I’ve written little in the last two months. It seems that preparing for a new baby whilst also looking after a 3 year old and also doing my actual job is not conducive to finding time to write. My nesting instinct also truly kicked in during the last couple of months of my wife’s pregnancy, as I tried to get every possible job around the house complete before our boy arrived. I finally ticked the last item off my list the evening before the due date, and was a surprised as anyone when he hurried into this world at 3.50 am the next day, as if he sensed we were finally ready.
The birth couldn’t have been much more different than our daughter’s. She came into this world in an operating theatre, after seemingly endless trips to and from the hospital, as contractions stopped and started over the course of more than a week. Our boy, in contrast, was born less than twenty minutes after we walked through the hospital doors, barely more than an hour after I’d been asleep at home. A few minutes later leaving the house and it’s doubtful we would even have made it as far as the delivery ward.
I write this post with one hand, my newborn daughter curled up post feed in the other. She arrived into this world at 3.17am on Wednesday, and life will never be the same again. Instead of just writing about fatherhood, I will be experiencing it first hand.
The labour and birth were tough. I won’t go into too many gory details here, except to say that the contractions were going on and off for 8 days before the birth, and were especially painful as the baby was back to back with the mother rather than the more usual back to front.
My daughter was finally born in an operating theatre, which is never where you want these things to take place. The whole experience was vaguely surreal, with me in my oversized scrubs, my wife on an operating table, seemingly dozens of medical staff running about, some of whom I recognised from the telly, as the hospital in question had previously featured on a TV series. The strangest thing of all though, was that in the theatre they had Absolute 90s on the radio, so the first thing I heard on entering was ‘Three Lions’ the Euro 96 Football song.
My daughter ended up being born to mid 90s dance pop tune ‘Sunshine After The Rain’ by Berri. I should have known when writing my previous post on our birthing playlist that things don’t always go to plan, but I never expected this, or that I would be listening to Nirvana’s ‘In Bloom’ whilst doctors made sure my newborn daughter was able to breathe.
Still, she’s here now, my wife is recovering, and all is good in the world. Love you daughter, and this song will always remind me of you: