It was the last Monday morning before Ana‘s due date. Before I headed off to work, I crept back into our bedroom, kissed a sprawled out Ana on the forehead and whispered: “We’re having a baby on Sunday!”
The pregnancy had felt like it had always been a part of our relationship. I couldn’t remember a time where we could go out for a meal and not worry if the egg yolk was runny, the steak was bloody, the chair was padded, the dress code allowed harem trousers and so on. But there was only ONE week remaining and the reality of our adventure had just set in.
Throughout the week, I was texting my friends: “We’re having a baby on Sunday!” I emailed my boss: “We’re having a baby on Sunday!” I boasted to the cashier lady, the mechanic or anyone who would listen to me – “We’re having a baby on Sunday!”
Needless to say, I was quite excited at the prospect of seeing our baby for the first time. Ana and I had declined a 4D scan for the same reason we did not find out the sex of the baby. We felt having the mystery unveiled on the day would be the icing on the cake, or at the very least be a pleasant distraction from giving birth.
My enthusiasm continued right through the week to Friday, and as a little token gesture, I had been relieved of my ‘Ana sitting duties’, and encouraged to have a beer with a friend. Grasping the opportunity with both hands, I called my friend Kaveh (good luck with that one babynames.co.uk), and made arrangements to meet up. Who knew when the next occasion would arise when I could meet up with a friend and not only talk baby related matters? It seemed that stork had already flown that nest. There we sat, amongst all the burly tradesmen, discussing my pending parenthood with unwavering smiles on our faces. We were enjoying the conversation so much so that the idea of requesting a time extension from Ana soon came to my friends mind. But then again, at least he knew where his mind was because I must have lost mine when I called Ana and asked the stupid question: “Can I stay out a bit longer tonight?” Just like when you make first contact with the football, I knew on the first word that I’d stuffed up.
“The night before I am due! Are you kidding me?” she hissed.
I knew I was in the wrong and I was frustrated with myself for asking a stupid question that I already knew the sensible answer too. Upon returning home with my tail between my legs, I did the noble thing and confessed it had been Kaveh’s idea. In addition, I apologized to Ana and explained that we had just wanted to continue talking, until we were blue in the face, of our genuine anticipation of me becoming a father.
This seemed to defrost the situation, and before I knew it, Ana and I slipped into bed early like two children wishing the night away on Christmas Eve.
We woke on Saturday morning full of hope and promise. Ana insisted that today was going to be the day she gave birth. Therefore, she thought it best to relay the midwife’s advice to me: “If we want to have the baby today, I need to eat small meals, keep active and have lots of sex,” she said.
Fact attack!
There are four main chemicals that govern the process of labor and birth: Relaxin, Oxytocin, prostaglandins, and endorphins.
This combination enables an array of actions to take place. For example, the softening of the ligaments and cartilages of the pelvis so that it can expand, the releasing of your body’s own natural morphine, the stimulation of uterine contractions and initiating feelings of bonding and closeness in both mother and baby, to name a few.
There are multiple ways of promoting the release of these natural chemicals in the body, but the one that all four have in common is sex. To be even more informative, two are directly related to semen. In fact (and this may be too informative), but one type of medical induction called Cervidil, contains pig semen.
Moving on.
Despite the conclusive facts behind this theory, for us, the occasion didn’t quite present itself. Subsequently, Saturday came and went without a hint of a baby. Of course, we both knew it wasn’t guaranteed but we could not help feeling a little deflated as the evening came to a close.
However, that feeling did not last long, as early on Sunday morning Ana experienced her first contraction, subtle though it was.
We went for a walk, and the route was ambitious, but Ana was deliberately seeking out jolty terrain. She was adamant that the bun had to come out of the oven. But just in case it didn’t, she had made dinner reservations for us with her parents. An odd time to choose I thought, especially since such a fuss was made on Friday night. But for some reason, it didn’t seem appropriate to raise the issue.
By mid-afternoon, Ana’s contractions has become more uncomfortable and so after canceling dinner, she called the midwife. The midwife explained that if Ana was able to make the call and confess to having two ‘contractions’ whilst talking to her, it meant that she probably had a ways to go yet. I even recall Ana saying: “They’re not as bad as people make out.” A sentence the midwife would later remind her of, but for now it was the end of another day and there were still only two of us.
On Monday morning, Ana’s waters had not quite broken but she did experience a leak at around 6am. This meant we had 24 hours to get the ball rolling at home, as after this time frame, Ana would have to go to hospital to receive antibiotics, to prevent contracting an infection in the womb.
In the blink of an eye, the Google home page illuminated our bedroom and Ana typed, ‘How to induce labour’, into the search bar.
I, on the other hand, paused to collect my thoughts. What were the contractions-to-time ratios again? Which route would to the hospital would be the quickest at this time of day? Not the most daunting of responsibilities by comparison, but besides the initial involvement, my biggest contribution to this pregnancy was fast approaching.
My mind was, however, put to ease when Ana told me she would like to go out for spicy noodle soup at lunch time.
With my protest being rejected, I soon found myself sat opposite Ana in a noodle house. Over the course of the lunch, I studied Ana’s facial expressions from across the table, as I am often forced to do, to try and gauge her. I could see she was becoming more uncomfortable. Subtle things such as adjusting her seating position, extending and retracting her legs, or shutting her eyes and gritting her teeth! There are times when you have to take a back seat and others when you have to just take the wheel and say: “No more spicy noodle soup! I’m taking you home!”
When we arrived back at our apartment, Ana proceeded to climb the stairs in what can only be described as a crab like fashion. According to her earlier Google search, the notion behind the motion is to wiggle the baby into a better, lower birthing position.
After several trips up and down the stairs, Ana decided the hallway carpet needed a little wearing down also. Huffing and puffing, she continued pacing around whilst I prepared a hot water bottle. Ingeniously, I managed to affix the hot water bottle to her back with a scarf (patent pending) so she could carry on with her movements. She asked me to read a short story aloud to serve as a distraction, so I grabbed a random book off the shelf. Part way through, I peered around the side of the book to see what drink Ana had spilled on the bedroom carpet.
Looking aghast, her facial expression spoke for her.
Her waters had just fully broken. Within minutes it was easy to see that her contractions had well surpassed being very uncomfortable and were now becoming painful. I had to tell her to leave cleaning up the mess, as it was no time to be taking up new hobbies, and to get into the shower.
Leaving Ana with her face nestled into the corner of the cubical whilst the hot water dampened the pain, I darted to the bedroom to call the midwife. “Ana’s waters have just broken all over the floor and she is in a lot more pain,” I spat down the phone. “OK, well just keep an eye on the contraction times. I don’t need to hear from you until they’re three minutes apart,” she said matter-of-factly. I hung up the phone and made my way back to Ana, who seemed to be fixed in a yoga position under the running water. Echoing the midwife’s words, I helped her out of the shower and into a towel. Holding Ana’s hand, I escorted her to our bedroom, stopping a couple of times as she performed a stage actors bow, hand across belly and all.
I lent her against the wall and, on her say so, started the stopwatch.
“A contraction is coming,” she said. I looked down at the watch and the time had only just ran over two minutes. “That can’t be right!” I exclaimed, “They were five minutes apart not long ago!” My heart rate increased as the following couple of contractions came in within two and a half minutes again.
I told Ana to get dressed, whilst I dialed the midwife. “She has skipped three minutes,” I said nervously. “And is down to two and a half!”
“Right, get her in the car. I’ll see meet you at the hospital,” said our midwife with a hint of urgency.
It was then, as I reached for the ‘birthing bag’ beside the front door that the anticipation was now a realization. We are going to have a baby!
Ryan
