God I loved when I was having babies. There we all were in the labour ward, having grunted, puffed and sworn for hours. or signup to continue reading The big reveal came when you saw your baby's genitals for the first time.
This was new apparently. Before that, obstetricians and midwives told you the news. That had become a no-no by the time baby number one came into our lives.
When our first was born, in 1985, very few of my friends knew the gender of their upcoming babies. By the time number three was born, in 1990, it was more of a thing. Which is how I came to know that our third child was a girl.
Except he wasn't. Those ultrasounds were notoriously unreliable. And the name we slaved over for months was ditched unceremoniously.
We had to come up with a new name pretty much on the spot. But celebrating the gender of new babies? What a wacky idea. Mind you, I did have a friend who told me my marriage would not survive if we had a third daughter.
We will never know. Babies in general are pretty tough on marriages, a fact I wish more people would understand before embarking on the hardest thing they will ever do: parenthood. Maybe we should refashion baby showers for a bit of truth telling.
Forget the pointless toys and clothes which will be worn for six minutes. Get more experienced mothers to speak their maternal truths. Get more experienced fathers to do the same.
Only bring as gifts meals which can be put in the freezer and subsequently defrosted when it becomes too exhau.
