My Grandmother (born in 1900) was 29 when she had my Dad, her first and only child. She was one of 7 girls, most of whom had children before my Dad was born. In spite of this she was almost completely ignorant about childbirth and was actually too embarassed to tell her own mother she was pregnant for 5 months!
She was on her own in bed one morning when her waters broke. One of the very few things she knew about childbirth was that this meant the baby was on it's way, so she spent the next hour terrified to get out of bed in case the baby "just plopped out" when she stood up! .
She eventually slithered carefully out of bed, realised the baby wasn't about to come out and in a state of complete panic, got on a tram and travelled right across Liverpool to see her eldest sister. When she arrived, her sister just put her on the next tram home and told her to send for the midwife!
My Dad was eventually born the next day by forceps delivery on the kitchen table, while my gran was under chloroform. He was delivered by the local doctor and district nurse. It was a long and difficult birth, and gran told me that before she was anaesthetised, she was was convinced the baby had died, and said the sound of him crying when she regained conciousness was the most wonderful sound she ever heard in her entire life.
Tragically, my Grandad was killed in a car accident 2 years later while they were TTC, so she never had another baby.
She was a marvellous storyteller who was remarkably upfront for a woman of her generation. I'm so glad she shared the story of my Dad's birth with me .