I’ve been teaching for about 15 years. I have two kids, but the best birth story I ever heard came from a second grader in my class.

One day during show-and-tell, Erica, a bright, outgoing girl, waddled up to the front with a pillow stuffed under her sweater and held up a picture of a baby.
“This is Luke, my baby brother. I’m going to tell you about his birthday!” she said.

She explained, “First, Mom and Dad made him as a symbol of their love. Then Dad put a seed in Mom’s tummy, and Luke grew inside. He ate for nine months through an umbrella cord.”

The whole class was glued to her story. She mimicked her mom walking around the house groaning, “Oh, oh, oh!” and did a duck walk to show how her mom moved.
“Then Dad called the middle wife,” she continued. “She doesn’t have a sign on her car like the Domino’s man, but she helps deliver babies.”

Erica described how the water “blew up and spilled all over the bed like psshhheew!” Then she said, “The middle wife kept saying, ‘Push, push!’ and suddenly, out comes Luke! He was covered in yucky stuff from Mom’s play-center. There must be lots of toys in there! Then the middle wife spanked him for crawling up in there in the first place.”

Erica finished with a big bow. I applauded the loudest and have brought my camcorder to every show-and-tell since, just in case another “Middle Wife” story comes along.