Day of Birth - I lie on the couch, and introduce our beautiful girl to her grandparents, and brothers. We all have a shot of the 90- something year old whisky that my husbands grandfather was given when my father-in-law was born. I should rest but I can't sleep anyway. She latches on and begins transforming my nipples into leather.
Day one - I am in total euphoria. Everytime I look at the result of my nine months work I am overwhelmed. I bounce around the house, shower, get dressed. I feel minimal pain. She is hungry and there is not enough to satisfy her.
Day Two - Still riding the adrenalin high. I manage 2 or 3 bursts of sleep during the night. I forget to take my pain relief and things get a bit sore. I can't stop telling the story over and over again, reliving the highs (I've already forgotten the long hard bits). We take our carload of kids (backseat buldging) out to our extended family christmas lunch and she is the star of the day. Tiring but lovely day, I happily accept the 3 servings of Pavlova and fruit salad that different lovely people keep bringing me! That night our wee girl sleeps a five and a half hour stretch.
Day Three - My parents arrive with my niece, our nanny for the week. They are all suitably impressed. I hit the nipple cream, infact am using so many different creams for different bits that I'm concerned I'll put the wrong one on the wrong place. Still forgetting panadol. Ouch. Can't sit for too long. I feel like I've completed the childbirth equivalent of a marathon.
Day Four - Last night I ate something too strong or rich, or drink too much bubbly, and she had a bad tummy ache. Finally she settled at 3am, awake again at 5.30am. The exhaustion is setting in, but I am going with it. We have lovely visitors. The adrenalin is slipping, but watching her Dad looking at her, with a look of tender adoration that is just for her, that I havent seen before, makes me feel very very content.
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