Personal: Sunday Morning Miracle

The picture on the left is of the harbour in Folkestone. This blog isn't about Folkestone though...it is about escapism. I am sitting here at my computer in an attempt to escape Jane's Sunday morning television choices.

We were lying peacefully in bed (I brought her tea) and, because she is feeling a little under the weather, I surrendered complete control of the remote. Big mistake.

I ended up with the covers over my head and my hands over my ears, while Jane watched an hours worth of the "miracle" of childbirth. This thing was completely explicit, complications and all, and the things that went on were horrifying. All I could think of was the scene in Alien where poor John Hurt gave birth to the thing from outer space. This program even had C-sections (not a pretty sight) and all the screaming that you could hope for. Now I am not squeamish, although I did walk out of the cinema during the Texas Chainsaw Massacre, but I don't see why anyone not studying medicine would want to watch this kind of thing.

So that is why I am looking at this picture of the harbour, but I am thinking of this one:

I know that it is all quite modern and healthy to "share" the birth experience. Men and women should be partners before, during, and after the blessed event. All my life I have lived with the disappointment of discovering that, one by one, all the wonderful stories I learned during childhood were just tender lies. Santa Claus, The Easter Bunny, The Tooth Fairy, St Christopher, Robin Hood, King Arthur, and many more all fell into the oblivion of falsehood. But please, please, please...can't I at least cling to the "Stork"?