On this day, one year ago, I woke up early even though the house was unusually quiet. I knew my two year old daughter would be wide awake at her Nan and Pa’s place. I imagined her pulling on my Dad’s arm saying, “Feed the birds, Pa? Feed the birds?” I missed her a little already, and wondered when I’d see her next. One day? Two…?
On this day, one year ago, my husband and I drove calmly to the maternity ward (again) for me to be induced (again) at 41 weeks (again). No waters breaking in the middle of the night. No timing contractions. No mad-dash to hospital. Not even a single false alarm.
On this day, one year ago, I listened to other women as they arrived at the birthing suites, laboured and delivered. I heard their babies cry, and I heard them leave to go to their wards. All the while I waited for something to kickstart my own labour. I paced the halls. We walked laps of the carpark.
On this day, one year ago, with all other options tried, I agreed to the synto drip (again). But this time I refused the epidural. An avalanche of contractions descended upon me. There is no easing you into labour with the drip.
On this day, one year ago, I roared an apology through the wall to the couple in the next suite still in the early stages of labour. I didn’t use pain relief but I did use my lungs.
On this day, one year ago, I gave birth to a son. I learnt that you really can love your second child as much as your first. I discovered that my little girl really was ready to become a big sister. And I was reminded (again) that my husband really is an amazing man.
On this day, I remember. Happy birthday my beautiful boy. xx