four of ‘em. At least that’s what THEY think.
For the record, I’m too chicken to have a homebirth. I tell everyone it’s because I hemorrhage after giving birth every darn time and that my babies have big heads and I can barely squeeze them out, but it’s really because I like having extra people to hold my legs back, I enjoy the chocolate chip cookies they bring around as a reward for my giving birth, I dig that I can have a fountain Coke from down the hall (yes, folks, I have me a sodie pop right after havin’ a baby and I don’t want to hear from you caffeine-anti people).
But I support homebirth. Some of my best friends homebirth.