A few days before Christmas, I was gently woken by my wife telling me that while I’d been sleeping through the night in blissful ignorance, she had been writhing in labour downstairs. At the last moment, she had decided against giving birth at home and now wanted to go to the hospital. I hadn’t known a home birth was even on the cards – clearly, my wife and I need to work on our communication. Moreover, it was a week before the due date, so I had gone to bed thinking there were still days remaining before the great panic.
Within minutes, we were in the car and racing to the maternity ward. Racing, but not fast enough. As we arrived at the hospital car park, my wife informed me that she wasn’t able to get out of the car. She was delivering our baby there and then.
Albert is baby number four. Our other three children were tucked up at home under the care of my mother-in-law, who was staying with us over Advent and Christmas. Compared with the births of my other children, Albert’s was certainly the most unconventional, and consequently, we have high hopes for him. Beyond that, though, I couldn’t tell you much by way of a comparison, as I had never been present at the births of my children.
On those occasions, my wife requested that I leave the room until the drama was over, at which point a midwife called me away from my coffee and newspaper to meet my newborn. Then, I would enter an immaculately clean room where my wife was sitting, make-up on and hair brushed, nursing our new child. Neither of us, in case it’s unclear, is very modern.
But now I fear I’ve been missing out on one of life’s great wonders. I had never witnessed a birth, let alone one in the passenger seat of my car. It was amazing. I had leapt out of my seat and run round the back of the car, and on opening her door, I found that in those three seconds it had taken me to orbit the vehicle, a small Morello had begun to spring forth into the world.
In the blink of an eye, my wife was sitting there in the passenger seat with our son in her arms. I found the event quite moving, and even sanctioned my lower lip to momentarily wobble as I looked at my son. The midwifery team failed to conceal their astonishment as they emerged through the sliding doors and gathered round the car: they beheld a life-sized nativity in the front seat.
With my wife having been helped into a wheelchair, we processed into the maternity ward with me holding our baby son in my arms. A few hours passed, during which Albert and I introduced ourselves to each other, when it suddenly occurred to me: I’d better get the car valeted.
As the car was exorcised of amniotic fluid by a group of charming yet bewildered Romanians, I sat in the pub and thought about how the most beautiful, natural thing one can experience has become almost unusual in our society. With most countries worldwide – and all countries in the West – heading towards demographic collapse, I’m pleased that my wife and I are doing our bit to reverse the trend.
I suppose we now count as a large family. In fact, we have been repeatedly reminded of this by the expressions of surprise as we’ve walked into shops or cafés over the past few weeks. I’m amused by these responses. There used to be a time when men were proud of the potency of their loins. If this offends modern sensibilities, the demographic suicide of civilisation certainly offends mine.
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