Most countries I imagine, require you to register your child's birth. In England, by law, you are required to present yourself, with partner, at your dreary local council offices to register you new offspring.
All my children were registered in Hammersmith in west London, where a sullen lady in a shabby office in a big grey building asks you lots of impertinent questions. Registering my last child went something like this:
Lady: Occupation?
Spug: Blacksmith.
Lady: Is that what you do for a living Mr Spence?
Spug: Not precisely, but I sort of make things.
Lady: Mr Spence, under regulation 663312b I am required to note you correct occupation, supplying false information is a crime. Mr Spence are you a Blacksmith?
Spug: No, I am a computer programmer .. oh what about software developer?
Lady: Software Developer it is Mr Spence.
Here is an extract from the resulting birth certificate, with my dull profession all typed up for posterity - how unromantic it all sounds.
What made me think of all this was my cousin turning up today with the birth certificate of my Great Great Grandfather. Here is an extract:
So what does he do for a living? Shepherd - no less. So that's what I should have said.
Oh and by the way, yeah my middle name is Gordon.... so what? You looking at me?
;-)