***trigger warnings for birth trauma survivors***
At the time of writing this you are 74 hours old. You are in your Mother's arms and you know how very loved you are. You are such a blessing to so many. You are the fifth blessed child your parents have had, the second little brother your big sisters have doted on and you are the sole brother that your big brother is over the moon to meet. To me you are a great many things, to you: I am doula.
|Just look at that belly!|
Contractions were one minute apart and more intense, still your Mum was very chatty and happy between them. I was waiting for her to get the endorphin haze and doze between each one. She moved around the pool slowly, searching for the most comfortable position and not finding it. She verbalised some fears about birthing without a midwife. I was sending regular updates to Midwife and asking when she thought she would arrive. Your Mum wanted her to come whenever she could, even if it was just to weigh you, hours after you were born. Your Midwife suggested we call her back-up Midwife, but Mum declined, saying it would all be over by the time that hour-away midwife could make it.
My baby had fallen asleep again and this meant I was able to once again massage your Mumma's back during contractions. Your Mumma was very upset that you would not be born at home after all, and we shed tears over this while we waited for the hospital staff to organise the next move.
You were a perfect newborn size. They had already dried you off, sadly. Neither your Mum or I ever saw you in all your gooey goodness, this was a first for me: a dry and blood free newborn, it was odd. Your cord had been cut immediately, my heart sank, knowing this would hamper your respiratory stats. I took your hand in mine and you squeezed it and it set any worries I had at ease.I noticed all the other hands on you were wearing gloves and that I was the privileged person who touched you skin to skin for the first time in your life.
|Oscar Byron ~ 8.98Lbs/3.906Kgs ~ born 11:01AM Tuesday February 28 2012|
|Trying to breast crawl|
My energy was waning terribly, and I fear that from here I may have let you down, Oscar. I tried to advocate for you, to get at least one thing your Mother hoped for you to come true. But the staff have their ways and their attachments and your poor Father's heart was stretched about as far as a man's heart can stretch. Two and a half hours he'd heard nothing about the state of his wife and baby. The doctor started talking about the rarest worst case scenarios, she mentioned "brain bleeding" without any mention of rates, statistics, risk factors or your personal case. She made no mention of opposing views to her own either.
|Together at last Thursday March 1, you are 55 hours old|
I couldn't visit you on Wednesday, but was glad you and your Mum had your Midwife. Your Mum and I stayed in touch on the phone throughout the day and I missed you both terribly. I returned on Thursday to see you in your Mother's arms for the first time. It was such a sight to behold, at last! Such bliss to see the love between you two, how made for one another you are, just as it should be. And she cooes and squees and kisses you all over. You are so loved, dear boy. A queue of siblings lines up to hold you ready to relieve your Mumma, who has little interest in being relieved. She's waited a long time to hold you, she's worked bloody hard to hold you.
From your loving birth servant,
One more word...