Happy Birthday Little Big Man!!

So,  in honour of my beautiful little big man, who turned seven yesterday, I want to dedicate this post to him. I am in awe of how fast he has grown and what we have achieved over the last seven years.

I am going to start at the very beginning, the labour, ohh sweet Jesus! I was at an old friend’s house, we were ordering a dominoes, even though I wasn’t hungry, it was a Sunday evening (Sunday roasts weren't as precious to me then as they are now) I had a mild tummy ache, to be honest,  I thought I may be about to have the squits. Bearing in mind, at this point, I was seven days over my due date, I didn’t feel comfortable when sitting, I tried to go to the toilet but nothing happened. I had to go home. I was living  by myself in a one bedroom flat at the time, it was great!

I started texting my mum, as she was my birthing partner, my life saviour, my rock, if you will. I eventually went  to bed but woke up every hour, with a contraction, they were manageable so I kept falling back to sleep, however, when I woke up at 5am, I needed my mum, I needed her with me, I couldn't do it by myself anymore. Mum came at 7am, I was so glad to see her! The pain eased when she turned up, because I knew I wasn't alone anymore. I had a bath, as apparently that is supposed to help ease the pain, I think I stayed in there for 20 mins. I got out, dried and dressed. 

Trying to take my mind off the pain we decided to assemble the pushchair. I was told that putting that and the cot up before baby arrived was bad luck, and first child superstitions had got the better of me. Also I now realise that I was incredibly naive when baby kicked or didn’t kick, I just never appreciated the seriousness of it, I don’t know if it was seen as of major importance seven years ago. I can recall it never seemed to bother me. 

So the pushchair was up and ready to go, bag was packed, hospital phoned and given the low-down, they said just to wait till I started  crying in pain, so I thought, fair enough I have got this!

I also had an appointment at the council offices on that day, I can’t remember what for but, after my mum decided to drive over every hump and bump in the road, I wasn’t prepared to get out of the car and go and speak to someone about something that seemed quite trivial in comparison to my immediate situation, and I was starting to feel quite sick. 

We got to mum’s house and I fancied a fry-up. Pregnancy hormones really are fascinating, feeling sick one minute, scoffing my face with a full English the next. I then thought about what may happen during the labour, pushing so hard may ease out a very large poo, I had heard the stories, oh the embarrassment, however, that fry-up stayed in for the  next couple of days.

It got to around 3 pm on Monday afternoon and I went to the toilet, however,  when I came out the pain stopped me in my tracks, I froze; I couldn't move; I was in agony; I cried; I sobbed. Mum got on the phone and called the midwife, she told them I was crying, BOOM, off we went. Unfortunately, we left as the school up the road was coming out, in fact every school between home and the hospital were finishing for the day, it felt like the longest journey ever, getting to that hospital,  and it’s normally only 10 mins up the road!

Finally we arrived at the hospital, I remember lying on a bed and eventually having my waters broken by one of the midwives who was a family friend. That got  the process kicking off a bit quicker thank god! I was starting to get a bit tired. I had a cannula inserted, the first one made the vein on my hand swell to the size of my thumb, that made me feel sick! It was taken  out and tried again (oh its making my stomach turn just writing this) I’ve hated needles ever since. (I used to give blood and had no problems with needles or even watching the blood drawn out from my veins. Now, I can’t think of anything worse).

After that I remember chuffing away on the gas and air, I loved it, I felt quite drunk, I was even telling the midwife that I loved her, I was high on life! It was like ecstasy (i'm just using the saying, as it is something I have never taken, FYI), but then I felt sick, I had overdosed on it. 

I requested an epidoodle, (aka Epidural)  because I was getting tired and  it was really hurting and, after 26 hours in pain, I didn't want to feel it anymore, the epidural worked and the pain vanished. 

The Midwife said “In about an hour, we can start pushing" This was like half midnight. I felt pressure on my bottom, and asked her to look as I could feel something. She was reluctant, even though the woman, being me, having a baby, knew exactly what her body wanted her to do. I NEEDED TO PUSH! 

Eventually, after having a peek, she saw that I was right, as the baby's head was crowning. He turned up 45 minutes  later. Tuesday 31st January 2012 at 1.22AM. We were all so calm, my mum even sat down and read her magazine while I was panting away. He was so long, mum thought he was going to fall off the table, the midwives were shocked as to how I’d had such a neat little bump, with such a long baby weighing 8lb 11oz.

During my pregnancy I never found out the baby’s sex, I wanted the surprise. I know we say that all we care about is for the baby to be healthy, obviously that was the case for me too, but I really hoped for  a boy, and  I was blessed.

Mum left. Obviously we stayed in hospital. I had a catheter inserted and filled the bag twice. After I got upstairs they took the catheter out and said they would come back in an hour to see if I could do a wee. Well 15 mins later I desperately needed a wee, so I called the midwife, who was in shock, she said that was impossible, as I shouldn’t have much feeling down below, she also told me I would break my hips if I got up, so I had to do a crab manoeuvre  whilst hovering over the bedpan, trickling away, she then asked if I was going to stop anytime soon, my answer, was no. No, I was not going to stop any time soon, she needed to get me another pan, I had loads more to go. It was a tricky transition but we made it. That was the biggest wee I had ever done, it was a proud moment second only to just giving birth.

Obviously I spent the night in the hospital and, because of the epidural, I needed to do three wees before I was allowed to leave. Which (see previously) I was able to do.

We arrived home at around 5 p.m. Mum had been shopping and got some bits for us so I didn’t need to leave my flat for a week or so. Our plans were that she would stay with us, the first night, after we got home but, because she had been up for well over 24 hours she was exhausted, and I told her I could manage and she should go home.

That was it, I remember it so well, me and my little long bundle of joy alone. Me and him. That was it, I was proud. I felt so strong, so independent. I nailed it, we nailed it. I loved it! 

From then on it was me and him, we slept a lot, we ate a lot, I watched him grow, I still watch him grow, he is an amazing, funny, well mannered young man with a  beautiful spirit. 

Don’t get me wrong, his attitude is sometimes worse than a teenagers, but he still lights up the room when he walks in. I cannot express how insane the past few years have been, yet, he’s always been there. I have gained friends, I have lost friends, I have lost family. But he is always there, he is my support. It sounds silly because he is my son, I am his mother and I support him, but he literally gave me a new life. It’s odd, I had such a  crazy time during that pregnancy. He has made me who I am right now, he made me go down a better path, one that has made me so lucky and so grateful for everything. And it is all down to him. 

After reading this back, and recalling past memories that have been missed out for personal reasons, I can remember all the feelings I felt around that time. My son made me grow up, he is such a strong character, I am proud of what I have done and how I have bought him up. I want to thank him, and I, literally, cannot wait to hold him and squeeze him so tight. My little big man, Happy Birthday.

Love Mummy xx 💗💗💗