Thursday, 29 May 2008

One day I saw a Black Prince

My little Khy Khy turns three in just over an hour. This time three years ago I was sitting on my couch, playing with one of those scooby doo thingy that that teens are quite fond of, while ignoring the intense stomach cramps that were slowly gaining momentum, signalling the imminent arrival of my son. My memory isn't the greatest, but I can still remember the day I went into labour vividly...

Being surrounded by a houseful of guests whose mere presence was irritating me so much that I drove up to the maternity ward just to get away from the noise. Then subsequently being shown the door by the 'midwife from hell' because I wasn't in established labour. Trying to sleep as a bolt of pain struck every twenty minutes. Finally waking up at 7am and driving back to the hospital with Rich and my parents in tow. Being lulled into a sense of security as I foolishly thought 'This labour stuff ain't bad after all", boy was I wrong, soooo very wrong. Hanging on to the gas and air mask for dear life as it finally dawned on me that this labour thing is just as bad as they say it is. My mind slowly drifting away into an out of body existence to deal with the pain. Me feeling as if I'm floating away as the voices became a jumble of incomprehensible words and sounds. The humour and beauty of the midwife who was assigned to me and genuinely seemed to care. The look of horror and hopelessness on my mum's face who was obviously less equipped to deal with her daughter being in pain, than she thought she would be. Rich incessantly saying to me "Just breathe like what we learned in the ante-natal class" - no I didn't wallop him, bless. The joy I felt when the midwife announced that I was 10 centimetres dilated. When the time time arrived for me to push. How this was by far the most painful part of this labour malarky. How it seemed to go on forever although my midwife said it would only last for 30 mins. Trying to jump off the hospital bed and being pushed back down by midwife, Rich, mum and sis-in-law. Everyone cheering me on as if I was a marathon runner. How they all screamed in unison after my final push although I didn't actually believe my baby had arrived. Finally seeing my baby with my own very eyes and feeling as if this is the most surreal experience in my entire life. Realising it was a boy when he peed on the poor midwife who had just spent the best part of eight hours delivering him. Holding him for the very first time and both of us looking into each other's eyes as if trying to figure one another out. Being left in the stirrups as my birth squad seemed to have forgotten about me as they cooed with my new baby. Suddenly feeling very tired and short of breath. Being rushed out of the delivery suite straight upstairs to the maternity ward when I could barely sit up (this is the NHS after all, they need the beds). Saying goodbye to all my family, Rich included, as it was after visiting hours. Curling up with my baby and being afraid I might fall asleep and he might roll off the bed. Putting him down in his cot and watching television. Falling asleep and waking up every couple of hours to check that he's okay. Finally falling asleep and being awoken by his first cry at 6am.

Despite the trauma of labour this still remains the happiest day of my life. And three years later the drama and happiness continues. Happy birthday my little prince, mama loves you.

1 comment:

Ondo Lady said...

That tale has put me off having kids forever. What a cutie pie, you must be so proud.

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I am a thirty-something African Caribbean female from South East London. My blog will shine a light on Black British culture offering the best in entertainment, fashion, beauty, community, film & music, with the occasional personal musing thrown in from yours truly. Thank you for taking out the time to peek into the pages of my diary. Now grab a cup of cocoa, relax and enjoy.