Birth in Suburbia by Carol Falaki (top 50 books to read .txt) đź“•
Excerpt from the book:
A fictional account of modern childbirth and a romantic novel rolled into one.
Birth in Suburbia follows the experiences of three heavily pregnant women, Debbie, Helen and Liz, taking the reader through the final weeks of their pregnancies.
It is filled with information about pregnancy and labour with strategically placed helpful tidbits of information throughout the story, although the story drives the novel so that it doesn’t feel like a data-laden textbook on pregnancy.
The story slowly builds and culminates with all three women going into labour within a 48 hour period, tied together by the midwifery student Gemma traveling to each birth and learning new things along the way. Each pregnancy and labour is very different and described in detail: a caesarean section in a hospital bed, a natural home birth on a futon, and an uncomplicated hospital delivery in an alternative position.
Expectant mothers may find plenty of information on what to expect in childbirth by reading this novel, while feeling entertained rather than slogging through a more straight-forward nonfiction text.
Birth in Suburbia follows the experiences of three heavily pregnant women, Debbie, Helen and Liz, taking the reader through the final weeks of their pregnancies.
It is filled with information about pregnancy and labour with strategically placed helpful tidbits of information throughout the story, although the story drives the novel so that it doesn’t feel like a data-laden textbook on pregnancy.
The story slowly builds and culminates with all three women going into labour within a 48 hour period, tied together by the midwifery student Gemma traveling to each birth and learning new things along the way. Each pregnancy and labour is very different and described in detail: a caesarean section in a hospital bed, a natural home birth on a futon, and an uncomplicated hospital delivery in an alternative position.
Expectant mothers may find plenty of information on what to expect in childbirth by reading this novel, while feeling entertained rather than slogging through a more straight-forward nonfiction text.
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tried everything she could think of to get herself going, except, after what had happened the previous week, sex.
“I’m going to the hospital on Monday,” she said, “I think they’ll give me a date to start my labour off, but I’d prefer to start it myself, I’ve heard it’s so much better. But on the other hand, how long do you think they’ll leave me?”
On Saturday morning Chrissy rang.
“Debbie, please could you do me a big favour and collect Natalie from school on Monday at 3.30PM? I
have to work and Jenny, who usually collects her for me, is sick.”
“Of course, no problem, Chrissy, but you had better give me your work number in case of emergency, I’m 39 weeks now, you know. If anything happens, though, I’ll let you know in good time.”
“Okay, that’s great, thanks.”
“Any news on Michael, have you seen him at all?” Debbie ventured.
“No, nothing Debs, and I’m on pins. I feel like a wretched schoolgirl with a crush,” she confessed. “What should I do?”
“You could get Natalie to invite Jonathan for tea, or to come and play,” Debbie suggested,
“Yes, I thought of that, but don’t you think it would look a bit obvious?”
“Not if Natalie came up with the idea, and pestered you.”
“You could have a sleepover.”
“If only,” Chrissy said, laughing, “You are brill,” she added. “I’ll drop Natalie a little hint. She’ll be delighted to come up with the idea. Thanks, I’ll collect her from yours at around 5.30PM on Monday, thanks again for doing that for me.”
Monday came around, and still Debbie was no further with Sean. He had worked most of the weekend, bringing some of it home with him. Debbie began to feel a sense of desperation; the birth of their baby was imminent. Her expected date was now less
than one week away. She kindled hope that the active birth session on Wednesday would provide opportunities for discussion between them. At least it would bring him home early and they could spend the evening together.
Helen telephoned. Her appointment was for 11 o’clock.
“Still here,” she said. “You know me, always in a hurry, never on time, and what’s the betting that you and Liz will both have your babies before me.”
“Have you spoken to Liz? I haven’t seen her all week,” Debbie said, “Although I have telephoned and left a message. I wondered how she was and if she had successfully managed to book her home birth.”
“Yes,” Helen replied, “I think she has been doing some last-minute shopping, and she has met Leo a couple of times. She’s planning to work with him after the baby is born and I think he’s very much into becoming an adopted uncle, from what she tells me. He keeps buying gifts for her and the baby. Everything went okay with her midwife and the home birth is all arranged. Fingers crossed, eh?”
“Part of me would love to do what Liz is doing and stay at home for the birth,” Debbie said. “But I’m very nervous of the idea, and in any case, can you imagine what Sean would say? He's so house-proud. I think he would be worried about the furniture and carpets getting ruined.”
“I can imagine it, Debbie; you would be pushing, and he would be straightening the plastic covers to protect the furniture and carpets.”
“And setting the timer,” Debbie laughed. “Do you think Tom minds Leo paying all that attention to Liz?”
“No, I think that anything that makes Leo happy is okay with Tom.”
“Good luck at clinic. Are Nigel or your mum going with you?”
“Nigel, he’s meeting me there. Mum’s off out again.”
“Ooh, the Major. I bet they’re at it like rabbits,” Debbie suggested, and could hear Helen gasp.
“If that doesn’t start me off, nothing will,” she laughed. “I’ll keep that thought in mind all day; although on second thoughts I’d better not tell Nigel you said that, best not to mention anything to do with sex, it makes him feel badly done by.”
“Phone me later, Helen; let me know what’s happening.”
It was raining heavily at 3.20PM when Debbie drove up to the school. She was able to park quite close to the school gate, and sat in the car with the radio on until half-past. The rain was so heavy, her lightweight jacket was already wet through by the time she had walked from the car to the gate.
The children started to come out. From where she was standing she could see them all, some trailing bags, others fastening coats. She was so intent on looking for Natalie’s blonde curls between umbrellas and beneath the many rain-coat hoods she failed to notice a figure come close to her side, until a bright golfing umbrella had encapsulated them both. It was Michael. Debbie jumped.
“I’m sorry,” he said, “I didn’t mean to frighten you. You looked like you were getting soaked.”
“Thank you, I was.” She replied and to her dismay she sounded breathless.
“I did give you a fright, didn’t I?”
“I think you need to put some squeak in your shoes, or learn to whistle.” Debbie smiled carefully, trying not to show too much pleasure at seeing him. Again she felt the need to lower her eyes, but resisted and looked straight at him, curiosity getting the better of her.
“I am collecting Natalie, for Chrissy,” she explained. She could smell his skin, he was so close. This was both pleasant and disturbing. Soft thumps of rain covered the umbrella.
“We haven’t had much rain,” Debbie said, conscious of the silence, “So I wasn’t prepared for it.”
“Here they are now,” she could see them both, their heads together, whispering and laughing.
“They appear to have become good friends,”
“Yes, Jonathan never stops talking about Natalie, they are very alike. In nature I mean, obviously not in looks.”
“Daddy, Daddy,” Jonathan called when he saw them. He looked at Debbie with that same wondering expression she had experienced on the beach.
“Hello,” he said to her.
“Hello, Aunty Debbie.” Natalie smiled up at her.
“Hello you two;” they were all squashed together under the umbrella out of the heavy rain.
“Would you mind holding this for a moment?” Michael offered Debbie the umbrella while he attempted to help Jonathan fasten his jacket.”
“It’s alright Daddy, I’ll stay under the umbrella.”
“You’ll be soaked through,” Michael responded.
“I can give you a lift if you’d like,” Debbie offered. What the hell was she doing?
“No it’s fine; it’s not very far,” Michael said. “But thank you for the offer.”
“No Daddy, it is miles, and my head is leaking.” Rain was dripping down Jonathan's face, and he looked up at Debbie, pleading for her support. How could she resist?
“It’s no trouble,” she said, “and I’m a very careful driver.”
“Thank you,” Michael conceded. “We would be very grateful.”
With the children belted into the back seat, Michael sat in the front and directed Debbie. The rain persisted. The children sang, “It’s raining, it’s pouring, the old man is snoring.”
“School summer production on Saturday afternoon, before the summer holidays,” Michael explained.
“It’s about the weather. Jonathan has a part in it, even though he has just started at the school. He’s been practising all week.”
“Will you be going?” Debbie asked.
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” he replied with a broad smile.
It wasn’t too long before they arrived at Michael and Jonathan’s home; a smart 1930s semi, set back in a long front garden with a black two-seater sports car on the drive. Debbie parked on the road in front of the drive.
“Would you like to come in for a coffee?” Michael asked her, and Jonathan jumped at the opportunity to have Natalie’s company for a while longer,
“Yes, yes come in for coffee,” he insisted.
“Can we, Aunty Debbie?” Natalie asked. “Please?”
Against such odds Debbie found it impossible to refuse. She stepped into a hallway that was square, and bare; devoid of a woman’s touch. There was a single framed photograph of a woman on the wall. Jonathan and Michael took their shoes off as they entered the house and added them to the collection of men’s and boys' footwear piled carelessly by the door. Debbie removed hers and indicated to Natalie that she should follow their example. The cool oak floorboards creaked as the wood-grain met her feet. Debbie’s eyes were drawn to the photograph. There was something familiar about the woman, something about the way she stood, and she wore her hair in the same way as …
“Aunty Debbie,” Natalie tugged at her hand and Debbie turned and saw that Michael was leading them
into the kitchen, while firmly closing the door of the room on their left as they went by.
“Secrets,” Debbie thought, “There are secrets here.” He took their wet coats and hung them on the kitchen chairs.
“Tea or coffee?” he asked.
“May I have a cold drink please?”
“Come and sit in the conservatory,” Michael offered. “It’s more comfortable in there and we can listen to the rain.” So Debbie sat on a small sofa with a cushion behind her back. Listening to the rain on the glass, while taking in the surroundings, she felt unable to relax, so sat forward to watch Jonathan retrieve a box from behind a chair. He pulled books and games out of it.
“Natalie, have you seen this?” He held up a small radio handset. Then he found the second.
“We can talk to each other, if I
“I’m going to the hospital on Monday,” she said, “I think they’ll give me a date to start my labour off, but I’d prefer to start it myself, I’ve heard it’s so much better. But on the other hand, how long do you think they’ll leave me?”
On Saturday morning Chrissy rang.
“Debbie, please could you do me a big favour and collect Natalie from school on Monday at 3.30PM? I
have to work and Jenny, who usually collects her for me, is sick.”
“Of course, no problem, Chrissy, but you had better give me your work number in case of emergency, I’m 39 weeks now, you know. If anything happens, though, I’ll let you know in good time.”
“Okay, that’s great, thanks.”
“Any news on Michael, have you seen him at all?” Debbie ventured.
“No, nothing Debs, and I’m on pins. I feel like a wretched schoolgirl with a crush,” she confessed. “What should I do?”
“You could get Natalie to invite Jonathan for tea, or to come and play,” Debbie suggested,
“Yes, I thought of that, but don’t you think it would look a bit obvious?”
“Not if Natalie came up with the idea, and pestered you.”
“You could have a sleepover.”
“If only,” Chrissy said, laughing, “You are brill,” she added. “I’ll drop Natalie a little hint. She’ll be delighted to come up with the idea. Thanks, I’ll collect her from yours at around 5.30PM on Monday, thanks again for doing that for me.”
Monday came around, and still Debbie was no further with Sean. He had worked most of the weekend, bringing some of it home with him. Debbie began to feel a sense of desperation; the birth of their baby was imminent. Her expected date was now less
than one week away. She kindled hope that the active birth session on Wednesday would provide opportunities for discussion between them. At least it would bring him home early and they could spend the evening together.
Helen telephoned. Her appointment was for 11 o’clock.
“Still here,” she said. “You know me, always in a hurry, never on time, and what’s the betting that you and Liz will both have your babies before me.”
“Have you spoken to Liz? I haven’t seen her all week,” Debbie said, “Although I have telephoned and left a message. I wondered how she was and if she had successfully managed to book her home birth.”
“Yes,” Helen replied, “I think she has been doing some last-minute shopping, and she has met Leo a couple of times. She’s planning to work with him after the baby is born and I think he’s very much into becoming an adopted uncle, from what she tells me. He keeps buying gifts for her and the baby. Everything went okay with her midwife and the home birth is all arranged. Fingers crossed, eh?”
“Part of me would love to do what Liz is doing and stay at home for the birth,” Debbie said. “But I’m very nervous of the idea, and in any case, can you imagine what Sean would say? He's so house-proud. I think he would be worried about the furniture and carpets getting ruined.”
“I can imagine it, Debbie; you would be pushing, and he would be straightening the plastic covers to protect the furniture and carpets.”
“And setting the timer,” Debbie laughed. “Do you think Tom minds Leo paying all that attention to Liz?”
“No, I think that anything that makes Leo happy is okay with Tom.”
“Good luck at clinic. Are Nigel or your mum going with you?”
“Nigel, he’s meeting me there. Mum’s off out again.”
“Ooh, the Major. I bet they’re at it like rabbits,” Debbie suggested, and could hear Helen gasp.
“If that doesn’t start me off, nothing will,” she laughed. “I’ll keep that thought in mind all day; although on second thoughts I’d better not tell Nigel you said that, best not to mention anything to do with sex, it makes him feel badly done by.”
“Phone me later, Helen; let me know what’s happening.”
It was raining heavily at 3.20PM when Debbie drove up to the school. She was able to park quite close to the school gate, and sat in the car with the radio on until half-past. The rain was so heavy, her lightweight jacket was already wet through by the time she had walked from the car to the gate.
The children started to come out. From where she was standing she could see them all, some trailing bags, others fastening coats. She was so intent on looking for Natalie’s blonde curls between umbrellas and beneath the many rain-coat hoods she failed to notice a figure come close to her side, until a bright golfing umbrella had encapsulated them both. It was Michael. Debbie jumped.
“I’m sorry,” he said, “I didn’t mean to frighten you. You looked like you were getting soaked.”
“Thank you, I was.” She replied and to her dismay she sounded breathless.
“I did give you a fright, didn’t I?”
“I think you need to put some squeak in your shoes, or learn to whistle.” Debbie smiled carefully, trying not to show too much pleasure at seeing him. Again she felt the need to lower her eyes, but resisted and looked straight at him, curiosity getting the better of her.
“I am collecting Natalie, for Chrissy,” she explained. She could smell his skin, he was so close. This was both pleasant and disturbing. Soft thumps of rain covered the umbrella.
“We haven’t had much rain,” Debbie said, conscious of the silence, “So I wasn’t prepared for it.”
“Here they are now,” she could see them both, their heads together, whispering and laughing.
“They appear to have become good friends,”
“Yes, Jonathan never stops talking about Natalie, they are very alike. In nature I mean, obviously not in looks.”
“Daddy, Daddy,” Jonathan called when he saw them. He looked at Debbie with that same wondering expression she had experienced on the beach.
“Hello,” he said to her.
“Hello, Aunty Debbie.” Natalie smiled up at her.
“Hello you two;” they were all squashed together under the umbrella out of the heavy rain.
“Would you mind holding this for a moment?” Michael offered Debbie the umbrella while he attempted to help Jonathan fasten his jacket.”
“It’s alright Daddy, I’ll stay under the umbrella.”
“You’ll be soaked through,” Michael responded.
“I can give you a lift if you’d like,” Debbie offered. What the hell was she doing?
“No it’s fine; it’s not very far,” Michael said. “But thank you for the offer.”
“No Daddy, it is miles, and my head is leaking.” Rain was dripping down Jonathan's face, and he looked up at Debbie, pleading for her support. How could she resist?
“It’s no trouble,” she said, “and I’m a very careful driver.”
“Thank you,” Michael conceded. “We would be very grateful.”
With the children belted into the back seat, Michael sat in the front and directed Debbie. The rain persisted. The children sang, “It’s raining, it’s pouring, the old man is snoring.”
“School summer production on Saturday afternoon, before the summer holidays,” Michael explained.
“It’s about the weather. Jonathan has a part in it, even though he has just started at the school. He’s been practising all week.”
“Will you be going?” Debbie asked.
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” he replied with a broad smile.
It wasn’t too long before they arrived at Michael and Jonathan’s home; a smart 1930s semi, set back in a long front garden with a black two-seater sports car on the drive. Debbie parked on the road in front of the drive.
“Would you like to come in for a coffee?” Michael asked her, and Jonathan jumped at the opportunity to have Natalie’s company for a while longer,
“Yes, yes come in for coffee,” he insisted.
“Can we, Aunty Debbie?” Natalie asked. “Please?”
Against such odds Debbie found it impossible to refuse. She stepped into a hallway that was square, and bare; devoid of a woman’s touch. There was a single framed photograph of a woman on the wall. Jonathan and Michael took their shoes off as they entered the house and added them to the collection of men’s and boys' footwear piled carelessly by the door. Debbie removed hers and indicated to Natalie that she should follow their example. The cool oak floorboards creaked as the wood-grain met her feet. Debbie’s eyes were drawn to the photograph. There was something familiar about the woman, something about the way she stood, and she wore her hair in the same way as …
“Aunty Debbie,” Natalie tugged at her hand and Debbie turned and saw that Michael was leading them
into the kitchen, while firmly closing the door of the room on their left as they went by.
“Secrets,” Debbie thought, “There are secrets here.” He took their wet coats and hung them on the kitchen chairs.
“Tea or coffee?” he asked.
“May I have a cold drink please?”
“Come and sit in the conservatory,” Michael offered. “It’s more comfortable in there and we can listen to the rain.” So Debbie sat on a small sofa with a cushion behind her back. Listening to the rain on the glass, while taking in the surroundings, she felt unable to relax, so sat forward to watch Jonathan retrieve a box from behind a chair. He pulled books and games out of it.
“Natalie, have you seen this?” He held up a small radio handset. Then he found the second.
“We can talk to each other, if I
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