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The middle wife and Sale on special
I’ve been teaching for about fifteen years, and as a parent of two, I’ve heard plenty of birth stories. But the one I’ll never forget came straight from my second-grade classroom.
Show-and-tell is usually a parade of pet turtles, toy airplanes, and fish photos. My rule’s simple: if they can carry it and talk about it, it’s fair game.
Then came Erica.
She marched to the front of the class with a pillow stuffed under her sweater and a photo of a newborn clutched in her hand.
"This is Luke, my baby brother," she declared. "And I’m going to tell you all about his birthday!"
The room went silent. Every kid leaned in.
"First, Mom and Dad made him as a symbol of their love. Then Dad put a seed in Mom’s tummy, and Luke grew in there. He ate through an umbrella cord for nine months."
She cradled her “belly” proudly while I tried not to burst out laughing. The kids? Mesmerized.
"Then, about two Saturdays ago," she continued, "my Mom started going, ‘Oh, oh, oh!’”
She groaned, duck-walked across the room, hand on her back, putting on a full performance.
"Then my Dad called the middle wife," she said. "She delivers babies but doesn’t have a car sign like Domino’s."
The class nodded solemnly.
"They put my Mom in bed, and POP! She had a bag of water in there in case Luke got thirsty, and it exploded!"
She threw her arms wide, mimicking a splash. I had to look away to keep it together.
"The middle wife kept saying, ‘Push, push,’ and ‘Breathe, breathe.’ They started counting but never got past ten."
The kids were hanging on every word.
"Then out came my brother! He was covered in yucky stuff from Mom’s play center—because I guess there are lots of toys in there! And the middle wife spanked him for crawling up in there in the first place!"
She took a bow. I applauded. Loudly.
Since that day, I never start show-and-tell without a camera nearby—just in case another “middle wife” moment happens.
