Not being very busy today, I have been catching up with some blogs. Of course, I read a few every day, but not all of them every day because there are too many I like, and I have work to do. Anyway, I missed a few posts from Anna, which one should never do because she’s GOOD, especially because she asked a question, which I answered, and then didn’t look at the follow-up for a few days.
That was the preamble. Here’s the prelude. A comment, on little red boat, see number 6 from Damian, reminded me of an occasion 30 years ago.
My second child was born at home. At my mother’s home, in fact, as it was bigger and easier to move in to for a few days. Whilst I can see the advantages of a hospital birth, and would see it as a lot less risky to have your first baby in hospital and all of them if there is any likelihood of a problem, having had three babies quite uneventfully (in a medical sense), the home birth was the best experience by far.
He was born at about 10.30 pm and, since all was well, the doctor left not long after. The midwife looked after me, as midwives do, while my husband and mother and stepfather cooed over the baby in my arms and we all bonded and were happy. By midnight, she was ready to leave. “Do you know,” I said “I’m really hungry. Is anyone else?” Everyone was hungry. My mother had a cold leg of lamb in the fridge. She went and made a pile of sandwiches. We picnicked, minty lamb sandwiches and salad, next to the sleeping two-hour-old baby in his cot, and it was the most memorable meal I’ve ever eaten.
Tonight it will be pretty good though. Remember I posted a picture of artichokes a few weeks ago? Oh. Okay, I’ll look it up for you. This is it. I cut the first three tonight. Oh I love artichokes.
Actually, I love food meant to be eaten with the fingers. Especially messily. Particularly vegetables. Asparagus, globe artichokes, sweetcorn, sticks of celery.
I’m going to put a pan of water on to boil. I’m salivating and it’s time to cook.