Who would ever want to have a baby in a barn? I come from a line of farming people -- not a long line, but a line nonetheless -- and I have known some awesome barns in my day. My great-grandpa's barn was long and low and it had some pigs and some sheep and a bunch of friendly cats in it. The barn on grandad's property was huge and tall and the best place in the world to explore. If my parents knew to this day some of the rickety ladders I climbed high up into the haymow, lying on my stomach to look two floors below into my horse's stall, they would probably fall prostrate to the floor in a dead faint this very day.
So I have known some barns. But I also know childbirth. This progressive knowledge makes me be able to say with certainty that the two do not mix. When I had my babies, if my husband had driven me to a barn instead of a hospital, I would have done everything in my power to....to.....well, to do something bad to him. I feel somewhat repressed in saying exactly what I might have done because Pat told me tonight that I have too many grouchy posts lately, so let me just say: IT WOULD HAVE BEEN REAL BAD.
But this baby? Born in this particular barn? To this one-of-a-kind mother? They all seem to go together. I can't imagine that the place was Mary's first choice, or Joseph's. But somehow, it all worked out for the best, didn't it?
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