Hi - you're here! You made it! I love you! Mummy loves you! It's ALL good!
I will go into greater detail about your entry into the world later, but suffice it to say we are over the moon that you're safe, eating like an absolute trouper and generally adorable. Apart from all the farting.
Things you should know about your birth include the following:
Labour was very slow. Your mum laboured, having contractions every eight minutes or so, for about two and a half days, before things started to get really interesting.
We had a doula, Anna, who was like an experienced assistant birth-lady, who had had loads of kids and knew what she was doing. Anna was excellent, and a bit of a proper hippie. But, without her, and hypnobirthing (don't ask) we would have been in trouble.
After about 60 hours of agonising pain on your Mum's part, you apparently decided you might have had enough and stopped kicking for a little while. No blame here, but that scared us a bit, and Anna had to drive us into the hospital in Exeter with your mum in advanced labour, which by the expression on her face was, well... uncomfortable.
When we got to the hospital, the nice nurses found your heartbeat and we could all breathe out again, which was excellent fun. Once she got in the birth pool at the hospital, your mum turned from a concerned greyish tinge, to the warm, relaxed pink we know her well for. Floating about in warm water (a lot of it) is ideal for pregnant ladies who haven't slept for a week and have had four paracetamol in that time. Yes, four.
Things started to get a bit more real in the pool. Your mum's water's broke (don't Google that) and they discovered a bit of meconium in them (don't Google that either) so things changed, and your mum needed more monitoring, so the pool had to go. Next thing you know, she's up on a bed, hollering like a beautiful, radiant and glowing wildebeest and after some fairly hair-raising scenes that I won't relate in full here (although what I've got to lose I don't know) you were born at 2305 on 15th March 2018.
Your mum is so astonishingly hardcore that you were home the following night, but you were restless and uncomfortable all night, and the visiting midwife was concerned, because you'd spat up some green nastiness. 'Off you go to Exeter' says the midwife, and, as the snows gathered and intensified, your mum had to drive you 24 miles through a blizzard to the hospital she'd just escaped from, where she was met by the nurses who were stuck there by the weather. You were taken to the Neo Natal Ward, where the poorly babies are, and at one point, they thought you might have a twisted gut, and there was even talk of an air-ambulance to Bristol. Mercifully, that wasn't required, and it turned out that you weren't all that keen on breastmilk. After a week of trying to breastfeed and being topped up with formula in The Hottest Room In Britain - with my radiotherapy going on across the hospital, don't forget) you were released for a second - and let's hope, final - time on Tuesday20th.
YOU HAVE BEEN A JOY EVER SINCE. I love you. I love your eyes, your wiggly-scribbly hands, your ridiculous legs (sorry about those) and even your half-hearted wailing when I put you down before you've finished piling into yet another massive dose of synthetic moo juice. I could watch you looking at nothing much all day. Yeah, you're totally exhausting and don't know when to go to bed, but that's genetic - just ask Uncle Tim or Uncle Jon how long I can outstay a welcome for. Honestly mate, you're golden. Bravo. Now, go and hug your mum and tell her she's brilliant for being so strong, will you? I've got something in my eye.
