Ain’t What She Used to Be

After going through the whole experience of childbirth (actually, I was just there; I really didn’t do much of anything except to remind The Wife to breathe.  She really did forget), I can’t help but wonder how they did it back in The Olden Days.

These are the sexy servants. The ugly ones are in the urine mines.

 

Here’s when I’m thinking when I say “olden days”: indentured servant era.  How can a woman be in a field picking corn (or whatever) with contractions that hurt so bad that she’s doubled over?  Better yet, what if it’s a too-small baby, then what?  What if the baby is too big and it can’t get through the pelvis?  What if the baby is just slightly too big and the woman rips?  What if the cord is wrapped around the baby’s neck or the placenta is in the way of the birthing canal or any of the other thousand things that go wrong on a daily basis?  Answer: everyone died.  It seems to be that the only way a birth actually worked out was if the kid was just lightly too small. 

So what was the incentive for multiple births?  You hear about families having x-teen children, which means that the wife had x-teen babies that were slightly too small. 

I guess a better question would be what’s the incentive for any birth?  I can’t imagine asking The Wife to become pregnant knowing that there’s a better-than-not chance that she and/or the baby wouldn’t make it.  I can’t imagine her trying to talk me into it either.

I guess people were tougher back then though.  They’d call it a good day if you hadn’t died from your skin cracking and bleeding.  I almost fainted when The Wife got an I.V.

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