365 days ago I issued an eviction notice to the human
within.
It had been getting increasingly tight in there, and
the month of pre-labour lead me to believe it would be happier out than in.
I left the house, hips dislocating with every step,
and began my 10k walk.
Yes, yes, that particular behaviour has been called
foolhardy, but at least I didn’t ride my bike to the hospital like one woman I heard
about.
At about the 7k mark, I decided to give the human a
helping hand and started to jog. The definition of such being that both feet
must be off the ground at the same time. It wasn’t pretty but I managed.
Still it didn’t budge.
So I went to acupuncture, lying to the lady and
telling her I was already overdue.
I hate needles, so perhaps this is an indication of
how dearly I longed for things to change.
Sometime after that, I realised that even if this was
just more pre-labour it was rather uncomfortable and I’d rather not go through
it alone thank you very much. So I rang my husband who was gardening at my
parents, and politely requested he return home. Fast.
He and the midwife had a discussion and decided I should
come on in to the hospital.
But I’d listened in the baby class when they’d
insisted you stay at home for the first 8 hours at least.
‘Nooooooo,’ I moaned in between contractions coming
far quicker than I realised, ‘they told us we had to stay at home.’
Gregory overruled me, which was wise because had he
not, Q would have arrived on a cool, polished floorboard, and we got to the
hospital with just an hour to spare.
A more detailed account (written last year) including banana-flavoured
condoms and borscht soup can be read here.
And now, here we are 365 days in, and not much of the
gloss has worn off. We still think she’s the coolest human out there.
Happy first Miss Q, you rock our world.
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