The post baby booze binge has been on the horizon for a while. I haven’t drank since last September and I am ready for a drink, a big one. Not because I want a hangover (lord knows I won’t be allowed a lie in thanks to a two year old who believes 3am is time to play football.) No, I need a drink because I need to find out from my friend what actually happened when my second son, Louis was born. My relatively new friend Jill, delivered Louis on our kitchen floor in front of a crowd of excited, albeit inexperienced french firemen. She was a total legend, keeping me calm, cradling louis whilst I processed what had happened.
Until about ten minutes before Louis came along. I was in the house alone with my twenty month old. I text my girl friends to say I was in a bit of pain: Erin and her five year old arrived for what they thought was a play date. Five minutes later Jill arrived with her one year old, then the fire brigade, then the baby. Meanwhile my eldest, Ernie hit me on the head with a plastic sword (he thought I was on all fours roaring because I wanted to play dinosaurs). It was, and still is a bit of a blur. I’d been for a walk, started having pains, tried to have a bath and kidded myself I could drive to hospital. All the time trying to call my hubby, who was in England for work. I crawled to the kitchen to open the door, but couldn’t get back up.
Thankfully Louis arrived safely as well as swiftly. Ten weeks of buzzing from the drama and the excitement it finally hit home how lucky we were when ‘Knocked up’ starring Katherine Heigl came on telly. I couldn’t watch it. I filled up and my stomach was in knots. I don’t think I have actually fully processed how amazing my friends were or how blessed we are that it was straightforward.
About thirty minutes after the birth I was in a firetruck on facetime to my husband, there are so many details I don’t have but I feel like I need to know. I know Erin cleaned up a lot of blood and I know Jill went home in my clothes rather than the ones she arrived in. It was all such a drama that I feel like it's taken me a while to get to know and fall head over heels for my newborn. I wasn't really ready for him to arrive, not like that. With Ernie I looked at him and he became my world instantly. With Louis, and I feel bad saying this, it was different. Everyone (including me) talked about the drama of the arrival rather than his precious little face for the first few weeks and for that I feel bad. I know he came out in the sack, I know I spoke to Ernie during the labour more than Louis and again for that I feel bad.
It's important to me that I fill the gaps in my memory of his birth. I need the intimate details. I want to know. But I know I will need a wine (or 7) to spare my blushes and reduce any inhibitions I may have about asking what really happened ‘down there.’ I think he came out in the sack, I remember feeling it, but the rest, between me trying to explain myself in french, get my husband on the phone and stop my toddler hitting me on the head well a few details got lost. Is anyone buying this excuse for a breastfeeding mum to get her wine on?
PS Huge thanks to Mr Joel Anderson who took this photo in Perpignan. Look him up on Instagram, despite being crazy talented and interesting he has few instagram followers. ( I think we bullied him into an account in the first place!)