I don't know why I didn't think of this before... but I didn't. And now you're just over nine months old and I've missed out on writing about so many of your important moments. Thankfully they're all in my head, my heart and your baby journal so I can go back and find out the exact dates of your special moments.
What I intend to do, within the safety and timeframe of this blog, is to go back to the day you were born and tell you a little bit about every portion of your life up to date. Once I've managed that mammoth task (for there have been numerous amazing twists and turns in your story already) I'll use my blog (or should that be your blog?) to make notes, musings, scribblings about your life as I see it. I hope you'll enjoy reading it when you're older. If not, at least it will provide me with a cathartic outlet into which I can pour my heart, my thoughts, my feelings and my abstract observations.
Shall we start at the very beginning? Are you sitting comfortably?
It was a freezing, snowy day in November when I awoke to a strange feeling in my body. I couldn't quite put my finger on it but I knew, as soon as I awoke, that today was going to be different from any other I'd ever experienced. You were almost two weeks overdue and each and every hour that passed at that time was spent wondering when you'd make your move.
I managed to make it to the bathroom before my waters actually broke, for which I was grateful. But at that moment, everything started happening in a strange muffled kind of way. Nothing quite felt real. My waters had broken. Ten months of pregnancy and countless antenatal classes had not prepared me, in any way, for the actual reality of this moment. Thankfully your Daddy and I worked together to go through the things we needed to do. Call the hospital, gather our hospital bags, prepare to leave and....Go!
When I first arrived at our local hospital after my waters had broken (the day before you were actually born), the midwives were worried that you might be in distress so they measured my blood pressure and my temperature and sent me packing for the hospital 15 miles up the road, which was, in their view, better equipped to deal with your arrival safely. What followed was a slow, treacherous and anxious journey north through the freezing snow and howling wind. We followed in other drivers' tyre marks so that we could see where we were going. Your Daddy drove so carefully, such was the precious nature of his cargo that day (and every day since).
Your birth was not the easiest process but, looking back now, as the memory of the hard work and discomfort begins to fade, it was relatively hassle free. I was taken into hospital the day before you arrived and put on a drip to be induced. The midwives, plentiful as they were, were very supportive throughout the whole process. They kept me and your Daddy informed while we, in turn, kept them amused with our gas and air fuelled ramblings.
You'd spent almost 10 months nestling in Mummy's tummy, making your presence in our lives known by constantly hiccoughing, wriggling and kicking from within. From the moment my waters broke and I knew you were to become a physical, out of body reality in our world, it took 27 hours until you actually emerged into that strange, clinical delivery suite and were placed on Mummy's tummy, this time on the outside.
Once I had been put on the drip I was declared 'nill by mouth' and was therefore unable to eat any of the energy-giving treats your Daddy and I had lined up to keep us both going throughout. Your Daddy, who wasn't 'nill by mouth', and who has always had a huge appetite, had not been satisfied by the sandwiches, energy bars and sweeties we'd brought in so he asked the midwives whether it would be possible to order a pizza to eat between contractions! The pizza was duly ordered and arrived, piping hot, for him to eat and keep his strength up. He was, after all, my strength too throughout your birth.
Daddy was amazing. He was patient, caring, loving and supportive. He kept me supplied with sips of water, lip balm to soothe my dry lips, gas and air when I needed it and many a spray of refreshing water to cool my face. It was warm in that delivery room. They kept it that way so you wouldn't get cold when you finally arrived. I remember the room well. It was large with its own bathroom. I was bed-ridden by the drip but I still had time to admire the cleanliness, the space, the reassuring amount of equipment surrounding me. The blinds at the window remained open throughout the whole process and I watched, through darkness and light, as slabs of frozen snow and ice plummeted to the ground from the roof of the hospital, providing some welcome distraction from the ever-lengthening hours and ever-intensifying contractions I was experiencing.
When the time came for your entrance I'd been given some drugs to cope with the effort it was taking to help you out. I'm sorry about that. I wasn't able to do it alone. That meant that some of those drugs got into your little system too. They won't have done you any harm, but it did mean that you were very drowsy when you emerged sedately, with grace, into our world.
You were so beautiful. Every smeary, slime-covered, wrinkly millimeter of you. Daddy was allowed to cut your cord, which he did with such delight and pride in his eyes. We didn't know until about one minute after you were actually born, whether you were a boy or a girl. That one minute, while you were being rubbed down by the midwife, was long, drawn out, agonising. The actual answer didn't matter, it was just crucial that we got an answer and knew just who we had created and were about to hold. Of course, you are Holly, a beautiful, healthy and gorgeous little girl. Your Daddy's dream come true! And mine too...Nothing else mattered. You were here, with us, at last. We loved you from the moment you were conceived, but the instant you were revealed to us in all your newborn glory, we fell in love with you. Our hearts, in separate bodies, but in total harmony, swelled and exploded with love and pride.
Our Holly had arrived...
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