There is nothing natural about birthing your child in your living room in a blow-up pool from Target.
Humor Parenting

Natural Childbirth and Inflatable Swimming Pools

There is nothing natural about birthing your child in your living room in a blow-up pool from Target.

By Jami Amerine of Sacred Grounds Sticky Floors

I am old.  This is what the new batch of our babies have to look forward to.  They have an old mom.  And she’s way behind the times.

They will go to school with kids who were birthed into swimming pools…in their living rooms.  Am I new?  I am just hearing about this.  I saw the Duggars doing “natural” deliveries in a bath tub. I still say that is a stretch.

Probably the least natural occurrence that has happened to my body was childbirth. The most beautiful gift of life I have experienced? Adoption. I highly recommend it.

In all fairness, I think the only women who can declare they “naturally” delivered their children are the women who do it in a hut or rice paddy and the special delivery in an elevator or taxi cab. And I have kids ranging in age from 5 months to 20 years; I can confidently assure you if your little one enters the world in a swimming pool in your living room, he or she will spend the rest of their life expecting to be mightily entertained.

Forget McDonald’s or Chuck E. Cheese birthday parties. That will suffice for a Tuesday lunch. You will need a three-ring circus in your backyard and Disney’s Epcot for play dates for the same reasons you can’t let a puppy climb on your chest lest he think he is the alpha in your relationship.

I predict swimming pool births in living rooms will breed an unsatisfied group of children. Back in the day, an inflatable pool meant one thing: PARTY. Mark my words. These humans will need a whole new level of entertaining.

So the other day I was at Target, buying diapers, and this VERY young pregnant woman said, “Ma’am, do you know where they keep the inflatable birthing pools?”

Not only did I not know where these were, but I also was not entirely sure what she was talking about.

“Um,  I am sorry?  Maybe lawn and garden?”

This got me laughed at and pitied. “Oh!  You don’t know what I mean?” Eye roll, giggle, arm pat and an implied ‘you stupid old lady.’ “An inflatable birthing pool is a pool you blow up so you can birth your baby naturally in your home. The baby simply floats from the birthing canal into the water.”

There are a number of comments I would LOVE to have made at that point, starting with “simply floats from the birthing canal?” and ending with “Do you blow up the pool? Like with your Lamaze breathing?” Instead, I said, “Try pushing that red button for an associate.”  I said “associate” instead of “worker” so I didn’t look so stupid.  This was wasted on her.  She waddled over and pushed the button, and I decided to loiter. Target has everything, but this I had to see.

So the rest of the conversation went like this:

Associate: Can I help you?

Preggo: I am looking for a pink inflatable birthing pool.

Associate: We don’t carry those in the store.  I think you’d have to go online.

Preggo: Well, I am due any day. I don’t know if I have time to order one.

Associate (blank stare): Okay, did you look in sporting goods? We may have some inflatable wading pools back there. Let me run back there and look.

Preggo (to me): Well, I am surprised they don’t carry these. Everyone is moving toward natural childbirth. Do you have children?

I pray, Lord, don’t let any of my children ever be in the same class as this woman’s baby.

Me: Yes, six.

Preggo: What!?! SIX? Did you deliver naturally?

Me: Naturally? Into an inflatable pool? No.

Preggo: You didn’t use drugs, did you?!?!

Me: Recreationally? No. But I had an epidural.

Preggo: OH MY GOSH! That’s not good for babies! Are your children okay?

Me: Define okay.

I get the eye roll again.

Associate returns.

Associate: Ma’am, we have an inflatable Elmo pool.

Preggo: Pink?

Associate: No, just Elmo.

Preggo: Grrrr! I need pink. I had a dream I gave birth in a pink birthing pool.

Associate: I am sorry, ma’am. That is all we have.

Preggo: Ridiculous!

She storms/waddles off. Associate and I are left staring at each other. We have no words for this encounter.

Me: Clearly, her mother had an epidural when she delivered her.

Associate: Can you come with me to the break room? Cause no one is going to believe me.

They didn’t believe me either.

This post was originally published on Sacred Grounds Sticky Floors.


About Jami Amerine

Jami Amerine is a wife, and mother to anywhere from 6-8 children. Jami and her husband Justin are active foster parents and advocates for foster care and adoption. Jami’s Sacred Ground Sticky Floors is fun, inspirational, and filled with utter lunacy with a dash of hope. Jami holds a degree in Family and Consumer Sciences (yes, Home Ec.) and can cook you just about anything, but don’t ask her to sew. She also holds a Masters Degree in Education, Counseling, and Human Development. Her blog includes topics on marriage, children, babies, toddlers, learning disabilities, tweens, teens, college kids, adoption, foster care, Jesus, homeschooling, unschooling, dieting, not dieting, dieting again, chronic illness, stupid people, food allergies, and all things real life. You can find her blog at Sacred Grounds Sticky Floors or follow her on FacebookTwitterand Pinterest.