Apparently a 4 percent chance that he will make an appearance on his due date and here he is on his way. ‘On his way’. What a delightful term for a less than delightful experience. Charging through my body might be a better expression. Bursting out of me would be more relevant. The feeling of being squeezed by a monster claw around my torso whilst at the same time a seriously intense pressure from inside. I feel like I am being taken over by the pain. The whole room is blurry, everything is frayed at the edges. Except for Anya, my midwife. It takes all my concentration to focus on her, to block out everything and everyone else. “We have to get this baby out in the next three pushes”. What does she mean ‘we have to’? What happens if I don’t, if I can’t. The panic I feel suspends the moment. There is no other way, I have to face and accept this terrible pain or put my baby in danger. So this is where it starts, the sacrifice of being a mummy. “Chin to your chest and no screaming, use that energy to push”. The pain is making me feint, I’m hot, I’m exhausted, please let this be over. Its both forever and just a moment. In front of me she is holding a huge, pink being, something that could not have possible have come from me. He screams, I stare. Wow, this is it.
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