So here it is, the first birth story on the blog. Every Monday I will be publishing your stories so keep them coming, I think this will become a lovely weekly feature. And what better way to cheer up those Monday blues. So where ever you are reading this enjoy.
This week’s story comes from Gosia, a letter to her son Janek who was born a month ago. Get the tissues ready, it’s a beautiful story.
Blog: My name is Gosia
You will be one month old tomorrow. One month. When did that happen? You’re asleep on my chest now. When I breathe, the air from my mouth moves your hair. Very fine, very blonde and very smooth hair. We were supposed to go for the opening of your uncle’s exhibition but you decided you want to eat and eat and cry and eat some more. You’ve waited until I took off my shoes and my skirt and my tights and then you stopped crying. I guess you just wanted to stay in.
I made myself a cup of tea and I lay down next to you and we took a couple of pictures and you were posing and copying my expressions and you were the sweetest. Then you pooped and farted. I changed your nappy, your clothes and I washed your face (you complained).
And here you are. Sleeping and smelling of this instant happiness. One month old tomorrow.
I’ve wanted to write your birth story since it happened. It got deleted three times now and three times I cried because I’ve put all the details there, for you maybe and for me to remember. I felt like the greatest person in the world, and maybe I was for a moment- when Zoe put you on my chest and your daddy cried out of the biggest and purest happiness. This is what I remember today, a month later:
- how when it started I made myself think it’s not the real thing yet and continued to make Tiramisu;
- when I called your father to come home quickly because I just didn’t wanted to be alone;
- how I was taking a bath when he arrived; how we laughed; how I burned all the candles, how he kept on boiling more water in a kettle to pour in the tub;
- how all of the sudden I needed to get out and was bouncing on the ball and your father was cleaning the tub of the wax; he needed his hands full, he needed a task;
- how we went to the hospital for the first time and they checked your heartbeat and my contractions and how they send us back home; the corridors were empty and I vomited; I remember the taxi back home;
- how I spent big part of the night in legs of the bed, on the floor, leaning and going through it all;
- when I took another bath and was falling asleep there for thirty seconds at a time and I burned the rest of the candles; how multi-coloured wax was covering the whole bathroom;
- how the only thing I ate back then was two dried apricots and how I kept on drinking water from big plastic jug with a red straw;
- how on a way back to hospital they told me to scream and I didn’t want to scream because I knew I need strength not noise;
- how they checked us again and told us to go for a walk and come back;
- how we came back and it rained, we had to stop every couple of steps;
- how they checked us again and told us we can stay; how happy we were, how relieved, how weak was I but kept on smiling, how they told me I’m dehydrated and I need to eat and drink, how they moved us to room 7
- how I ate and drank and out of sudden I felt great, I had power and we met our midwife, her name was Zoe and how she was the most amazing person we could wish for, how great we understood each other straight away and how we laughed at the same jokes at the same time;
- how I took a shower and shaved my legs and put conditioner on. I was in active labour, after 38 hours of contractions;
- how I kept on sitting, how I wanted to dance and put the make up on, how I really felt the greatest power;
- how all of a sudden I got fever and had to be transferred to the delivery floor, how I was upset about it but knew I just have to get in with it, with whatever my birth brings to me, just accept it and move on;
- how Zoe told me nothing will change, how I trusted her, how she said that her women have things the way they want to have them, how I trusted her, how we smuggled a tub of fruit Mentos inside;
- how we got upstairs – and I was on the wheelchair and refused to think bad about it- and nothing changed like Zoe promised- there was number 7 on the door;
- how your father was there and he was getting more tired but was still giving me water and illegally he was feeding me with fruit Mentos, how he found my lip balm, how he tried a bit of gas and air, how brave was he even if on the second plan, as a supporting act;
- how they kept giving me things and how I kept on declining others;
- how I still tried to joke, how many times Zoe told me she loved me and how I trusted her about it;
- how when things got very strong your father held my hand and I looked on Zoe, on her ear, on her purple guitar earring, how it kept me going;
- how suddenly they both got excited cause you were coming any time and I was thinking that great at least someone has fun;
- how your heartbeat was so strong and happy and healthy all the time and how thankful I am because god knows what they would do to us if it wasn’t;
- how I was pushing for hour and a half and I asked your daddy to take a photo and I felt your head going out of my body and how surreal it all felt;
- how I had no power and I kept saying “I can’t do this” and they’ve been saying “you’re doing this” and how I thought “what can I do if I tell myself I can?”
- how I pushed without contractions because I was tired and scared and I wanted you to be here already;
- how you arrived; how surreal; how slippery; how heavy; how beautiful; how; how smelling of a lake; how you knew me; how you didn’t cry; how your father cried; how did that happen;
- how the rest was a blur: someone sewing my ladies bits, me laughing, you pooping on your daddy’s hand, Zoe bringing us toast with butter and jam and tea and leaving( can you imagine being such an important part of somebody’s life and then just walking away quietly?);
- how they wheeled me downstairs to the ward and how proud I was with you in my hands;
- how I spent first evening with you crying because “you will never be one day old again”;
- how the first night with you was the happiest night of my life when I slept, holding you close, against the regulations but according to my heart.
Just like now. So you’re one month old. We survived. You are healthy and happy. I didn’t hurt you. I didn’t break your arm or your leg. You cried maybe 6 hours in total. I learned so much about you and I still do every day. I learned so much about myself and I need to grow myself for you every day. I need to take care of your father. We are family now. He works so hard for us. There’s so much words, so many feelings, it’s so hard and so beautiful and crazy. You’re one month old and you are greater than the universe.
Wow. It never ceases to amaze me how the tiny things us midwives do are so improtant to women. I have a clear image of Gosia’s midwife Zoe with her guitar ear ring now. What an inspirational story. Thank you Gosia for sharing. If you too would like to feature on the blog please email me firstname.lastname@example.org