Labour of Love

Just over 3 weeks ago my life changed dramatically, completely. We’ve been gearing up to it for quite some time now, and on Tuesday 17th October things finally kicked off. After months of scans, counting kicks and talking to someone I’d not met yet, and a few weeks of plenty of walking, bouncing on my maternity ball and praying for baby to make an appearance before too long, it was time. With a movie style flood, fortunately while I was at the hospital anyway for a check up, my waters broke and I was whisked up to the maternity unit.

What followed was a day in which I experienced almost every emotion out there. They say all’s well that ends well, and so in that sense it all went relatively smoothly, but my main experience of my labour was a lack of control, as one by one the things I’d hoped for from my labour were taken off the table.

Looking back, I still think we probably made the right decisions (as much as was possible) in terms of all that had to happen, and ultimately it was about getting baby out safely, but it frustrates me that nothing went to plan, and that I didn’t really feel that I had any options as we went through that long night. I’d tried hard to prepare for the birth in so many ways, but my body took most decisions out of my hands, and at first it seemed like all my preparation had been a waste of time.

As I’ve reflected on it all however, I’ve realised that my preparation did help me, just not necessarily in the ways I’d intended. For example relaxation and breathing techniques didn’t allow me to avoid the epidural, but they did help me cope during the 3 hours I spent waiting for the epidural after I’d asked for it. Plenty of exercise and keeping fit during my pregnancy didn’t mean that I could have a very mobile labour and push my baby out without help, but it did still help me work with the doctor to push him out as quickly as possible to make sure he was safe, and to keep going through the night. Hand expressing colostrum in advance didn’t make breastfeeding easy, but it did mean I had enough supply to pump it and feed my little boy while I waited for his tongue tie to be sorted.

And it was all, of course, an excellent lesson in handing control over to God. Seeing my baby with his cord around his neck was scary, but by that stage I’d so completely given the situation over to God (it was blatantly obvious that I couldn’t do it without Him!) that I was able to trust that He’d make sure it was OK. Probably the level of drugs in my system by that point also helped me to stay calm…

And at the end of it all, about 16 hours after my contractions had kicked off properly, my doctor handed the most perfect miracle up to me, and all I’d just been through went out of my mind. I ignored the small army of medical staff sat at the end of my bed stitching me up, I ignored the exhaustion, the feeling of being out of control, and the discomfort, and I lost myself completely in the overwhelming experience of holding my son for the first time. I fell in love, instantly and completely. That feeling still overwhelms me when I look at my little boy. It scares me sometimes, as there is a vulnerability in handing your heart over to something so completely. He may cry a lot at night, feeding might be a challenge at times, and I might be surviving on very little sleep, but I’m head over heels in love with him and I can’t get enough of him.

I’m sure I’ll be writing about getting used to motherhood over the coming weeks and months – from what I’ve experienced so far it’s the hardest and most rewarding thing I’ve ever had to do, but for now I think it’s enough to say that bringing a baby into this world is tough, chaotic and not what I expected, but that there is nothing, at least nothing I’ve experienced, that trumps the feeling of holding my son for the very first time.