The Oliver’s have had their final child….for now. Number 5 arrived into the world this week, welcomed not only by Mum, Dad but also the two oldest daughters. Genius. Yes, I am sure that this was done with the most loving intentions. I am sure Jamie was not freaking out about his two oldest daughters getting ever older, that one day they might decide to have sex; that one day they might want to have a baby. I’m sure that this did not cross his mind at all. *Cough*
However, to quote Jamie this was an “EPIC” idea on their part. I was so mentally scarred by my sex-ed classes that it put me off the opposite sex for a long time. Being forced to put a condom on a banana as the rest of the class watched will forever haunt me. Nor will I forget how said condom then pinged off the banana and hit the boy of my dreams right between the eyes. Mortifying! Thank goodness there was no social media in those days or no doubt my condom catastrophe would have been tagged with my name and uploaded to various channels.
Then there was the video of the giving birth which was so horrific that I had to cover my eyes and stick my fingers into my ears. I could not watch it. Years later, when I was a newly qualified teacher, I found myself having to teach sex-ed to my form. Again, the giving birth film was so horrific that I thought I was witnessing a murder. I had to leave the room before I passed out. As a newly-wed, I told my husband that he had better find himself a new bride if he ever wanted children.
However, I went onto have children – eventually. Why? Love? NO!! Because in both cases I had been able to block out the giving birth to a certain extent. However, the Oliver girls were in the same room, there would have been no escaping it. They would have witnessed it all, close-up, gore and all. We have to be honest, we are told that giving birth is a beautiful experience and, yes, it is, you are bringing new life into the world. However, let’s be frank it ain’t no spa break. It’s not that type of beautiful. It’s a lot of pain, blood, swearing, and gunk type of beautiful. Then they hand over the baby and you have that realisation that you are holding a beautiful newborn. You do not freak out, you do not shout –
“How did that come out of me!?! Have you seen the size of it?!”
No, you get lost in the eyes of your lovely newborn. Honest. The Oliver girls would have witnessed a very beautiful, serene scene I am sure. However, they would not have been able to ignore the gunk. All of the gunk. They were forced, sorry that should be invited, to cut the cord. They did it too. Very different to Mr C who dithered over this and when he did finally agree to cut it, squealed “Eeeeks, it’s all rubbery”. I did not mutter at this wonderful moment,
“All you have to do is cut the cord mate, try being in labour for 48 hours, you great big hairy banana” Nope, I just smiled serenely.
Mr C was left fairly traumatised by my labours and, as such, refuses to impregnate me again. I would be interested to know how the Oliver girls are doing. I know that it is an amazing thing but, for me, giving birth will always be a bit like something from the film Alien. 😉