Rory Fitzgerald
I would hesitate to plot a graph projecting the expansion of my belly. However, my wife, a doctor, has no such qualms. When, last Friday, she carefully plotted the dimensions of her late-pregnancy belly on a graph, they were slightly less than they should have been. This can mean the baby is not getting quite enough nourishment. A scan was hastily arranged for that afternoon to check.
We rushed in to the hospital in the sweltering July heat, with temperatures hitting 30 degrees. The roof was down on my old convertible, and the breeze provided some measure of relief. The scan confirmed my wife’s suspicions: the baby had been growing slightly more slowly than predicted. The placenta might not be firing on all cylinders. At least that’s how my non-medical mind understood the position.
I offered my equally non-medical opinion as to treatment: “I think we should get the baby out and give her a drink of milk.” To my surprise, the midwives and doctors agreed. They would induce birth immediately.
Tests suggested that my wife was already in pre-labour in any event, and at 39 weeks, the baby was now ready for birth. While waiting for labor to kick-off, we walked around the hospital grounds in the baking evening heat. It was surreal to be walking and chatting casually, knowing that extreme pain was imminent, and that within hours we could be holding our brand new baby.
Labour ward
Before long, we were back in the labour ward, which looked more like a hotel spa, with its large birthing pool. Contractions soon began in earnest and increased in intensity and frequency. My wife reacted with incredible calmness and presence of mind. Before long the contractions reached their agonising crescendo. It is a terrible feeling to see someone you love in pain, but to be unable to do anything to help, apart from comfort them.
At last, not a moment too soon, came that moment of sudden calm, when like a climber reaching a mountain top, with a final push, a new human being enters the world. My heart soared to see this perfect little person handed to my wife. Within seconds, our baby girl let out a beautiful, gentle, lamb-like cry, showing she was breathing. She had come into the world safely, thanks be to God.
I looked at both the baby, and my wife, in awe. My wife smiled back at me, and shone. The traditional tea and toast arrived and the midwives let us three be alone to enjoy our first moments together.
It was 9.35 pm and the windows were open, letting in a gentle breeze. The summer dusk was warm, and the first stars were beginning to appear, as the red of sunset faded to the west. All the waiting, the pain, the sickness and the heartbreak was forgotten, on that beautiful evening, the moment she opened her eyes.
When my wife went to shower I held the baby for the first time. I walked slowly in circles with her in my arms, transfixed by her beautiful face, and her tranquil aura. She murmured calmly as her deep, searching eyes gazed curiously around. That was the moment I fell in love with her.
By midnight, my wife and new baby were settled into their room for the night. I could hardly bear to leave, but I knew that three other children would be awake from dawn, full of excitement. I drove home slowly in the warm night air, with the roof down, slipping along country lanes under the stars, listening to the chirruping of crickets in the hedgerows.
The next morning, the children rushed in to wake me. I told them the tale of their sister’s birth. Emilia, until then the youngest, announced with pride: “I am a big sister now!” I fixed the baby seat into the minibus and took all there in to the hospital to collect their new sister. They had put on their best clothes for the occasion. They were overjoyed to meet the new baby. Each gently held her hand in turn. Then, we drove home together, a brand-new family of six.
Aoife Fitzgerald was born on July 6, 2018.
