My son is a year old today. It’s certainly true that time moves faster once you have children because the memories of the weekend he was born are still so fresh in my mind it just doesn’t seem possible that it was that long ago.
Pretty much anyone who has had a child has their own war stories to tell about the birth. It’s almost like a secret society: but you have to go through the initiation ceremony to gain access. Few people talk about the reality of giving birth to a baby for the simple reason that nobody wants to hear the truth about it and you only really understand once you’ve been through it yourself.
Our son was born at 7.31am on Sunday 20th December 2009, the culmination of a very long process that actually began on Thursday 17th. Along the way we (not that I personally had to endure this – how lucky we men are) took in a sweep, hormone gel, having the waters broken, a hormone drip, a botched epidural, an accelerated drip, another (successful) epidural, 12 hours of labour yielding nothing and then, finally, an emergency Caesarean. There were many other grisly details that I won’t go into here but when our son was pulled out and I heard his first cries I was a blubbering, shaking wreck. Mrs Sane, on the other hand, was out of her head on drugs and sleep deprivation. It was the most traumatic, worrying, bizarre, memorable and amazing weekend I have ever had and that was only the beginning of the hard work to come.
Fools that we are, we will have to put ourselves through the birth process again in April when our daughter is due. This time we know in advance that it will be by Caesarean so it should hopefully be much less traumatic.
But I remain astounded that something as commonplace as childbirth can be so complicated, dangerous and brutal. Surely it shouldn’t be this difficult?
All worth it of course.