My brother, my birthing cheerleader.

Friday, 26 May 1995, 10:42am

Wow.  I’ve just realized how soon you’re going to be having your baby.  The proximity of it hit me last night.  It’s like seven days away.  Wow.  I will have to send this today or it wont make it in time.  I really hope you’ve decided on a name for it Sis.  Call me old fashioned, but I think a name is kinda important for one’s self-image, you know?  Wow. Seven days. This is odd.  I can’t shake the conviction that this is a deeply odd phenomenon.  Maybe my life is just so divorced from nature (I have no grass in my back yard) that I’m having trouble grappling with the prospect of something living inside you.  No matter how you turn it, it’s odd. odd, odd, odd, odd.  Odd, and again, odd.

I was trying to think of chants to get you through the labour.  I know how fond you are of chanting when you’re ill, but my general knowledge is rather lacking in this area.  Here goes anyway.

 

This one’s in 4/4 time.

Get it out.  Get it out.  Get it out.  Get it out.

 

This one’s in 2/4 time.

More drugs.  More drugs.  More drugs.

 

This one can be directed at Jack.

It’s all your fault.   It’s all your fault.   It’s all your fault.

 

I think the last one is the most popular.  You’ll hear it echoing up and down the halls of hospitals everywhere.

The thing about this that really puzzles me is – how can you love something so quickly (I’ve seen the Johnson & Johnson ads – “Sometimes when we touch…”) when it causes you so much pain?

So have you stocked up on all the latest baby goods?  Stuff like: infra red motion detectors in the nursery to curtail any midnight strolls and clandestine Children’s Rights Movement Meetings; intercoms between the nursery and your bedroom (these can be converted to eavesdropping devices for the teenage years); automated rocking cribs, so you don’t end up with one leg having freakishly large calf muscles from rocking the kiddy to sleep.  You know, the list goes on and on.

Well I ought to get going, stuff to do here and I guess your hands are a little full at the moment too.  So in conclusion, let me continue the Cheerleader motif and say – Power to ya Sis, have a good ‘un, and Birth like a Demon.

Yaaaaaaaay S!

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