This is your birth story. I am happy to be writing this and still remember most of the details, it was a simple birth and I thank you for choosing me as your Momma.
For the record, I reckon that was a crazy decision but hey, you must know something I don’t so I’m gonna work hard to be the Momma you know I am.
It began on Friday morning, the counting, the nodding of the head “Yes, I think this must be it.” It must have started on Thursday but something told me you would come on Saturday so I didn’t take notice. But by Friday afternoon, we were well on our way. I have that piece of paper, with the minutes, all of them saying it was time. But let me tell you, I was knitting your infamous grey and orange jumpsuit, you know, the one you wore everyday until it didn’t fit you. I kinda wanted to finish it – I didn’t – before giving birth. The entire day went by and by night time it was either rest or go to the hospital, I went for rest because contractions were so far apart, I knew we would get bored there, with nothing to do. So in between knitting, I talked to you. I asked if you were ready and I told you I was. I was scared, I didn’t know if I was strong enough but I was ready.
When the contractions went up to five minutes apart I knew it was time. I didn’t want to go (it was starting to rain) but I knew it was time. The clock was telling me so.
6 am and we left the house, actually it was 5.45. But we got to the Hospital around 6, and this is the part where I leave out all the paperwork that needs to be done, the waiting and the changing of clothes. Your wife will one day tell you that this is the boring-must-be-done part. I believe it’s a way to calm ourselves, in the panic of “There’s a baby on the way!”, if there is time to answer questions, change clothes and wait, trust me, you wait. You take notice of how dark the room is, how nice it feels, unlike the usual Hospital brightness, it feels like a state of sleep. But you can’t sleep. You need to put on crazy Hospital shoes.
And then you’re off to the Birth Room.
Now that, is where the magic happens. I was sure there had been music before but couldn’t remember, and sure enough comes the midwife and asks “Would you like music?” Oh dear son of mine, I do not remember the music.
What I remember is looking at the clock at 8.45am and thinking “This is it.” The midwife asked me what position felt best and with insane back pain somehow we managed a good, perfect position that felt as natural as it could. You were making your way, oh dear. I pushed and faded, so my body took over. I knew I was too tired.
She told me to hold on to the contraction and I tried to explain I didn’t have any strength left in me, but my body did. Then came the words “Mother, I know you can do this. And you have to do this NOW. Because the doctors are coming and they will do it their way.”
Say no more, dear midwife. She knew I didn’t want drugs, helpers, interventions, nothing but me, her and the baby. And she looked straight into me and gave me strength.
So I pushed. And she told me one more would do it. And it did.
Except it happened so fast that she had to yell “Wait! STOP!”
“I can’t, my body is doing it by itself.” I’m being serious here. I stopped pushing midway through the contraction, exhaled and all. But my body kept on going and pushed you out. In one go.
“Well…” She sighted. “I can’t push him back in now. Let’s bring him out.”
With a smile, she handed me you. Your tiny wrinkled self.
It was a good birth Sammy Cakes, you did good, my body did good. You make me realize things I had no idea I could still accomplish and you have been a good sport making my dreams come true. Be them in the form of simply cooking you soup or bathing you in the sink.
Thank you for choosing me. And yes, you were born on a Saturday.