My wife and I went to one of those NCT breast feeding class things when she was expecting Mini Q.
Lots of STW types there, or at least I gathered so from the Waitrose shopping bags. I digress.
One couple, a scruffy Kirt Cobaine lookalike, and his hippyesque wife, were all into having the home birth, no drugs and all that carry on bringing little Grunge into the world naturally. Fair play to them, not our idea of fun.
After the group finished, and we went our separate ways, never to meet again, other than one time, where we bumped into Kirt, wife and baby, about 12 months after.
Gunge baby, now had a name, and Grunge baby, had screamed from the day he was born until he was more than a year old, non stop apparently, for the best part of his waking hours, he simply screamed. He was asleep when we met them, and although I was tempted to wake him up and see if it was true, I refrained.
Mum and dad looked like death. We had the worst birth possible, and a happy content child. They had their dream birth, and a devil child.
I know why though. They called their baby boy – Wolfie.