I’m in theatre, coming to the end of 3.5 hours of pushing. It was a forceps delivery, and my wonderful obstetrician finally says ‘one last big push!’ and this time I really believe her, we are at the end. I can’t feel anything below my waist, so I wait, on tenterhooks. Suddenly I hear this humungous belter of a cry.
And I think, ‘Thank God!’
It had been a long labour. B's nose was not facing the right way for an easy exit. But all I felt when I heard that massive wail was such relief. Because a baby that can fill it’s lungs and scream its head off after 3.5 hours of having his head bashed against my pelvis is a strong baby. A crying baby can breathe. It means he is well enough to express his displeasure.
And in a weird way this set me up for parenting.
Because your baby will always cry. They’ll cry when someone says something mean at school. They’ll cry when they don’t get the promotion they worked so hard for. They’ll cry when they experience their first bereavement. Watching your child struggle is something you’ll need to do for the rest of your life as a parent.
Heck, there are some days when I look at B and think, yep mate, I completely agree. Crying your head off is a completely sane response to this world we find ourselves in.
So, now I know I will see him cry again, because he’s healthy and sane. After realising that, B's crying started to pass through me rather than rip me to shreds. Because it will pass. And it will be ok.
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