The day my world changed, I felt many things.
I felt excitement. I felt pain. I felt bothered. I felt tenderness. I felt raw, down to the core, passion. And I felt like I was about to do the biggest poo of my life. That was the day that my beautiful baby boy was born.
Baby C arrived in this world at 9:00pm, on the 24th of February, 2014. He was perfect. Ten tiny fingers. Ten angelic toes. And a very familiar face—a little clone of my precious Mr C. Three hours after my baby boy was born, the clock struck midnight and I turned 31 years old.
I had been anxious for my birthday to come and go. Usually, I count down the days until my birthday, and when it finally comes, I cherish every moment. But this year was different. I didn’t want my precious little one to have to share a birthday with anyone. Even if it did mean that I would be getting the most awesome birthday present ever, should baby C choose the 25th of February to be born.
My due date was projected to be the 3rd of March. Close. Too close, if you ask me. So when the 24th of February rolled around, one day until my birthday, I felt the anxiety grow. All I needed to do was keep my legs closed tight for two more days. A very doable feat, I imagined.
I woke on the morning of the 24th with constipation pains and a hungry belly. Now, when I say I woke up in the morning, what I really mean is that I woke up at 4am and endured another bout of pregnancy insomnia. I grabbed a choc chip muesli bar— 4am food—and chomped away at it until all that was left was an empty wrapper crumpled on the arm of the couch.
I sat and watched the morning show on TV and tenderly rubbed the pains in my belly away, wondering if this might be the sort of thing that I might feel at the beginning of labour. And there was only one thing for my curiosity: Dr Google. Dr Google said that some woman do experience constipation/food poisoning type pains as early labour indicators, but then again, Dr Google says a lot of random things. I couldn’t help but giggle at myself. Even in my last week of pregnancy, my first thought in the face of a new symptom was to consult Dr Google.
The morning show news segment displayed the date as ‘24th February’ and I shook my head as I thought of my little baby nestled away in my belly. I knew that I was willing this little one to stay in there with all that I had, just for a couple more days, but as I looked at that date on the screen something about it seemed ominous. Ridiculous, I know. But something inside me, perhaps the constipation pains, had me thinking that today just might be the day. I shrugged it off as a silly dream. I was exactly 39 weeks pregnant. First time Mothers are notorious for delivering fashionably late babies—who was I to be the exception to that rule.
7 am arrived and I was beginning to tire. I knew that I still had half an hour of snuggle time with Mr C before he had to get up, so I popped on back to bed, rolled into his arms and fell asleep. 7:30 came way too soon. Mr C prepared for work and when he was done, he sat down beside me on the bed and gave me my usual goodbye kiss. The constipation pains were still there, so I decided that it would be a good idea to check out his movements for the day. The last thing I needed was to have a husband in a meeting across town if I truly was going into labour.
‘Do you have any meetings on today, bubs?’ I asked, careful not to give away the true reason as to why I was asking.
‘Yep,’ he replied. ‘Three, actually. At 11, 1 and 2 o’clock.’
‘Oh, cool.’ I said before wishing him luck and sending him off on his way.
Little did we know, the next time we would see each other, I would be in full blown labour.
To be continued…