People can fuck off. A lot of people.
Curiously, the two people who can most fuck off at this moment are both short black lesbians. I only know the two, but they both need to shut their mouths.
In this antisocial spirit, Heather’s main objection when I told her I wanted to have a homebirth with a midwife was that it would mean there would be hippies in our house for 48 hours. And, indeed, the midwife does have two apprentices, and they’ve joined us for our appointments so far. Yesterday, I lay on an exam table (no wax-paper covering but a real sheet!) getting a Doppler scan on my abdomen while the midwife, Heather, and both doulas stood by. It took ages to track the little one down—Midwife Jamie said he/she is “a swimmer”—and everyone politely listened to the strange swirly static until finally the swimmer was cornered and we heard the speedy little heartbeat. All these ladies are mellow and laid-back, but it was certainly an unusual gathering.
My contention is that Heather probably won’t want to apply counter-pressure to my back or prepare damp washcloths for the entirety of my labor, so having some other folks around might work in her favor. Now, it’s true that our house is only 1,600 sq. ft. and extra people will not go unnoticed, but April weather is nice here, so we could always set them out on the deck with a bottle of (organic) wine if it got too crowded. Or Heather could run to Starbucks when she couldn’t stand my moaning anymore.
Speaking of whiny women, we got back the results from last week’s genetic test: our little swimmer is a healthy girl.