‘Put your chin on your chest and push from your bum Nicola’ the Midwife told me.
Laying back in the bed, Michael on my right, Mum on my left, gas and air in hand, I waited for the next contraction and pushed like my life depended on it. I was more calm and focussed at this point that I’d ever been. I even noticed it was coming up for 1.10pm on the clock.
‘Push, push, you can do it push’ encouraged Michael and Mum.
I kept lifting my chin off my chest and was told to put it back down. I didn’t scream, I didn’t shout. I gritted my teeth and got on with it.
Then I felt it – the ring of fire or crowning as it’s otherwise known.
My baby’s head had been born. I was quite delirious at that point and clearly remember thinking that’s what they’d been talking about in my antenatal classes! I knew that there wasn’t long left.
I was told to stop pushing.
‘Now slow, gentle pushes with the next contraction Nicola’ I used the panting techniques that I’d been shown in class.
‘Push, push, you’re doing it, a bit more’ ‘Well done, that’s it, nearly here’ …
One final big push and baby will be here…
I pushed with everything I had in me and then I felt the baby come out…
‘You’ve done it. Baby’s here. Well Done’!!
I collapsed back on to the bed, I was exhausted.
I heard the Midwife ask ‘So Daddy, what is it’
I looked over at Michael as he was wiping away his tears.
‘It’s a boy! It’s Alfie’
A boy! I’d had a boy. I’d given my (then) fiancé a son. I was delirious. I’d done it. I’d had our baby. Nobody else had done it. Just me. I’d brought our baby into the world.
Alfie George; born at 1.40pm, weighing 7lb 5oz – the most perfect baby I’d ever seen.