Labour and all my Christmases

26 November 2020

Cassie and I are watching the kids sleep on the monitor, reminiscing about the day I went into labour with Jono. “Remember how you were clenching your teeth every ten minutes, and we had just been to the MCH appointment for Lochie, and made a coffee, and a rhubarb cake with icecream?” Cassie recalls this day.

The memories wash so beautifully over me. I thought it was a false alarm since my waters had not even broken (turns out they don’t need to break before labour), but Cassie insisted I call the doctor.

Just as I was about to have my coffee and rhubarb cake (with icecream), the doctor told me in no uncertain terms to avoid eating anything and get to the birthing suite. I called Donald at work to come home, we grabbed our pre-packed bags and went.

Even writing this now makes my fingers tingle with the excitement and unadulterated anticipation one has before going on a holiday, or on Christmas morning. The day has arrived.

Come on, labour pains, come more frequently, don’t tease me, don’t lie to me, I’m 38 weeks today and I am so ready to meet the new little man of my universe.

I’m not sure what’s better – the rush of seeing the double lines on the pregnancy test, or knowing you’ll be returning home with a new human.

It’s almost worth getting knocked up again just to enjoy that high.