Disclaimer: I won't try to deny it. This is a birth story, there will be talk of things some people find disgusting, even unmentionable. You are free to read on, or you are free to close the window now. It's your choice and I take no responsibility for it!
The morning of Wednesday 20th March, I woke up in an excellent mood. That was the day I should have been going under the knife in a planned c-section had my original gynae had her way. I had escaped it and I felt supported by so many friends, family members and medics alike, and finally I even felt confident again that my body could do the job it was designed to do. I was having an "I am woman, hear me roar" day. To top it off, I had even had a good night's sleep, only having woken once to use the loo (as opposed to the three and sometimes even four times of more recent nights).
I then went to the bathroom before breakfast and realised I'd had a show, and there was fresh blood. I took this as a good sign. Emily's show involved old blood and she was born a week later. Considering my cervix was already well on its way to being fully effaced the Saturday before (when my midwife told me she didn't quite think I'd make it until my appointment on the 23rd), I took it as a sign that things were happening. I even told David to ensure he'd handed things over at work, just in case.
See, 21st March was my gut feeling day. I'd even noted it in the due date sweepstakes a few weeks before. My mother also had a feeling it would be that day, and when her work got cancelled for the rest of March a few days earlier, thus freeing her schedule completely, our gut feeling grew substantially. Sometimes the universe just knows.
I reinforced what we'd already been telling her for several weeks throughout the day: "Soon, it will be time for Adam to come out of Mummy's tummy, so Mummy and Daddy will go to the doctor and Emily will have fun with Nannu and Nanna." It was language she understood, having explained it to us in those (almost exact) words herself. We didn't dare drift too far from what she understood, and it paid off. She'd then carry on and excitedly tell me about how we'd put him in his little cot, and especially about how he would be bringing her a present.
David got home and we bathed her and read her favourite book, The Tiger Who Came to Tea, and put her to bed, all the while very much aware we may not be there to do so the next day. I'd been having very particular cramping throughout the day, and a few very strong Braxton Hicks (although no regularity whatsoever), and the bleeding continued.
We then chilled out and watched the last few episodes of Mr Selfridge and then remembered it was Grey's Anatomy night so we watched that too. We went to bed at midnight (in hindsight, not the smartest of moves), and on my way, as usual, I stopped by Emily's room where I completely lost my cool and started crying. On some level, I knew she wouldn't be my only baby after that night and my heart broke a little bit. I was grateful for the fun day we'd had together, but I was worried about her reaction, and worried that she may be upset when she didn't find us there in the morning. I shrugged it off, gave her a quiet kiss, and went to bed.
[Read Part II]
This blog is now closed. The story continues over on Flip Flops and Flying Carpets.
Thank you for reading.
Thank you for reading.