I was laid on a hospital bed with cold jelly (not the strawberry kind) on my belly. The man doing the scan told us it was a girl. My second girl, husbands third.
The clothes were in boxes from our first, we had all the equipment and were ready. All we had to do was agree on a name and wonder what our daughter (then 13 months) would make of having to share us with another.
We were delighted but I still took great pleasure in teasing my husband that he would be surrounded by women forever. He had always dreamt of having a son to share his obsessions with. Who would he play or watch golf/football/cricket with? I suggested his daughters, but this did not ease his frustration. His mother kept telling him she was one of five sisters. I reminded him that I wanted lots of children so surely somewhere along the way there would be a boy. I could see the newspaper headlines ‘Woman gives birth to son after 15 daughters’
… and his mother continued to tell him she was one of five sisters.
When my due date came and went I became tired and emotional. The midwife had told me four weeks earlier that she thought the birth was imminent … I believed her. I had an 18 month old rampaging through the house, a husband starting a new business from the confines of the attic and blocked drains; the house, not mine.
My husband and his friend had bought tickets for the White Stripes assuming that the baby would arrive on or before her due date. How I laughed … probably because weeping and rocking back and forth was the only other option at this point.
Seven days past my due date we arrived at the hospital for a check up and I was given a stretch and sweep (which is as uncomfortable as it sounds). The nurse talked about inducing on the night of the White Stripes gig. I laughed more heartily than before. My husband tried to talk the nurse into changing the day. With much eye rolling and tutting she agreed.
Needless to say my husband missed the White Stripes gig.
I won’t bore you with a full birth story; I’ll just let you in on the ending …
“Just one more push Mrs D”
There were many expletives, some shouting, screaming (all mine) then silence.
The shock was too much, my husband wept and I will NEVER forget seeing my sons willy for the first time.
My special, mischievous, surprise boy … and on my husband’s birthday.
Happy Birthday Boys, 3 and 40 today.