Orange Marmalade.

Boy, do I remember exactly what I was doing at this time last year. I woke up at about 3 am this morning to give Sabine her bottle (I know - I shouldn't be doing this anymore!) and that's when I remembered it was her birthday and the memories came flooding back to me. At 3 am last year, I was standing in the bathroom, doing my hair all the while trying to deal with contractions (they were strong enough to keep me from sleeping from about 1:30 am). It's not that I care that much about what my hair looks like but it was a way to keep somewhat distracted when all I wanted to do was sleep , but couldn't, and I thought it would make me feel a bit better going into the hospital later that morning. Of course, at the end of the day, I realized how pointless it all was. I should have baked a cheesecake like my friend Siobhan! By about 4:30, I had woken Daniel up to let him know that 'today is the day'. I sat in bed with him for another 2 hours before considering going to the hospital. Since I had had Kaia by a scheduled ceasarian, all that labour business was new to me. I was always told that when contractions were 1 minute long and 5 minutes apart, it's time to go to the hospital. The thing was, mine were about every 2-3 minutes but only lasted about 30 seconds each so I called the hospital Telecare line and they told me to definately come in. Knowing what I do now, I would have stayed home much longer. At the hospital, I walked. And walked. And walked. I remember root beer popsicles and heavy breathing. I remember birthing balls and intense pain. I remember water baths and Daniel's presence to the left of me. Contractions and contractions, yet little progression. By 3 pm, the doctor decided to break my water and said I would feel a gush and that would be the end of it but at every contraction afterwards - and they were overtaking me by this point - there would be a big gush of fluid, and another and another, and I remember the nurse standing by me with a mop in her hand. A little embarassing I have to admit, even in that state, but the doctor just laughed and said that was a sure sign of a healthy baby. I started the real work of pushing at about a quarter to 6. Every time the doctor came in to check my progression, she seemed amazed and said she couldn't believe just how strong I was. Maybe she says this to everyone, but I felt like she meant it and it made me proud. By 5 minutes to 7, I said to her, "it's all going to happen fast now, isn't it?". She said she couldn't be sure but I knew. And in one final surge of energy I screamed and was lifted into the air and I felt the head, then shoulders, and then every little bumpy bit along the way come through me and then I floated back down onto the bed and there she was, my little bean, all pink and slippery on my now deflated belly. (Obviously the floating bit didn't actually happen but that is my memory of that moment and so it is very real to me). Daniel cut the umbilical cord and when I looked at him I saw the tears in his eyes and I loved him for it. By 7:01 pm it was all over - or should I say just beginning?

And then I ate, and ate, and ate. It took almost three days to feel like I had caught up with the energy lost over that marathon they call labour. I remember toast and orange marmalade - I had asked for peanut butter but there was none left. I had never really liked orange marmalade, and am still not sure if I really do now either, but the memory of it is delicious.