Self-Discovery

No Use Crying Over Spilt Milk

The week before I was due to meet Graeme, I went into labour. I was three weeks early. I woke in the middle of the night, pain rolling through me like a tide. I groped for the phone, and called an ambulance. 

Once at the hospital, the midwife checked how dilated I was. 

"Wow, honey, you're doing great! This baby is going to be a good 'un! You're at ten centimetres, so I want you to push for me." I waited for the next contraction, and pushed. It felt like trying to force a tennis ball through a straw. 

"I-I can't!" I yelled, gritting my teeth against the pain, and fisting my hands in the bedsheets. The midwife smiled, flashing pearly teeth.

"If I had a pound for every mother who said that, I'd be a millionaire by now. Just wait, and then push. Focus, and pant. You only need to push once more, then you'll see your new little girl. Are you ready?" I nodded, then pushed, gritting my teeth, and howling, as bit by bit, Annabelle slipped into the hands of the midwife, screaming, and propelling bowed legs in the air. The midwife was grinning from ear to ear, as she handed Annabelle to a waiting nurse. 

"What's going on?" I asked, so exhausted I was barely able to speak. 

"It's okay, honey," smiled the midwife, "we're just going to clean her up and weigh her. She'll be back in a minute." I waited anxiously while they cleaned and stitched me up, waiting for my daughter.  Eventually, they brought her back to me, quiet and cleaned up, wrapped in a pink crocheted shawl I had provided. "Are you ready for the first feed?" I nodded. I had chosen to feed Annabelle with a bottle. I gathered Annabelle in my arms, and fed her with the warm milk. I couldn't quite believe the miracle I had created. She had inherited my dark hair, and her eyes were light brown like Graeme's. She gripped my index finger tightly in her fist, forming a tiny, unbreakable manacle. I promise I'll never let you down, I vowed silently. I'll always be there for you, whenever you need me. I'll never stop you from fulfilling your dreams. She looked up at me, her eyes boring into mine as though she'd heard every word. She drank a little milk, and then I held her, watching her fall asleep against the rise and fall of my chest. I couldn't take my eyes off her.

Eventually, the nurse came in and commanded that I get some rest. I transferred Annabelle into the tiny plastic cot by the bed, and fell asleep almost immediately, dreaming of babies and milk. 

Things were bound to get better, weren't they?