Where do you begin in describing a Saturday morning in May….a mild Saturday morning where my world was turned upside down, never to be the same….and 1000% for the better?
Where do you even begin?
Let’s start by saying I was a 50Kg, 5 ft. 8 woman who was stretched out about as far as I could have been…physically and, if we’re being real, patience has never been my thang, so my patience at 39+1 was well and truly out the window…true to form.
I had been in low-key labour for 24 hours when my rope finally snapped. It was 12am, I was exhaused, sore and beyond frustrated that I had been timing my contractions for 24 hours and they were still all over the shop, approximately 10 mins apart (in labour-ish: USELESS). So I called the hospital to get some support…
The darling midwife on the end of the line said ‘Oh sweetpea, come on in, we’ll give you something to help you sleep’…this, believe it or not, was all I wanted to hear.
And so it goes, we were off to RPA at 12am. I was elated to know there was pain relief at the end of the 15-minute tunnel.
So we turn on to King St in Newtown and I sneezed…and peed all over my leather seats in the car…or so I thought…
Turned out my waters had FINALLY broken and I was about to be released from overdue hell…I couldn’t even fathom a baby at this point, just that these cramps would, infact, end…even if it was by means of the drug request I clearly had written on my forehead!
I returned positive for GBS, so I was exactly where I needed to be at this point… and followed my beautiful midwife Emma to a delivery room (low-key, fuuuuuuck).
Maya’s Dad had left to get his things and I had some checks done…I was 1 cm dilated…for those who do not speak labour, this translates directly to NO F$%KING GOOD! So I was given oxytocin to get things started…and work, it did.
Within 30 mins I was utterly delirious in pain and my beloved Emma had gone on her sleep break and I was left with the Hitler-of-Tough-Love midwife who was trying to (subtly) stop me (can’t confirm, delirious, but pretty sure…) from having an epidural…what seemed like an eternity of labouring had passed and Maya’s Dad and my beloved Emma had returned. Now that I am writing this, a sleep break surely would have been at least two hours right? Let’s run with that…
A few profanities later and the anesthetist was in to give me my drug of choice. So, to contextualize, I have had a spinal fusion at age 20 and baby was posterior…so I was in a world of pain at this stage plus these two factors and I was done. The needle was hanging out of my spine as I tried to keep my shit together through a contraction….and the tween-looking anethetist was stressing that I ‘must stay still Mrs G’…I was really trying harder not to laugh at the fact that I was not and never would be Mrs G.
So, a few short hours and an in-depth life-chat with Emma later and it was time to push.
She kindly described it as ‘You will feel like your head is going to explode’ kind of push…ok…got it.
Feeling every contraction, I pushed with everything I had left and there it was….my little miracle.
It took 20 mins to realise we hadn’t even looked at the gender…we were too besotted by the tiny, terrified, snuggly being squirming it’s way across my chest for our first cuddle. Throughout my pregnancy, I had no incling as to the gender, but I do recall thinking right before I turned my baby over that it was going to have a doodle…and low and behold, it…she… definitely didn’t.
I had a little lady. My sweet baby girl.
We had picked a name we were sold on for a girl…but like some kind of weird nominal-determinism magic, we looked at each other and said, ‘I don’t think she’s a Quinn’…and just like that, she became our baby Maya. (That’s May-ah, not My-ah for anyone unsure:))
In the days to follow, Maya’s Dad and I grew to know, feel and behold unconditional love for our little wonder…and sadly, in coming months, we came to know and realise that we did not hold that kind of love for each other…and really, the rest is history.
But that doesn’t matter, because we both found the love of a lifetime in Maya, our little wildflower.
**Unfortunately very few pictures were taken of me during her birth…it was no-ones fault, just reflective our circumstances at the time…but should I ever do this again, I will be sure to gets me a birth photographer…