My Birth
Where better to start stories about my life than with my birth? Let me start though in putting my birth in a little context.
After my older brother was born, my mother had given birth to twins, Peter and Paul, who unfortunately had died at birth. The hospital where she had given birth had treated her very badly. As a result she vowed any more children she might have would be born at home and not in the hospital.
Another event had occurred after she had lost the twins. My mother had not long been a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, just 3 or 4 years when she had the twins. Shortly after the twins the wife of one of the leaders had told her that the reason she had lost the twins was because she was not a good mother. Being relatively new in the church she did not know any different and so believed this woman. So when she became pregnant with me she went through a lot of worry. My being born healthy was a sign to her that she was not a bad mother after all and so my birth meant a lot to her.
I was originally due to be born in early December. My mother’s parents had traveled down from Scotland to be there for the birth. I however had different ideas. These days they would simply have induced my mother and not allow her to go so long. But back then, especially with a home birth, there was not much to be done other than wait. And wait they did - for three weeks.
As Christmas came and went and the New Year approached, my grandparents, being Scottish and Hogmanay being a big Scottish celebration, decided to return home for the holiday. No sooner had they gone though, and I decided to make an appearance and turned up 8am on New Years day. Being three weeks late (and I’ve been late ever since) I had put on a little extra weight and arrived weighing 11 lbs and 6 oz.
And that marked my entry into this strange world.
Needless to say weighing so much and being a home birth, my mother went through a lot. It is always amusing to see the photos of me at birth with my mother. She is heavily coated in make-up, having refused to let my father take any photos because she looked so bad without the make-up.
I was named Craig after my grandfather, the one that missed the birth, who was James Craig Walker. My second name was going to be either Alistair or Alexander. In the end they chose Alexander. It just so happened that the family doctor attending my mother after the birth was also called Alexander and was thus convinced I was named after him.
Add comment November 30th, 2007