“We bought it from the original owners,” we like to tell people. “It was built in 1951 by a man named Dude Coffey.”
Dude constructed our house and raised his family here. I didn’t bother to ask the seller for a detailed run-down, but it was clear that Dude’s kids and grandchildren took turns living in this home over the 60 years it belonged to the family. Some of his kids, now in their 50’s and 60’s, still live in the neighborhood.
It feels good in our house. I didn’t even have to do a sage burn when we moved in — which is something I’ve done in almost every apartment or house I’ve ever rented.
On our big moving day, as I scrubbed the walls and lugged boxes, one of the “kids” stopped by. I could overhear her talking to the realtor as they shuffled up the driveway.
“It just feels weird having other people live in our house!” she said.
I rolled my eyes. But, I was happy to know that our new home was always loved.
About a year later, Lou and I watched a documentary titled The Business of Being Born.
The film summarizes the history of childbirth practices in America and encourages women to consider natural labor, at home or in birthing centers with a midwife. Aside from Lou cringing at Ricki Lake’s naked body (she produced the film and shares her own at-home labor with the viewer) we’re happy we watched it. We decided that when we have baby times (whenever that is), a natural birth will be our preferred plan.
Then Lou disappeared outside to mow the front lawn.
As he finished the yard work, a car pulled up to our house.
“Do you live here?” asked the driver. “Mind if I take some pictures of your house? Today’s my daughter’s 18th birthday and she was born in your master bedroom,” he said, pointing to our bedroom window.
I may as well go out and buy the kiddie pool today…there’s no way I can back out of this now.