Meet Amelia Anne

Meeting Amelia Anne: A father's continuing adventures

Inexpressible

When I first wrote down the areas I wanted to share in the blog, it rapidly became clear that there were some that were simply beyond my capacity to do justice to. I cannot yet resolve in my own head the mix of feelings I had during the labour, watching someone I loved so much do something so hard, so real, so painful, so solitary and yet so beautiful and magical, knowing I would happily trade places with her but never would be able to.

I will also never be able to fully express the joy and relief I had walking into the hospital room in Nyon to find my recovering wife and introducing her to her daughter. Suffice it to say, there were a lot of tears.

Happy Lucky Daddy

A couple of hours after Victoria was stretchered out of the birthing house our magnificent midwife let me know that she was out of theatre and doing fine, which allowed me to sleep a little. When Amelia and I woke up we made a few phone calls and face-timed some grandparents, I took this delightful picture of her all swaddled up and then I had an hour or two alone with my daughter. It occurred to me that I was a pretty lucky guy; how many dads get their child all to themselves in those first few hours? I asked myself what I should do with her. Well, we spent the next couple of hours getting acquainted with the Indigo Girls while I looked at her and laughed and cried at the same time. It was an odd feeling, and one Victoria and I have struggled to articulate, some peculiar combination of joy, gratitude, relief, delight and love, all expressed in this peculiar wet-faced braying.

When I catch V staring at Amelia and crying I know exactly how she feels. It's some raw emotion.

Just Read the Manual

Haynes manuals are great. For non-British folk out there, they are the accepted authority on vehicles of any make or age, a comprehensive set of instructions on how to dismantle, repair and reassemble your vehicular friend. I bet the mechanics down at my local Ferrari garage still refer to their battered copy of 'The F430' when taking apart Herr Schumacher's pride and joy. A quick glance at the internet reveals the breadth of service to which the good people at Haynes have driven themselves. As soon as my battered Corellian freighter needs its hyperdrive realigning, that Millennium Falcon Workshop Manual will surely save me from costly services. Sadly, Amelia didn't come with one, so we're having to work it all out for ourselves. Now, I can't complain at all as she's been a first rate addition to Team Denton so far. She generally only cries when she's hungry or covered in poo, and sleeps a good few hours between feeds. However, when I was left babysitting all by myself during her first week (or 'parenting' as Mrs D calls it) I found myself briefly in need of expert advice. "How long should you let a week old baby cry if you

know she's been recently fed and has a clean nappy?", I asked myself. Well, I didn't know, so not having the relevant Haynes manual I referred myself to the second source of all knowledge: the internet.

Well, I stumbled into a confusing world of conflicting advice. Any of you with children will already be aware of this, but for the yet-to-be initiated, every conceivable position on every single aspect of parenting is firmly held by someone with access to a webpage or publisher. It was best summarised by this blog. I should let her cry it out, clearly, and she would learn to soothe herself this way, and it would definitely scar her for life. I should absolutely pick her up to soothe her and rock her to sleep, unless I wanted to create a dangerous dependency.

This was a useful lesson: NEVER ASK THE INTERNET FOR PARENTING ADVICE!!! I can only assume that from the maelstrom of despair and inadequacy it engendered that I had stumbled across 'the dark web.'

Thankfully, a good friend who's children I know and like came round. Seeing as she evidently knew what she was doing she was able to advise me. Apparently I needed to 'calm down.' I should also feel free to let visiting mums cuddle my adorable child. Also, sometimes babies are hungry off-schedule. I guess Amelia hasn't read the manual. When she gets around to it, I recommend this  one...

Some moments from 52 hour labour (Papa's perspective) #2

Some moments from a 52 hour labour (Papa's perspective) #2

Truth, fear 

There are moments in life where the problem is reality, that one is all too aware of the facts of the matter, and that one is powerless to control them.  An hour after Amelia was born came such a moment. As the wonderful Claire put it, at such times we are all heart; no brain at all.
The birth had gone as smoothly as it could for such a long one. On a handful of paracetamol, my incredible wife had delivered her precious cargo to the world. We were briefly content, attempting to breastfeed and reposing as a family for the first time for a moment. Then of course, the afterbirth needs to come out.

It didn't.

The breastfeeding should have helped.

It didn't.

The injection of oxytocin should have helped.

It didn't.

The midwives' expertise should have been enough.

It wasn't

An hour after the birth, we were told that Victoria simply must go to hospital for a surgical intervention. I watched as an ambulance crew worked with one midwife to strap my now unconscious wife to a stretcher. There seemed to be blood everywhere. One midwife had kept an eye on Amelia and I and kept me busy looking after her, but for a few minutes I was alone, clutching my naked newborn daughter to my chest under a blanket and watching as my tenacious, vivacious wife was carried out the door.

I wept.

I prayed, and I knew God was with me, but counting back the promises in the bible, I knew that not one of them told me Victoria would be OK. He promised to be with me, and that I would be ok as He went through whatever life throws at me alongside me. But I also knew, in a suddenly real way, that Victoria might not be coming back to me.
I could only cling to the facts: the midwives were not too worried, and I was probably reacting out of a state that to call 'tired and emotional' would be utterly to underplay. I should not trust my instinctive fears.

I don't quite know how I got though that moment, looking down at the top of Amelia's head and her tiny hand wrapped around my finger. I only remember praying "not this cup Lord, anything but this", and eventually being OK.



Less than an hour later I heard from the hospital that she was in surgery, out like a light and all was going well. Finally I could join my daughter in her peaceful sleep.

Vanity calling?

Victoria had always wanted a few pictures of the birth; she has a few from her own birth and cherishes them, so I was under strict orders to capture a few salient moments, however inappropriate it felt at the time. I cant tell you how glad I am that I did; those first few shots give me a few concrete places to hang my memories.
Knowing her plan, when we set off to the hospital the first time at 6:00 am, Victoria managed to straighten her hair between contractions.

That took a while.

What a peculiar picture of determination she is.

And how lovely she looks, hair straightened or not!

Naming

You wouldn't think it was that hard, naming a child, other than the draw-jopping terror that in one decision you can ruin a future with comedy initials or a series of awful nicknames. Perhaps that's why it took a couple of days; we really wanted to get it right. My sister-in-law, keen for detailed news, was told weight, length, hair colour and "no name yet." Her alleged response: "What are they playing at, they've had 5 months!" It's true, we had known we were having a daughter for a while. I'm really glad we found out; knowing I was going to have a daughter really helped me bond with D-minor. By the end, we'd narrowed it down to just a few names, each of which we really liked. We just wanted to meet her and see what she looked like. Then things were complicated by the fact she was born on the 23rd April: St George's day and Shakespeare's birthday (Which is incidentally why it's world book night. How cool for a bibliophile to have a daughter for whom to buy books every year!) Should we call her Wilhemina? Georgina? (Georgia had a good chance for half an hour, to be honest. ) How about a Shakespeare character? I liked Cordelia, myself.
In the end, we decided against any new additions. The ultimate call was always going to be Mrs D's, she'd clearly earned the right. At about half past ten, she became Amelia Anne. We hope she likes it; it's quite a responsibility. She's stuck with it for a good long time.

I also wanted it to be shortish. If I'm going to get it tattooed on me somewhere I don't want it to hurt too much!

Some moments from 52 hour labour (Papa's perspective) #1

Some moments from a 52 hour labour (Papa's Perspective) #1

(in no particular order)

And relax...

We walked into the maison de naissance, two and a half days into the epic slog, and our hearts lifted. They sang. The hospital we'd been at that morning had been so efficient, so clinical, so medical, that Victoria's labour all but stopped as her heart sank. There was also the fact that after a night of what felt like such hard work, she'd progressed only as far as 4 cm dilated. The maison at Grens was so warm and cosy, so colourful and soft. There were plenty of places for papa to sit when he needed to keep out of the way. (How wonderful that this was one of Victoria's first thoughts!) Pervading all was a soft persistent smell of lavender, one of my favourite and most soothing scents. Kindly, the following morning the midwife dispatched my daughter and I with a little present; a lavender pillow for her cot, so that feels connected and at home, and little woollen hat, knitted by a lady who lives nearby and could never have children, so has knitted one for  every child ever ushered into the world there.

Within a minute, Victoria was immersed in the giant bath, resting her weary head on a blue U-shaped pillow, and instantly, frankly, at home. This was the place she could work.

Never alone

It goes without saying that a 52 hour labour is a difficult thing, for papa and maman both. That Victoria did it is testament to the hands we were in. Two wonderful midwives working seamlessly as team inspired so much confidence. Friends across continents asked for updates infrequently so as not to pester. Two families here in Switzerland, godparents to Tiger, prayed and prayed and prayed through the whole birth with us. We were in God's hands, which were the very real praying hands of our friends. We will both be eternally grateful.

A welcome surprise.

Towards the end, the midwives gave an ultimatum. As much as they wanted to give Victoria the birth she wanted so much for her baby, she was nearing the end of her prodigious personal resources. 49 hours into labour she was still at 7cm. In 2 hours, they were going to have to make a call; we're ready to push now or you're going back to that hospital to get the medical assistance you need to get everyone through safely. 

Victoria felt the pressure, let me tell you. She didn't think she could do it, that they were going to be cutting our daughter out of her. Nor did she think she could make the drive. I told her she could do it, not believing it myself. She found the strength to keep going, and under some incredibly tender and insightful coaching from Claire and Evelynne, she managed to push on. When we checked again at 2:00 am, she was ready to push.

The pushing part was full of shouting. Three of us were urging Victoria on on in two languages (at this stage she was so exhausted she was losing her French: I was even occasionally translating!). Every time it was "One more!" "Don't stop!" Frankly, for all I was shouting at Victoria that she could do it, I was tired of hearing  "one more push." The twelfth time you hear it, you begin to lose faith. The  hundredth, they're just words. So at 2:47 when Claire said "stop stop Victoria, look!" I though she wanted to show her something, some sign of progress in the mirror, I got the surprise of my life! I'd missed seeing what was going on, I was literally holding Victoria up, so I looked over her shoulder and Voila!, all of a sudden, there she was. My daughter. The child I had known for months inside of my wife, pushing on my hand in church services, wriggling when we watched a little TV, was there in front to me, safe in Claire's hands. A peculiar monochrome intrusion in otherwise colourful world. That moment, when the abstract invisible blessing to come became the daughter I will know and love and raise, was indescribable. In all the busyness, in all the shouting, everything stopped. The world stood still. This rapidly pinkening creature captured my heart and I was overwhelmed by reality. Within a moment she was lying on her mother's chest and holding my hand.

#2 to follow...

I get a kick out of you

Last Thursday Victoria texted me at work:

"I just felt baby kick today. Woo Hoo!"

 I have to say I didn't know what to feel other than happy and quiet. I guess the only word for this is awed. It's incredible that already, just 5 days later, V says the kicks can be felt from the outside and I'm excitedly looking forward to the first time that happens when I'm around!

These really are the fun bits of pregnancy, as far as I can see. We're at week 20, with 20 to go, so well into the second trimester. V is still healthy and energetic enough to cycle to work and do some aerobics, but the bump is now clearly that of a pregnant lady, and V doesn't have to worry about being mistaken for an enthusiastic pie eater! 

We're also at that point where everyone knows about it. It's odd that that doesn't come till after that 12 week scan, because the run up to then was actually when we needed the most support. Now that that support is freely available, it's less critical. Those weeks from 6-12 wre the hardest; V was super nautious and tired all the time and we were both worried about an early miscarriage, having got that far before. Looking back I'm so glad we had taken the decision not only to tell our families but also a couple of really close friends over here. I wish there was less of a taboo about talking about miscarriages. It isn't until you have one and friends come out with their sympathies and experiences that you realize just how common they are. I think we've missed a trick there.

Next week we'll have our 'morphology scan,' or as many of us know it, THE GENDER SCAN! It is apparently controversial that I want to know the gender of D-minor; many of our friends react with either surprise or a little judgement when I tell them how excited I am to find out if I'm having a son or a daughter (you soon get used to people's freely given opinions and judgements when you're expecting!). I suspect that this whole adventure is already incredibly real for v, especially with her insides now being rearranged on a daily basis, but for me as an apparent ENFP, the ability to visualize the future as a parent seems like too good a gift to turn down.

Anyway, that's it for now, my short return to the blogosphere. Let's see if this theme lends itself to continuation...