It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way – in short, the period was so far like the present period, that some of its noisiest authorities insisted on its being received, for good or for evil, in the superlative degree of comparison only.
A Tale of Two Cities
It has taken me six weeks to sit down and try put my thoughts together in a way that makes sense. Six weeks of twilight to daylight feeds. Six weeks of wonder. Six weeks of falling faster & harder in love, than I ever imagined possible. Six weeks of thanking God for the man I call my husband. Six weeks of nights, looking over at said husband sweetly sleeping, and thinking I’d happily punch him in the face. Six weeks of hoping my fur-babies still know just how much I love them. Six weeks of happiness, and exhaustion, and anxiety and joy.
The longest and shortest six weeks of my life.
There is a lot to be said for the first six weeks but that’s not what this post is about. This post is about relinquishing control. Having faith and trusting your circle.
Being a control freak (just slightly) and suffering from worst-case scenario induced anxiety, I was nervous about the kind of pregnant woman I was going to be. I mean if you don’t answer your phone, I am the type to think you’ve been kidnapped or may be laying unconscious in a ditch. This being the case, I am very grateful for a lesson sent my way very early on in my pregnancy. “You are NOT in control.” Weird things happen in pregnancy. The miracle of growing another human is not without its challenges. Sore boobs, exhaustion, excitement and fear. And then something people don’t think to tell you. You may bleed. You will think your baby is “falling” out. And you will get angry. Because you are scared. But then everything will be ok. This happened to me before I was six weeks pregnant and it taught me very early on that what was going to be, would be. That I could do my best to be healthy and safe. But that I could not control the womb-work that was taking place inside.
Once I accepted this, my pregnancy was a gracious experience. My body (and baby) got on with what they needed to and I got on with what I needed to. Work. Building our side hustle and saving money for our move and transfer fees. (Side note – moving when pregnant is not recommended. It broke me…) Everything was going swimmingly. Boy was doing yoga in utero – growing strong. Mom was feeling chilled and happy. And dad was rubbing my feet every night.
All through my nine months of growing boy I could be heard answering, “Yes I am having a natural birth. Un-medicated. But whatever needs to happen, I’ll be ok with it.” I honestly thought I believed this. When our 32 week scan revealed a boy contorting himself into frank breech – the tears turned on of their own accord. Dramatic right? Especially as he still had 8 weeks to turn, which he did by 36 weeks. Whew. Back on track.
38 weeks. Mature placenta. Panic at the gynae. Ok, so induction doesn’t mean you have to have a caesarian. Ok. Ok. Breathe. Induction at 39 weeks. We can do this. Doesn’t matter though. Boy will come before. I’m young (ok well I’m not old – even though science will call my pregnancy geriatric), I am strong and I come from a family of women who push babies out. I got this. I’ve waited this long to have a baby. Everything is going to go according to plan. Why? Because I deserve it (like I’m so special?). Because why wouldn’t it?
Let me tell you why.
Because I wasn’t in control.
My scheduled induction ended in an emergency c-section, at 2:30am on the 12th February 2019, after 25 hours of labour (18 of them un-medicated as per my wishes). Ending my dream of pushing out my babe. It was horrific. I honestly thought I was going to die. But that’s a story for another day.
The moral of this story is simple. Like I said in the beginning – Have faith and trust your circle. Because things don’t always go according to plan, and that doesn’t make your story any less beautiful.