Me & Tina
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By Jack Houston.
Twenty-three days into the 1980s & Dad gripped Mum’s hand as she screamed, the midwife continuing her calm advice on how to breathe, how to push, how Mum should try & do both while not ripping her perineum during my little sister’s home birth, with me there too, I was, or nearly, in the next room, safe in the cuddle of Mum’s friend Shirl, neither of us watching the turned-right-up TV from the room’s two-seater sofa, the other armchair & the coffee table’s mug
Twenty-three days into the 1980s & Dad gripped Mum’s hand as she screamed, the midwife continuing her calm advice on how to breathe, how to push, how Mum should try & do both while not ripping her perineum during my little sister’s home birth, with me there too, I was, or nearly, in the next room, safe in the cuddle of Mum’s friend Shirl, neither of us watching the turned-right-up TV from the room’s two-seater sofa, the other armchair & the coffee table’s mug
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