The modern Prairie birthing companion

I was very disappointed to hear that Shyla had a much different birthing experience than I did.

There was no shaving of the pubic area, and the modern nurse had never heard of my favorite birthing ritual -- the enema.

Where has the fun gone from childbirth?

Shyla got drugs -- and lots of them.

I got squat, even when I asked for them. By the time Nick was born 21 hours after my water broke, I was ready to chew through the stirrups.

Also, there was no pressure on Shyla to breast feed.

She tried it a couple of times, hated it, so the nurses said: "Meh" and handed her a bottle of formula.

There was no argument whatsoever. No stern looks. No nurse grabbing her tit and putting it in Skylar's mouth.

No "it's better for the baby, so deal with it, bitch".

Also Shyla got juice and toast and water.

I got fricking ice chips.

I thought this was Ontario, home of the horrible hospital experience.

I actually complained to one of the nurses today about their manner. I had Nick out in Saskatchewan where I was instructed that, when I went home, I should put the little bugger out in his crib on my balcony for 30 minutes in minus forty degree temperature.

The nurse today thought me insane.

"That's ridiculous," she said. "I've never heard of anything so terrible."

"I know," I said. "But I suppose that's the beauty of a prairie birth."

What will Shyla have to talk about to Skylar when she's having her first baby? That the drugs didn't kick in soon enough? That the juice wasn't cold enough?

Ah, but we women who gave birth in olden times still have bragging rights.

In the old days, the fridges on the maternity ward had beer.