Throes of Labour

This time last year, I was in labour.
I had already been sent home by the midwife at the hospital because I wasn’t in established labour. I was in pain and getting hacked off.

It seems so surreal to remember it. It almost feels as though I’ve made it up and I wonder if my memories of it are somewhat skewed.

I remember laying in the bath, and after 45 minutes being to uncomfy to stay in there.

I remember it being incredibly painful to lay down, but my contractions were in the top of my legs, so standing up was impossible.

I remember The Husband telling me to eat and drink. I only wanted chocolate and blackcurrant squash.

I remember every bump in the car on the way to the hospital.

I remember being told to stop screaming by the midwife as I was scaring the other ladies in the triage ward.

I remember being helped down the corridor whilst heavily relying on the wonderful gas that was making me slightly spaced out.

I remember thing the anaesthetist how much I loved him after he cited my epidural and then apologising to The Husband.

I remember the rest of the time being quite relaxed and peaceful.

The midwives were lovely.
The doctors were lovely.

Then I had to go to theatre.

A year ago today.

Cannot believe my baby is almost 1.

They don’t stay little forever.

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