Last week Jolene made a weird and wonderful discovery. Her oven, with its uncanny knack of burning biscuits and accumulating baked on crud, doubles as a time machine! Of course, she would have known this far sooner if she cleaned it more regularly!
Where will Jolene’s grime-travel take her today?
Friday 6th June 2008
I am standing in the delivery room bent over the bed, butt naked with Hubbster, the midwife and various other student midwives/doctors gathered somewhere close by. To be honest at this point, the Welsh male voice choir could be in the room too and I wouldn’t give a shit.
After four hours of very uncomfortable back labour and intermitantly sucking on the gas and air like my life depended on it its all stations go. In a moment reminiscent of the movie Alien, Baby Foghorn has squirmed his way back into position, and on my request the midwife has broken my waters.
Between my legs is the shiny wet head of Foghorn. He has made his slow entrance into the world and I’m not sure if he doesn’t like what he sees, or if all the faces peering at him are putting him off, but he has been hanging there now for several minutes.
“Come on,” urges the midwife. “You can do it.”
“Oh yes, I am well aware of that,” I want to tell her. At this stage I’m guessing that I may have hit the point of no return, and let’s face it, I’ve done the hardest bit. I have puffed and panted and pushed my way through the burning sensation as my baby’s head crowned and emerged.
Despite what the midwife is telling me, my body is telling me something different. I close my eyes and listen to it. Right now it is telling me to rest, to take a few minutes.
“Come on babe,” Hubbster whispers in my ear. He has been my rock throughout the labour. He has held my hand, mopped my brow, offered words of encouragement when needed and eaten the lunch that was brought into the room for me. He’s good like that.
But right now I want him to shut the hell up and leave me to enjoy this trance-like state in peace. And it is strangely peaceful.
It is 7 whole minutes before my body tells me it is time. The urge to bear down builds and I squat and groan as the rest of his perfect little body emerges into the waiting hands of the midwife.
The midwife attempts to pass Foghorn up to me through my legs, but my legs feel suddenly shaky. Hubbster helps me sit up on the bed and then I take my beautiful baby, hold him against my chest and admire his perfect features. He is so much like his big brother, but different too. Unique.
The midwife is checking me for tears and rips and announces much to my relief that I am in tact. I feel suddenly and foolishly very proud of my super-stretchy vagina and make a mental note to thank her properly with a pamper session or something.
Hubbster leans in to admire his new son and in that moment my heart could burst with love….and relief….and just a little sadness that I have had to relinquish my grip on the gas and air.
Placing his arm around my shoulders and kissing me Hubbster then whispered those special words I will never forget.
“I love you,” he breathed.
Heart fills to bursting point.
I register the cheeky sparkle in his eyes “But… your fanny looks like a half eaten hamburger.”
And I laugh so hard that Baby Foghorn still snug on my tummy looks like he is bobbing around on a waterbed.
Hubbster kisses me, and I fall head over heels in love with him all over again.
Who said romance is dead, eh?
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I will be eternally grateful! 🙂