It's a maternity ward, not the red carpet

A woman had a baby this week, her third. It made the news because he is fifth in line to the throne of England and as with her first two she was outside the hospital showing her child to the world's press within hours of giving birth. In response (or possibly in support) women have been sharing photos of themselves immediately after they had a baby. The photos range from a woman applying make up and doing her hair to the scraped back pony tail and sweat top look.

My own first photo was taken by our midwife in the operating theatre after our son was taken out via the sunroof. It had all been so dramatic that I'm not sure I was even thinking about photos so I'm grateful that she had the foresight to do it for us. I was all trussed up in a gown and wearing a green cap when they brought him over to me. He was held close to my face so I could look at him, I closed my eyes to breathe him in and gave a prayer of thanks that he was safe. He was taken away while I was sewn up and there are photos of my puffy red-faced little boy and a wonderful photo of Daddy holding and looking at him with pure love and gratitude.

I don't recall looking in a mirror at all for the first few days - I had no reason to. I was in hospital and had limited range of movement due to the surgery. That didn't matter so much as I just wanted to stay in bed with him in my arms. At night I would lie with him on my chest just looking at his tiny little body and holding him close. The midwives would tell me to put him in the cot to get some sleep, but I didn't want to be without him for even a moment. We had come so close to not being there and he was far too precious to me to put him down.

He was tiny when he was born - I had expected him to be bigger due to my enormous size at the end - which we now realise was due to the pre-eclampsia. When he came out so small I had to admit my size was probably down to the chips and chocolate I'd indulged in after years of dieting rather than baby and placenta.

As Brown Bear was the first grandchild and first nephew in our family the list of visitors who were desperate to see him was long. He was delivered by emergency caesarean so we weren't allowed to see anyone the first day. Then we invited immediate family and my two closest friends to come and see us. I think I asked Hubbie to help me shower and wash my hair before they arrived and wheeled the cot into the bathroom with me as I didn't want to leave the baby alone.

When they did arrive I was still in nightwear and stayed in bed pretty much the entire time they were there. My Dad was the first in and couldn't wait to hold the baby. He didn't want to leave. My friend S-J was so terrified of holding him - he really was so very tiny he looked like a doll - so I put a cushion on her lap to prop him on. I don't recall anyone commenting on my hair or lack of make up. If they did after they left I have no idea.

The very idea of showing off my baby to the world and being judged for how I looked would have been more than I could have coped with. In those first few hours I just wanted to be with my baby.

And to sleep.

Conversations with my nearly 6 year old

"I grew in your tummy didn't I Mummy ?"

"Yes you did baby. "

"And I came out and I was born ?"

"Yes."

"Blue Bear was in someone else's tummy wasn't he ? "

"He was."

"He came to us because he couldn't stay with his family didn't he ?"

"That's right. It was to keep him safe. Just like me and Daddy have always kept you safe."

"Was it difficult having me ?"

I pause.

What I want to say is:

"It was harder than you know. I didn't meet Daddy until I was already older than most women are when they have their first baby. I spent too many years on crappy dates and meeting men who weren't Daddy - including a failed marriage to a man who told me he didn't want children. He now has two of them, so I guess he changed his mind. Then when I did meet Daddy it wasn't plain sailing, but we knew we wanted to be together. We both wished we'd met years earlier and wasted no time in trying to have a baby. Then it didn't happen. It was very difficult to hear that we couldn't have a baby. We cried and cried. More than I ever knew I could.

So much happened in between that I want to tell you about when you are older, but for now I want you to know this. I went to the Royal Court Theatre with friends one evening in January 2010. The play was terrible and the meal afterwards involved some creative accounting from the restaurant. Having sorted out the bill (I didn't drink wine so I was able to do the basic maths) I came home to Daddy and we agreed to do a pregnancy test. Just in case. It was positive. I cried. A lot.

I loved being pregnant and you were a joy. Even when I had morning sickness it meant you were growing and developing inside me. As you grew and my body changed I said goodbye to the slim body I had worked so hard to achieve with exercise and diet - and I didn't mind at all.

When you were ready to be born it was a long drawn out labour. It went from relaxed and beautiful with you and me in harmony to an emergency which they told Daddy could have cost us both our lives. Your Nani-Mummy - my Mummy - was in India and I couldn't even see her or talk to her. Daddy was brave and amazing, taking calls from my family asking how we were doing while keeping from me the news that as you were being born my Grandmother had passed away.

Then there you were. A blessing. My miracle baby. A beautiful unexpected 40th birthday present."

But I don't say any of that. I say,

"Well, it wasn't easy."

You smile.

"But it was worth it"

I say.

"For every moment you wriggled when I tried to sleep. When you had hiccups inside my tummy. When you hid from the sonographer and she had to coax you into turning round so she could tell us you were a boy. I used to sing to you all the time. - songs with the word baby in them."

"That's funny Mummy." 

"Well you were a cheeky monkey even inside my tummy."

"Blue Bear is a cheeky monkey too isn't he ?"

"He has the best teacher."

"I love you Mummy."

"I love you Baby."

International Blog Swap Day: Guest post by Twinkle in the eye

As part of International Blog Swap Day I am delighted to host a guest post by fellow blogger Bree Katsamangos. I am blown away that she has found time to take part considering she gave birth so recently and she is also kindly hosting a guest post by me over on her fabulous blog Twinkle in the eye. Pop over and have a look :)

There are few television shows I am committed to. Actually, there is just one. It is the UK series of One Born Every Minute. Come Wednesday evening at 8.30pm I head to the bedroom and set myself up to watch an hour of what my husband calls 'exploding vaginas'. Seeing his children born is enough for him, for me I'm addicted. There is something primal and powerful about women giving birth and without fail I shed a tear as each piece of humanity enters the world full of light and potential.

Having given birth a week ago to this little piece of perfection and still bearing the scars, the aches and pains I think I will watch this week with mixed emotions and possibly a sweaty brow. It was not an easy birth, it took twice as long as my first and the word 'harrowing' keeps coming to mind. The women in my family don't birth well, but we do make gorgeous babies.

Women are tremendous creatures, our bodies are miracle makers, built to give life, to feed and nurture. Our bodies tell a story, each in their own unique way. The challenge and triumph of this birth taught me not to resent my body, but to celebrate it. I am not looking at its new softness as something to be conquered but as something to cherish. It is a reminder, that I and all womanhood possess a unique power, that not only applies to pregnancy and birth, but to all of life and its challenges. If we can do this, we can do anything, our potential is limitless.

How do you conceptualise birth? Is the experience or idea of birth empowering or does it evoke something different in you?

Bree blogs at Twinkle in the Eye. Bree is a compulsive dabbler, she is generally well grounded but is prone to flights of fancy. Bree blogs about motherhood, food, politics and whatever strikes her as amusing. You can read more of Bree's blog here.