Giv­ing birth in spe­cial places

Central Otago Mirror - - OPINION -

Twenty four years ago to­day it was the day prior to hav­ing daugh­ter num­ber two. I was no stick­ler for pre­cise dates when it came to such things. Two years be­fore I had found the real rea­son I couldn’t squeeze into my jeans was be­cause I was ac­tu­ally half­way to hav­ing our first baby. This easy and ob­vi­ously short­ened first preg­nancy was fol­lowed by a speedy hospi­tal birth due to my hus­band’s knowl­edge of Sydney’s back roads and his safe but swift driv­ing. Even so, we weren’t into home birthing for baby num­ber two and with a mod­ern hospi­tal five min­utes away the only in­struc­tions my hus­band, a keen mo­tor sports­man, needed was the prover­bial green start­ing light. No such text book sit­u­a­tion sec­ond time round though. De­spite hav­ing vis­ited our doc­tor less than an hour be­fore and be­ing told to go home and re­lax, our feisty new­born dra­mat­i­cally made her way into the world. Caught short, I hailed my hus­band from his busi­ness lun­cheon to our apart­ment in the ho­tel we man­aged, where his past lamb­ing ex­pe­ri­ence and a pair of shoe laces to tie the cord saved the day. Redi­rected with baby clutched to my chest out the ho­tel’s back door, the wait­ing am­bu­lance took me to a pri­vate room in the afore­men­tioned pub­lic hospi­tal. My hus­band re­ceived stand­ing ova­tions from both the nurses there and our pa­trons back at the ho­tel – his shout of course! Our daugh­ter is for­tu­nate to have a unique place of birth on her birth cer­tifi­cate. I find it sad that, with ev­ery­thing else our dis­trict of­fers a young fam­ily, so few have the choice and priv­i­lege of putting ‘‘Queen­stown’’ on their birth cer­tifi­cate. Happy birthday, dar­ling El­iz­a­beth Grace Mann, born Oc­to­ber 11, 1988. Mon De­sir Ho­tel, Taka­puna.

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