Story of Charlie

I don’t know why it took me two whole years to write this. Maybe because I’ve been thrown from one place to the next, one of those places being rock bottom. Maybe because I enjoy living in the now, or am too lazy to write. Who knows, but here it goes.

Birthing is where I’ve been the most me I’ve ever was. No thinking, no ” what’s next?”, no ” is my hair okay, how do I look? ” or “I feel watched, judged and fat”. No, there’s just me and my body, doing whatever it’s supposed to do.

You hear voices, people guiding you – doctor’s and nurses, no crazy no-no-voices, real people trying to help you- but it’s distant. Like hearing them talk in slowmotion, in the next room maybe. There’s you and your baby and the overwhelming urge to do this thing right, to meet them and become a mother. I remember every smell, every motion I made, how many pushes it took – 7 including one that made my head turn purple ( think Willy Wonka’s Violet )- but I can’t remember doctors or their words. I’m glad they were there, super thankful to have such a skilled group guiding me, but it did not seem to matter at that time.

I wish I could say it did not hurt, or I can’t remember the pain. I can, still am reminded every sneeze or accidental pee, which can 100 percent be blamed on me and my lack of interest in pelvic floor training, but it’s worth it. It all is. The clich√© is true, once you hold that tiny human, that smudged little bundle of person, the pain is gone. In that moment. Everything is gone. Except you, and her.

The truth is I didn’t even see her face for the first half hour, I felt her, I held her, in my heart, on my heart. I just sat there catching my breath, looking up. I knew she was perfect and nothing else mattered.

The details

Not too many, obviously. Like I’m not going to add in a picture of my placenta ( which is WAY more gross irl anyways).

I went in for a routine check-up on april 6th and they decided I had to be induced, as you could have read in my previous birth story post.

After my cheeseburger stop, I got to the hospital and had a little tour of the birthing area. My room was huge, so so so many options for labour and delivery. I had a tub -spoiler, did not use it – and everything ready for me. I got into my pj’s and then they started me on some meds to get things going. I was in my zone, laughing, having a great time. My parents were there, my brother and ofcourse Nicky was there. They stayed for a while but my contractions where coming on slow and it didn’t seem like it was going to happen that day or night.

Weeks before delivery I already decided that I wanted Nicky and my mom both present at Charlie’s birth so my mom stayed overnight, just in case. Right before bedtime my hungry, pregnant-ass self decided to get one last use out of my ” I’m pregnant so you HAVE to feed me ANYTIME “-card and Nicky went and got me some pizza. I remember the heat of the box soothing my belly contractions. Pretty neat.

I did not get much sleep. The laughing stopped, my body was shaking, and the pain slowly creeped up on me. This went on all through the night. When they checked me in the morning I was only 3 cm’s, things were moving, but slow. After a few more hours they decided to speed things up by breaking my water, which was not as bad as I always thought it would be. Kinda like peeing your pants after a drunk night out ( bet we’ve all been there at some point, ladies ).

Epidural followed soon after. Holy cowbells. Those contractions took control of me, I was shaking and crying, I couldn’t control my words and I turned see-through, ghostly pale. The epidural was…well. Not pleasant. It’s more fear than pain, but those 10 minutes of not moving AT ALL made me go crazy. You know that feeling when you’re driving your car and think ‘ man if I sneeze now, I might die ‘, that, times a million. I did manage to get in a few minutes of sleep afterwards. Contractions are still there but it takes away the edge just enough for your exhausted body to get some rest.

Hours passed, hours and hours. 32 to be exact. And then a painfully familiar feeling came rushing through my back, belly and legs. In full force. Tears streamed down my face as I called for a nurse. They kept telling me ‘ I wasn’t there yet’ and ‘ the epidural is still working ‘. I was, and the epidural wasn’t. The little pump fueling my much needed happymeds was empty, they had to call an anesthesiologist and by the time he arrived and got everything set up again.

My body took over.

” I need to push “, pain meds not working, my body harder than ever. They told me I was at 8 cm’s last time they checked and I couldn’t be ready to give birth yet. I repeated myself 3 times, each time louder than the last. They must have known I wasn’t joking by the growling noises following my words, because they quickly double checked and they now- ironically- told me “you need to push”.

Everyone was rushed out of the room, Nicky drinking coffee in the hallway was pulled by his collar into the room, walked in to a full frontal view of a baby crowning and went into total cheerleader-mode. My mom tried to film but ended up joining the cheersquad and leaving me with nothing but video of her feet dancing around to the sounds of my screams.

Heartbeats dropped, mine almost stopped, nasty cuts were made where no knife should ever go ( my mom lovingly described it as ‘ a chicken being de-boned ‘, weeks after my full recovery ofcourse ) and my life changed forever.

” reach down, you feel her ? Grab her shoulders, you got this, gentle push and pull her up mama! ” – I have goosebumps writing this, my favorite moment in my life so far –

I pulled her on me, felt so powerful. I fell in love with my body, I fell in love with what it could do. I fell in love with who it has made. I became a mama.


I did it

for real this time.

After numerous polls on my stories about anyone being interested in whatever my brain is willing to pour out, I’ve done it. I’ve created my little space on the internet where anyone – or nobody at all – can find me.¬†

This would be me, for once pictured without a toddler on my hip.

It’s an old picture, as you can tell by the make-up on my face and the lack of extreme under-eye baggage. What this means is that I spend most of my life living for my daughter, and that’s what this whole little space will most likely be about. If that’s not for you, great, fine, this will be an hello and a goodbye all in one. If you’re here for the baby vom and poop talks, welcome to what I’m sure is your life too. No other sane person would ever read this. Mothers, slightly insane and all game for the dirt and realness, are my crowd. I’m looking at the three mama’s that consistently like my instagram pictures, here’s to you girls.

This post has no real value other than to test out whatever features this blogging thing has, and to have a small section of this, soon to be baby space, dedicated to me. The one that had to sit on an ice pack for a week after giving her life.

I hope my words find their way to some of you who might need a relatable story to read when googling the shit out of why parenthood is such a mess or those who simply want a laugh. At my face, constant grammar errors or what a joke my life is sometimes. Whatever works for you.

Oh and my name is Liz.