The day we’d been waiting for for about nine months arrived a week early.
It started in the early hours, as I lay in bed wondering if that was the sensation of my waters breaking.
For the next 16 hours, nothing much happened. Four hours after that, I was bringing our son into the world.
People talk about this instant, overwhelming love you feel for your child and I wondered if I would I get that straight away. People say they love their child before they’ve even met them, and when I was pregnant I wasn’t sure I could say that I did.
But I was sure I loved him when he was placed on my chest, brand new, wriggling and crying. He was covered in blood and goo, but he was so beautiful. We called him Samuel.
My labour really wasn’t as bad as I’d been expecting. That said, my friends with their horror birth stories ensured I was “prepared” for it to be pretty terrible. I realise I was lucky it was quick. At the time, I felt quite out of control and now I look back I’m in awe of what my body and I achieved in those few hours as a Wednesday became a Thursday, the last day of March.
To millions of people in the world, an unremarkable night. To us, life-changing.
Time with him is flying already and it’s hard to imagine life when we were not three.
I missed him as soon as he was born and I was whisked off for surgery, even though we’d only had him in our lives for a matter of minutes.
I miss him when he sleeps (even though I’m grateful for being able to eat, nap or take on tasks using two hands).
I miss watching all the funny faces he pulls. I miss watching his eyes, now more alert and interested, track around the room. I miss wondering what he’s thinking. I miss stroking his tiny arms and hands and feeling his miniature fingers tighten around mine. I miss staring at this incredible being we have created and wondering about all the things he might do and see.
Of course, I miss having a solid seven or eight hours’ sleep a night too, but it’s a small price to pay ;)