We’ve all got a picture of what our first moments as a mum will look like.
Kissing that precious, squirming creature for the first time, perhaps fumbling through your first beautiful (albeit clumsy) breastfeed, then taking her home to introduce her to her brand-new life.
As you creep closer to your due date, try as you might to remain open to whatever comes, you just can’t help but picture the way you hope it will all play out. Well, in my case, it was kind of like someone took that picture, crunched it up, set it alight and then flushed it down the loo.
But don’t worry, this story has a happy ending, it’s actually brimming with joy in all the last places you’d think to look for it.
From planning a home birth to a month in hospital.
I gave birth at 32 weeks to a tiny, perfect little 5-pound (around 2kg) Billie. I was fortunate to have gone into early labour while already in hospital, having been in and out for the previous three weeks due to bleeds. So, I immediately knew we were in the best possible place to handle what was coming.
I briefly got to hold her before they took her to the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit (NICU) with my partner following right alongside. And that was the start of our next month, basically living at the hospital, watching our precious girl grow stronger each day.
I remember looking at her in that perspex box and thinking of little baby chicks in their incubators. I was filled with relief that my little girl was safe, but I still couldn’t help feeling kind of... cheated. Sitting in the postnatal ward with the other parents and their babies, I felt sick hearing their tiny cries. I didn’t want to feel jealous, but it was hard to shake that feeling, seeing them hold their newborns without tubes to wrestle with, learning to breastfeed and wondering, ‘Why don’t I get to just sit here and feed my baby?’ Instead, I was pumping away, then getting taken up in a wheelchair for cuddles and to help with Billie’s feeds.