Male readers (all two of you), you may want to skip this post. It involves lady parts. There, you’ve been warned.
This second pregnancy has felt like a marathon.
9 laborious months, where I ran at a steady pace for 8 months, hitting my stride with each trimester.
The last 4 weeks was like when I hit the wall, where each step felt heavy, and I just wanted to see the finish line.
The end was like a sudden burst of energy came to my body and it was a sprint to the end.
“Ready, get set, GO!”
Except I didn’t.
Over an hour after the first contractions started at 3.06 am on the morning of May 8, I was on Twitter, telling my friends that my contractions were now five minutes apart, and I was calmly eating breakfast.
After I had taken a hot shower, washed my face and brushed my teeth.
The husband was informed at 4.00 am that he should get ready. We discussed when we should wake the toddler to take him over to his grandparents, who are a few minutes walk away. We agreed that it was a good time, as we would not be caught in day time traffic.
At 5.00 am, I suggested strongly to him that we should call his parents, move the bags to the car and wake the toddler.
At 5.25 am, while waiting for him to return after dropping the Monkey off, I was on the floor and moaning.
I could feel the baby’s head pushing through.
Squealing tires, burning rubber and 20 minutes later, I barely walked into the Emergency room at our chosen hospital, gasped out my name, my doctor’s name and endured questions as to my due date, how far apart are the contractions and so on.
You know those movies where the pregnant woman is moaning and being rushed in a wheelchair to the delivery room?
Yeah, that was me.
Clothes off, gown on, more questions, needles being jammed into my hands, more moaning and more, “I have to push!” and “Breathe, breathe, don’t push yet!”
When my doctor walked in, I was never more relieved to see a human being.
More things happened. Legs up.
“Okay Alison, push.”
I screamed and pushed.
“His head is out!”
I pushed again and screamed. It was…..primal.
And out came my second son.
It was over, 30 minutes after we arrived at the hospital.
My son was finally in my arms.
Lesson learned? Just because your first baby took his own sweet time to come, it doesn’t mean the second time will be the same. Nothing about this experience with Scrumplet was in any way similar to when I had Monkey.
As I write this with my heart full of joy, I’m also thinking of a few Mamas who’ve suffered losses. Know that my thoughts are with you.
Dear friends, know also that I’m reading your blog posts, tweets, Facebook and Instagram messages and comments on my posts. I may not leave comments or reply to each tweet/ message because I’m too busy taking in my newborn and making time for my toddler, but know that I do read them all and I thank each and everyone of you for your well wishes and love.