Oh life, why are you never half as romantic as I'd imagined you to be?
When I wrote my birthing plan (this was recommended by the midwife during antenatal classes), I distinctly remember requesting:
Birthing pool please.
George Michael music to be played.
Gas and air only, no epidural.
Mark to lift baby from water.
Mark to cut umbilical cord.
Baby to have vitamin K injection.
Must remain calm and spiritual and dignified. (Alright, I did not actually write this, but that was my general feeling about the whole thing.)
The brutal reality was, the birthing plan did not leave my over packed bag, all requests were left on paper when real life kicked in.
In fact it would be true to say, it was not at all romantic.
It was long, painful, and at times barbaric.
Without a hint of a birthing pool or George's voice!
Yes this is the story of how Tommy came into the world, seventeen days after my due date. With a grand total of four days in hospital.
(And no seventeen days overdue and four days in hospital is not considered a common occurrence.)
However, it was worth every single, unromantic, second.
Because then I met my beautiful, bewildered, son, for the very first time.