The last one, my first.

Are you weary of birth stories yet?
Last one my friends, hang on tight and I will try to keep it interesting.
My first baby, first birth....28 hours and not a bit of fun. Although looking back, even then I can see that I was one of the more fun ones to watch, I am pretty sure that the nurses who stuck by me throughout this marathon event were entertained and amused.
Twenty years ago. TWENTY! I am the mother of a man of 20. Yeegads, I can't be sure when I stopped being 20 myself, how am I suddenly the mother of someone who is the same age I was when I married for the first time?
Induced of course, apart from delightful and easy going Jordan, all my babies have needed to be forcefully evicted from the womb, where they were fed anything they fancied in enormous quantities, where they were talked to, sang to, patted and adored until they were rudely and in no uncertain terms shown the door via my cervix with the aid of artificial means courtsey of , in Daniel's case anyway, the national health.
Oh how excited was I as I walked into the labour and delivery ward of Freedom Fields Hospital in Plymouth. August 24th 1985. Such hopes of special moments and sure of ensuring the adoration and eternal gratitude of my young and handsome husband, with no idea what was about to happen to my ignorant and innocent body!
I had visions of bearable but heroic pain and a slight glow on my brow as I perspired gently in the endeavor to bring into this world our first born child.
Hahahhhhhhaahahahahahahahahaaaaaaaa. It started off very well with contractions that were regular and mildly uncomfortable and ended 28 hours later with the birth of my perfect, crinkly old faced man baby, who had eyes that bore into my soul and told me he knew my very innermost secrets.
What happened in between would be, for anyone other than me probably so dull it hardly bears telling, I can tell one or two things that were worth remembering. One was that at some point around hour 20 I hung onto the young and handsome husband and told him with such heart rending sincerity that he had to understand that I would never be able to have sex again. It was of the most vital importance to me that he understood and believed me that as there was no form of birth control 100% reliable I didn't feel it was worth any kind of risk to ever have to go through that torment again and would he please show me that he understood and agreed that we would be companions and friend but never ever again would we have sex? That would be OK wouldn't it? He was such a liar! So much for his promises!
Another fact that stands out vividly is that the delivery room was a circus, I do know I agreed to some students attending and so, was paraded in all my legs apart glory, by a steady stream of people in white coats, some of them were gloved up and got to know me intimately, some did no more than stand in between my legs and try to look as though they were looking at an art exhibition, none of them did anything to get that baby out of there any quicker than he intended to get out thankyou.
I endured being the side show for way longer than I should have and at hour 26, having been pushing for 2 hours without moving that head an inch, with not a smidgen of patience left in me, the doors swung wide open ( again) and the cleaner walked in, she walked past the bottom of my bed, grabbed some paper towels from a cupboard, walked back past the bed, only this time she stopped, looked at my swollen and so far unproductive and babyless vagina and walked out.
"RIGHT! THAT IS IT! if one more person looks at my fanny ( N.B in England the fanny is most definately NOT the bum, imagine my mirth when hearing the term 'fanny pack' for the first time whilst living in L.A) without having some kind of medical degree and a certificate to prove it, I'm going home-- and that includes you you thoughtless bastard ( directed at the young and handsome husband) stand by that door and stop anyone else coming in. "
Kind midwife posted someone not blood related to the child who didn't want out on the door and we began another 2 hours of pushing.
Did I say "we" ? I can't believe I said " we" as if anyone else in that room did a darned thing. I pushed, I did, for another 2 hours while they had pleasant conversations about holidays and tennis as if the fact that I was pushing my eyeballs into infinity and bursting blood vessels in my neck was nothing more than a mild inconvenience to them all. They even passed boiled sweets over my aching thighs ( one foot on midwife's hip, one on handsome and bloody selfish young husband's)
"ooooh, come on Helen, push harder, I can see hair" ( at the beginning of this marathon I had said that I didn't mind if the baby was a boy or girl but I really, really needed it to have hair and not be 15 lbs. )
2 hours later and for the 17th time.. " oh it's coming, I can see HAIR"
"Great, then get hold of it and pull the f*****g thing out then"
4 hours later
" HELEN....here it comes ..it's got HAIR"
I DON'T CARE IF IT HASN'T GOT A HEAD, JUST GET THE THING OUT OF ME! Oh and by the way this baby isn't coming out of where I read it should come out of, it is definately coming out of my bum.
" no it's not, it just feels as if it's coming out of your bottom, it's not though"
"Listen to me, I know the difference between my arse and my vagina and this kid is splitting my bum open...GET IT OUT!"
10 minutes before birth..."Helen, this baby isn't coming, we will need to use forceps to help him"
" oh no you're not......."
" We'll give you 10 minutes to try again and then we'll use forceps"
Sometimes you just need that little extra something......my boy was born, 3.14pm August 25th 1985, my sweet 7lb 7oz boy with his dark hair and his legs and everything right where it should be....there probably has never been such a wizened little scrap of funniness ever born but he was by far the most beautiful baby I have ever seen. He didn't cry, he was given to me and he and I stared into each others eyes and I knew I would fight to the death for this boy.
Twenty years. That is a really, really long time and it has flown by in a blink of an eye. Dan and I have been through the torments of hell. In his life he has faced fear and pain beyond any that amother can imagine. I wish there has been something I could have done to stop all of it, to prevent any of it. When I looked at my first boy I wanted nothing but glory and joy for him. I believe he will have it, I know he deserves it and even though he is now a man, I am still his mother.
It is harder now, to have to allow him to live his life and not be the greatest force in it, than it ever was to be responsible for him. Nothing I ever did for him was hard, it is an honour to be the mother of this son.
Happy birthday Dan.