I was born on a dreary summer’s day on the posh side of South London in the bleak nineties. My arrival into this world collided with the much-anticipated final between the Gunners and the Spurs, and my father was none-to appreciative of that fact. My birth was what is formally known as a “traumatic birth”, in that if it weren’t for a daring, burly midwife, I might not be here today. Yes, I almost died, however it does allow for a cracking story. To start, I was too big for my mum, so big in fact that I got uncomfortably stuck on the way out. This is common in childbirth, but when the child – namely, me – starts turning an alarming shade of blue, the panic stations are on.
It seemed that the only way to get me out and screaming was for the local midwife to sit on my mother’s bulging stomach and push me out that way. Which is exactly what happened. I squirted right out and almost fell off the table if it weren’t for the trusty umbilical chord to catch me at the last minute. After a heart-wrenching second of silence, I burst into a choir of screams, was cleaned, weighed, and at 10 pounds and 1 ounce, was the biggest baby girl born in the hospital that year… Continue reading