Every time I mention my wife and I have had five homebirths, I get the strangest silence. It takes the opposing human brain a few seconds to hear, catalogue, and respond with: “Oh…that’s cool.”
Now, the modern brain only has so many “boxes.” When the word “homebirth” is uttered, it is hesitantly put in the box with “horse-drawn carriages,” “bonnets,” and “fetch me some water from the well, Amos, and boil it. I’m fixin’ to take me a warsh.” Believe me, that box is a scary place to find yourself.
I am then usually met with questions like: “Are you Amish?” and “What about the pain?” and simply “Why?” and occasionally “Would you like a refill?” when I’m interrupted by a waitress.