Jack is almost one year old – unbelievably! I’m writing a retrospective of our first year as a family for Jack to read when he’s older. It’s a bit longer than I thought it would be. And as yet unfinished. So I’m publishing it in segments.
It’s been an incredible year - veering from incredibly amazing to incredibly rubbish. Having a baby throws everything off kilter. I seem to have experienced the full spectrum of my emotions and well beyond – sometimes on a daily basis.
I’m not sure we’ve regained our balance yet.
So here we are, with a short, not-so-bald-any-more, one year old guy sharing our apartment. Our little man. When he’s tucked up in bed and I have a window of calm, a respite from the constant demands, I think about him and he makes my heart swell. I feel total unconditional love - because he can annoy the hell out of me and I can think dark, dark thoughts about being his mother – but I always come back to this place. He has taken over our lives. We will belong to him forever.
We must remember to enjoy these sweet days of dependence while he is ours too.
Let’s take a look back over the year shall we?
Birth
Man, what a trip that was! And I didn’t even get to try the drugs...
You know where that head came out of don't you?
It seems that every baby arrives on a bed of nervous anticipation. We don’t know when you will decide to put in an appearance. We don’t know how it’s going to work out.
Pushing you out into the world was, in a word, painful. Not the rest of the birth. Those surges were a picnic compared to your entry. Or exit depending on how you look at it. Feeling myself stretch open beyond the limits of my skin. Resting, then racked by waves and my body pushing, pushing you down while my mind raced, struggled, trying to rationalise what was happening to me. But how can you rationalise something so primordial?
On my knees, bent over with my hands gripping the end of the bed with all my might. I could feel you taking up all the space between my legs and the midwife pulling my leg further out to make room for you. Barely a millimetre of movement. With every surge my body pushed you down and my mind pulled you back. How could I push when it was hurting me more every time? No one chooses to hurt themselves. What sane person volunteers to put their hand in the fire?
I began to sense the panic in their voices. It was taking too long to push you out. I saw the light reflect on the blade behind me. I knew the midwife would cut me if she had to. For your sake. I remembered why I was here and suddenly I feared for you, literally wedged between two worlds. It was my responsibility to deliver you safely.
‘One more big push,’ she said. ‘You can get the baby out on the next contraction. Just one more really big push…you can do this’. I needed to hear that. With those words I waited for the surge to come, I gripped, I readied myself and when it rolled over me I pushed. So help me God I pushed. One last long low groan and suddenly…pop! The sweetest feeling of release as you slid into the world.
Your dad, hovering down the ‘business end’ helped the midwife catch you. No mean feat – you babies are slippery customers. We wanted the cord to stop pulsating before it was cut and since you had been caught from behind me as it were, the midwife put you on the floor between my legs.
I hadn’t envisioned this. In my mind I was already reclining on the bed and someone would hand me my calm baby. I looked down at you, this small, slippery, slightly blue and loudly screaming thing. With a small shock I registered your boy bits. ‘Well,’ said the midwife, ‘Go on - pick him up’.
I reached for you. I held you against me as they helped me onto the bed. Again – no mean feat with shaky post-birth legs, a short umbilical cord and your slippery little body desperately clasped against my stomach. Please don’t let me drop him!
We got onto the bed. They covered us with blankets. My whole body started to shake. The shock, apparently, of giving birth. You screamed. I looked at Alexis. He looked at me. We looked at you. You continued to scream. I asked the midwife if this was normal. She shrugged. Or at least in my memory she shrugged.
Eventually you stopped screaming and started to look at us. We said hello. Finally we meet. You were so handsome. So completely perfect. I was enthralled. The midwife helped you latch on and you breastfed for the first time. I was physically exhausted but on a huge emotional high. We did it!
The happy and tired family
***WORLD FIRST*** Plastic woman gives birth to large blanket
No comments:
Post a Comment