I'm pretty much an on-the-grid type. Sure, I buy organic milk and bring my own bag to the grocery store (sometimes), but that's the beginning and end of my crunchy nature. And I'm not antidoctor or hospital-phobic. Nevertheless, on May 8, 2009, I gave birth to my baby boy at home in my bathroom, and it was exactly what I wanted.
This wasn't what I had envisioned for myself three years ago when I was pregnant with baby No. 1. I fully intended to give birth the new-fashioned way. You know, at the hospital, lying down, knees to nose, hours of pain, he-he-he-hooo, the whole shebang. But, my first labor went from "Hey, I wonder if that's a contraction?" to "OMG! I'm about to shit a bowling ball!" in only three hours. There was a 911 call, a public display of nudity, a dramatic E.R.-like entrance to the hospital, two pushes, and the arrival of a stunning and healthy baby we named Theodore. It was crazy.
Fast-forward two years: I'm pregnant again and very worried. Second babies come even faster. I have visions of being the subject of some TLC show about women who give birth on the subway, in their cubicle, or on a street corner. And so my story begins.