Today is your first birthday and I have been trying to write your birth story since you were seven days old. I actually wrote it about an hour ago but the blog ate it and I had a temper tantrum.
What I really want to write about is the lost art of slow cooking because that is what you and I did. We baked you until you felt you were done just right, with a delicious crispy crust that a pastry gets when it's been in the oven for just a minute or two too long. In human cooking time that worked out to be 16 days past your estimated time of arrival. We were healthy and happy so we felt like we could wait and although I love me some slow cooked baby, those last couple of days really tested my patience and elasticity.
On the morning of September 12th, we had been scheduled to go talk to an obstetrician because we were officially out of the ordinary so I was greatly relieved when we went into early labour. Up until this point the whole neighbourhood had been helping us to get you out. Fenner would spend the day at any number of friends' houses while I tried castor oil, walking and acupuncture, all to no avail.
Finally your Dad and I resorted to the activity that got us knocked up in the first place. We spent all day on September 12th relaxing and hanging out. We played crib, I napped, your dad got the house ready for your arrival. By the afternoon we were pretty sure you weren't psyching us out so we made sure Uncle Will could come and hang out with Fenner while we worked out your exit strategy.
To try and keep relaxed I started singing you out. It's my most vivid memory of that night. You remind me of it every night as it's the same song you sing before you fall asleep, and like my song, right near the end it gets a lot louder.
There were a lot of really funny moments throughout the whole night, mixed with a lot of hard work. Your Dad and I do love dark comedy. I charged him one ounce of castor oil for every snore he let loose between contractions.
Every time I would use the loo I would come back and Tia had rearranged the pillows so that I would have to lie differently and every time I would reply, "What fresh Hell is this?"
While we were negotiating those last few hours Steph and our second midwife Marlene were holding my legs - we would rest between contractions and every once in awhile a contraction would sneak up on us leading to me yelling, "Where are My Bitches? Here comes another one!"
There are a million moments that I remember from that night. How we all worked so well together and just how excited I was to meet you on our own terms and conditions in a room full of people with great respect for each other. How at no point did I feel like we had to make a decision that would in anyway compromise how well everything was going.
Once you decided it was time to come, it was a perfect birth.