4 years

At this exact time 4 years ago I was sitting up in bed on a block of ice with my knees drawn up to my chest. LH was off having a sleep after his "big night" and I was waiting for him and my Mum and Dad to get there. Curled up next to me, swaddled inexpertly in the hospital blankets was the most perfect creature I had ever seen. She had a squashed face, a giant cephalohaematoma on the back of her head (LH called it her halo), ears that were still stuck to her head, no eyelashes and almost no hair aside from a single golden strand sprouting from her forehead. But to me I had never seen anything so beautiful. Her skin was luminous. I have never seen a baby with such beautiful skin, and her cheeks were flushed with rose. So many times in the next few hours I would pick up her teensy tiny little body and press my cheek to the satin of hers and drink in that new baby smell.

I still could not believe that I had a baby. It was an amazing shock when she was placed in my arms at 3:34am on 02/03/04, that after such excrutiating pain, pain that ripped me to my soul, that there was no pain. There was just awe that I had made this. LH and I had made this. A whole new person. A whole new perfect person. A whole new perfect girl. I was a mother. For 4 years now I have been a mother. An inexpert, bumbling, oft failing one, but a mother nonetheless. A mother who this morning woke to having her tall, skinny daughter jump on her far too early and exclaim after asked what day it was "It's my BIRTHDAY!!!" before singing "Happy Birthday to meeee, Happy Birthday to meeeeeeeee, Happy Birthday Dear Elfing... Happy Birthday to ME" followed by gargantuan cuddles and giggles.

4 years ago...

The heat of late February was scorching and as gravid as my belly. The power would often fail as the grid tried to keep up with the demand for airconditioners and fans and I would sit in a lukewarm bath feeling the sweat roll into the bath and patting my swollen front bit focusing intensely on what was to come. I can remember sweat stinging my eyes as it rolled down my forehead and the smell of the drying sandalwood soap that I was using in the last few weeks as a Pavlovian association so I could remember these last few days of being pregnant forever.

I completely went into myself in the last week. I think I knew instinctively that *it* was coming. The day, the night, the birth and then I would hold her in my arms. But as it drew closer I was consumed with the birth. Our birth. The day when one would become two.

That Monday morning as I walked down the hill in the humid rising heat towards the city I *knew*. I knew she was coming. I felt different somehow. I remember catching the bus home, clutching what I knew was my last purchase before she came sitting in the "pregnant mothers designated seating" that it was coming. I smiled the whole way - the owner of the most precious and incredible secret in the world. I got home and made up the cot with the new blanket and sheets that I had bought and remember just sitting in her room. The bright, warm sunny room, rocking gently in my chair, looking at the brand new furniture. Smelling the finish on the new wardrobe and gloating over the tiny clothes held within.

When DH came home that afternoon he knew something was different as well. He was restless and jittery in contrast to my serenity. When we were lying in bed in the early evening and my "show" had shown itself I remember grinning inanely. Yes it was coming. What *it* was I still wasn't sure, but it was.

I don't remember if we ate dinner that night. I'm sure we must have. But the evening progressed like most others had. Warm and humid, we lazed around watching TV. As I was watching I felt a dragging sensation deep in my pelvis. The exact same sensation as period pain. I ignored it. A while later I had the same sensation again. It continued for about an hour before I mentioned it to DH. While uncomfortable it didn't *hurt* and being as I had had much worse with endo pain and periods I figured this must just be what Braxton Hicks felt like. But I was resltess by this stage. I didn't want to watch crappy television and felt the need to go into my bedroom where it was cool and clean and comforting.

At some stage we decided to "time" these pains. It seemed like a good idea considering everyone does it on TV and we were kind of lost as to what we should do. The dragging pains were coming every 10 minutes or so. Sometimes less. The sensation was also becoming more uncomfortable. I could still talk through them comfortably though so I just assumed that this wasan't the real thing yet. Maybe it was the prelude, but it wasn't labour.

The time between was gradually shortening as well. I tried the bath but it annoyed me as it restricted my movement, so I got out. I remember feeling an overwhelming need to be on all fours and rocking backwards and forwards felt great. It got rid of most of the uncomfortableness that had started to actually feel painful. I felt compelled to go into the nursery. To feel the energy of that room. I remember kneeling on the floor with my head on my arms on the rocking ottoman and rocking gently through the contractions. It felt so good.

By this stage we figured that I might be in labour and we hastily packed a bag by throwing in whatever looked likea good idea at the time. (I don't think we used more than one or two things out of it). By now things were starting to feel serious. The contractions were actually painful and although moving and rocking and my heat pack against my pelvic bone and alternately my sacrum took the edge off, I could not ignore them any more - and even if I had wanted to, they were coming every 2-3minutes. Being as antenatal classes had instructed to call when we reached 5 minutes apart, we thought we ought to call. The midwife on the end of the phone asked how long I'd been feeling *twinges* which at that stage had been about 2 hours and brushed me off breezily insisting that I had plenty of time to go.

So I paced and I rocked and I pushed the heat as deep into my pelvis as I could. But half an hour later the contractions were down to every 1-2 minutes. Although I didn't have a fear that I was going to give birth at home, I was feeling the need of the reassurance of a birth attendant. DH just looked bewildered and didn't know what to do. I needed to be with people who could tell me that I was doing well, and could tell me how we were progressing. So we called the midwife back to let her know we were coming in. By this stage contractions were coming with barely a nreak between them. And although I could cope with them silently I needed to go. I remember closing the garage door and thinking that this was the last time that it would be just the two of us driving away from the house. That when I returned through the front door there would always be someone else.

The trip to the hospital was quiet and mercifully short. As we drove along the highway, lit with lights the river sparkled as we coasted by. I could see the lights of the hospital as we approached. A beacon of safety as we drove in silence.

Once we got to the labour ward, my contractions were coming harder and stronger and longer. But the lady at the desk was not particularly hurried in processing our details. After several minutes of confiming our details, she left us for 10 minutes to find a midwife to take us to the birthing suites. At this stage I was still silent through contractions, even answering questions though they annoyed me, shifting my focus onto insignificant things.

I asked to be checked when we reached our room and was found to be 6-7cm which surprised my midwife. She then tried to put the CTG on me because it was routine even though my OB had assured me that I didn't have to do it. But as I hadn't felt Oofty move since the beginning I assented. But I couldn't stay still during contractions. By this stage there was no denying that they hurt. The belt would slip and lose the trace, and following protocols the midwife would tell me they needed to get me to have the trace done. In the end I refused. It was impossible for me to be still. And I wanted the shower.

The shower was blissful. I sat upright on a birthing ball with warm water directed at my belly, low in the pelvic region. The pain still wracked my body relentlessly but I felt so strong. And there was still a gap of about 30 seconds or so between each one where I could just calm myself. But that gap got shorter and shorter and the pain started to invade all of my thoughts. I turned off the cold water and let just straight hot water be directed at my belly while instructing DH to rub hard against my sacrum.

By this stage I couldn't talk properly and the intensity just blew me away. I remember thinking then that this was just the beginning, that it was goign to get worse and the flicker of doubt began to flame. I couldn't do this. I didn't want to do this. I wanted to go home. As the contractions started to pile on top of eachother I lurched forward and nothing helped. I'd had enough, I wanted out. The pain, oh God the pain. But not sharp pain with a sting, achy, dragging, pressurised pain that I couldn;t relieve or distract myself from.

I had known it was going to be painful but at that point I felt like I was dying. Or maybe I hoped that I was. It was interminal and unrelenting. It made my legs quiver and feel like jelly because I couldn't use any of my brain power to keep them working to support me. Every fibre of my being was consumed by the pain. Coping with the pain. I forgot I was having a baby, I forgot that the pain had a purpose. I was just lost in the sensation of my body taking over. I wanted someone to fix it, I wanted to forget it had ever happened as I reached out and hit the red button on the wall in front of me. The midwife came back admonishing me for pressing the "emergency" button. Even in my pain I felt embarrassed for hassling her. I asked for the gas. It was my only pain relief option that I would allow myself even then. But I think what I had wanted more was the support. The encouragement of someone to tell me how well I was doing. To acknowledge that it hurt but to remind me why.

The gas was wheeled into the bathroom and after a cursory lecture on how to use it I grasped it like a lifeline. And the midwife left us alone again. DH fearful and lost, and me grasping the mouthpiece like a lifeline. It did nothing. In fact I don't even know if it was turned on. But it gave me a focus. I had to rattle that bead with every breath. Nothing was helping though. I was trying to work out how I could run away and leave my body behind. I think I begged DH to make it stop. I felt so helpless as my body revved up several more gears.

Then the sensation changed. I felt myself involuntarily bear down. And in spite of the lecture of the time before I pressed the red button again. There was NO way that I was sending DH out to find her. I needed him to knead my back and direct the scorching hot water there.

The midwife bustled back in and hustled me out to the bed so that she could check that I was actually *there* (It had afterall been only 4 hours since the original twinges). Although I missed the shower, I loved that someone else was giving directions. I was in no state myself to direct the proceedings - Iwas afterall battling an internal dialogue that was insisting that I just runaway and forget about the whole thing.

The examination showed that I was 9cm and another midwife came in and told me that I should do whatever it felt like my body wanted me to do. If I wanted to push then that was fine. So I let myself push a little. Tentatively because I didn't know how I was supposed to be doing it. The new midwife encouraged me. She praised me and talked about how well I was doing. I was pitiful in my gratitude for her praise. I didn't really believe her but I clung to that admiring tone.

My OB was called as I got through the contractions as best I could. When he arrived the pain lessened almost immediately. It was still unbearable in a way that words and even memory cannot describe but my confidence, shattered by transition gave a tiny hurrah. Here was someone that knew me, was cheerful and upbeat and was reminding me I was going to have a baby. Imagine that! A BABY!

Pushing was strange. I never realised before that I would need coaching on how to do it. But I really had no idea. The fact that DD was malrotated probably had something to do with that, as did the fact that I was pushing with my waters intact. They asked to break my waters and I acquiesced. I didn't give a damn. If they'd told me that standing on my head would have helped I think I would have done that too.

Pushing was a relief in some ways. It was active. It was strong. And blessedly between each wave there was a break where I flaked out or even at one stage joked with my attendants (oh and the gas had been given away long ago). It was just me and the power of my body and my cheer squad. I had thought that the "push push push" of the movies would irritate me. But I needed it. I couldn't formulate a thought for myself and I needed the direction.

I remember focusing on the clock on the wall in front of me, and trying to work out where an hour had gone. Nothing felt different either after all that time. They brought out a mirror to try and show me that things were happening so that I didnt get discouraged. But it was abstract and strangely grotesque - not in an "ew I'm looking at genitals" point of view, but an oh my God, look how distended that all is. I was trying desperately to relax my pelvic floor as I pushed, but fear and pain combined with the fact that I had an extremely strong and toned pelvic floor meant that it was not easy to make it lax.

Another hour passed. This hour seemed to progress for me, and towards the end I felt her whole head in my vagina. Hard and unyielding, but she couldn't pass the final hurdle. I was still pushing hard but was so tired, pain was still wracking my body and rendering me mute in my "quiet" periods. In the brief breaks all I wanted was to sleep. I remember an explanation somewhere - her head was crowning at a weird angle, she was still facing the wrong way and her neck was extended rather than flexed. Her heartrate was also starting to change a little. Not enough to be concerned, but still different.

My OB told me that we were going to try the ventouse. I begged not to, and with the next few contractions pushed with as much vigour and strength as I could. Still powerful, still strong. But she wouldn't move. So the ventouse was assembled and inserted.

Until that moment I had not known true pain. My body split open at that time and I made my first real noise. I screamed. Not a horror film scream but louder, purer. A single note that shook even my experienced care providers. They apologised, they soothed, they promised that it would be all over but I was lost in the pain. There was nothing else but pain. Until the next contraction where as I pushed, the gentle traction of the ventouse extracted her head, her face flattened by my pubic bone, facing towards me. I was still unable to feel a single thing besides pain. I barely registered her tiny head as the next contraction slammed into my perineum. And she was out. So quickly. Her arms flailing out so that she suddenly seemed huge - all arms and legs and was placed over my heart.

There was no pain. The shock of that, and the desperate fear that I was goign to drop this lard covered *thing* on my chest left me bewildered. For a second I could not process what had happened. The room was silent, and in the centre of it all was DD nestled into my breast. I had a baby. There was no more labour I HAD A BABY. I had a baby girl. I think I wanted to cry at that point - I didn't know why I wasn't crying. But somehow I was beyond that. I had endured such pain, I had been so strong and I had made this. MY BABY.

I was elated. I felt like I could conquer the world. I had experienced that rite of passage. I was a woman who had birthed her child. My heart sang and felt as if it would burst. I felt so incredibly proud of what I had achieved. LOOK what I had achieved. Look at this bundle that grew within me. Look at how perfect she is.

But I was also in awe of myself. What I had done, what I had been through. What it had taken to bring her forth into the world. The power and intensity of it. The pure achievement of it. The fact that I suddenly felt connected to mothers before me. That they had been through this filled me with awe. How do we not talk about this - gloat about this? This was Everest with an even bigger reward! How could it be that so many women go through this every few minutes and it is commonplace? It was so incredible. So humbling. Even now, [4] years later the power and courage and the strength of it all still leave me breathless.

Happy Birthday my beautiful Elfling. Thank you for giving me the gift of being your mother.