I don’t remember the exact moment that N was born. I really don’t. I remember yelling out in pain and the midwife telling me to save my energy. I remember wanting to slap her when I was there 24 hours earlier and she told me I was only 2cm dilated. I remember the look on my gynae’s face when I told her I wanted to go home and labour on my own. But I really don’t remember that last push.
I remember them putting N on me. She was warm. But I don’t remember what I saw when I looked at her. I mean I must’ve looked at her right? But then they took her away and I remember watching the needle and thread, feeling the pokes and pinches each time the needle disappeared out of my view. I remember getting a jab on my thigh and it bled.
I remember feeling so exhausted. But they had left N on me for skin-to-skin. I remember telling H to take her away because I was too tired. I remember feeling numb and absent. I remember thinking to myself that I was already a bad mother wanting her baby taken away but I didn’t know what to do with this warm, crying thing on my chest. I wanted to cry too. I wanted to close my eyes. I remember looking at the clock. “We’ll come back in an hour”. I couldn’t do it. Can they come now?
Ah, childbirth. What a joy.
I laboured for 33 hours and mostly at home, and then I delivered my baby without any pain relief administered or any medical intervention whatsoever.
To this day, I remain proud of myself for pushing through (no pun intended) and achieving the kind of birth I yearned for.
N was born August 6th at 4.30am. In more ways than one, I felt reborn too.