The Unplanned Journey

It’s funny how life has a way of throwing surprises your way. My pregnancy wasn’t planned. It just happened, as those things do. And honestly, I’m glad it did. Because let’s be real: when is the timing ever perfect for having a baby? You’re never rich enough, never free enough, never sure enough. I always wanted kids, but it felt like something I could just keep pushing into the future. Part of me doubted whether I was mature enough (I mean, I’m in my thirties, but I still feel like a teen mom), and I was terrified of bringing an innocent child into an often cruel world. It felt selfish to have a baby.

When it happened though, I was flooded with so much love. I couldn’t wait to pour it all into this tiny human I hadn’t even met yet (but, you know, in a totally chill, non-obsessive way… probably).

But first, there was work to do. My sister and I were both pregnant, only two weeks apart, and we were managing a small family business. The mountain of tasks that piled up before we could go on maternity leave was impressive. Long car rides to potential clients, sometimes to be turned away at the door. I was exhausted, struggling to stay awake. I even fell asleep behind my computer a few times (don’t judge me, they were lucky to have me).

The stress didn’t stop there. Our baby wasn’t growing as he should have, which only added to the tension. The doctors advised me to slow down. But guilt crept in. If I took a break, the rest of my family would have to work harder. So I pushed through. By the last two months, sleep became difficult to come by. I was kicked awake by my baby’s karate moves every night, giving me a taste of the energy that was to come. So basically, I haven’t had a full night’s sleep in two and a half years.

With my partner working abroad, I was often alone. There were moments when I envied the movies: husband walks in, massages his wife’s shoulders, takes care of dinner and the groceries. But I’d gotten used to doing it all on my own. It wasn’t easy, but that’s just how things were. I was tired, my joints ached, and the morning sickness that was supposed to vanish after the first trimester? Yeah, it didn’t. It stuck around, all day, every day. Just thinking about that summer makes my stomach churn.

And that’s when mom guilt kicked in. Before my son had even made his debut. I was already failing him. I wasn’t resting. I wasn’t nourishing myself properly, and by extension, neither my baby.

But through all the exhaustion, frustration, and guilt, there was still magic. I’ll never forget the first time I felt him move. It was early morning in the south of France, sunlight streaming through the windows, curtains swaying in the breeze. I felt it, a flutter. No, not gas, it was movement. I had made a real connection with this tiny human. My body wasn’t just changing. It was creating life.

When I first saw him move, my belly rippled with his tiny kicks. I couldn’t help but laugh in awe. Watching my body transform into this vessel for another human was… surreal. Definitely alien-like, but in the best way. Pure magic.

As my due date neared, my doctor decided to induce labor. Our baby was small, and they didn’t want to risk him running out of energy during natural labor. Nervous? Definitely. But in that good, tingling-with-anticipation way.

We ordered dinner from our favorite spot and tried to calm our nerves with an episode of The Big Bang Theory. I hopped in the bath while I still had the chance and snapped one final, deeply unflattering belly pic. Instagram vs. Reality? Check.

And then, it hit me: the next time we came home, we’d have a baby. I was about to become a mom. I felt both unprepared and ready to start this new life.

The Waiting Game

I thought labor would be like it is in the movies: water breaking dramatically, music swelling, me crying out for drugs. Then, a baby would appear, and we’d all live happily ever after.

Well, I was induced on a Sunday, but the action didn’t start until Tuesday. On the bright side, that meant our little one was born on Valentine’s Day. And I couldn’t help but think how beautiful that was. Our love baby, born on the most symbolic day of love.

Still, it was hours of waiting, pacing, and watching movies. When the nurses checked in, I grudgingly admitted that I was fine. No contractions, no pain, nothing. By day two, I was pretty sure the staff was getting bored with me. Finally, they gave me stronger meds, and suddenly, the contractions came fast and furious. One hadn’t even faded before the next one crashed in. No breaks, no mercy.

At first, I held off on pain relief. I wanted to be one of those women who do it all natural, just like my mother and sister had. But after what I assume was hours (I had completely lost my grip on time), my resolve crumbled. I turned to my partner and begged, “Drugs. Now.”

By the time the anesthetist arrived, I was a mess. He asked why I had waited so long to call him. Maybe it was silly of me to try and do it the hard way when it was perfectly safe to get help. But I was also afraid I wouldn’t fully experience the birth, afraid I’d be too drugged out of my mind to be present.

The doctor had to give me the meds twice before they actually started working. And then? I just lay there, grinning like a stoned idiot, mumbling, “Drugs. Good.” I probably passed out for a bit. But before I knew it, the nurse was back, announcing it was time to push.

Like I said, I was worried the drugs would prevent me from being present enough. But by the time it was time to push, it either had faded away, or my mind rose to the challenge and was there for it. All of it. In the middle of all the struggle and agony that is labor, my brain still had the audacity to whisper, “This is the most unattractive thing my partner has ever seen me do.” And I made sure to include the image of our son crowning between my legs, for good measure. Because nothing says romance like that visual.

I also felt like I had no idea what I was doing. How do you even push? I thought it would just come naturally. But it didn’t. Was I supposed to push like I had to poop? This felt wrong. Is this what all women go through? The pressure kept building, the pain kept intensifying, and as a bonus, I threw up a few times for dramatic effect.

The Miracle of Birth

Finally, after the nurse literally pushed on my belly, our son made his grand entrance. My whole body shook so badly from crying that I was afraid I was going to scare him. He was so soft, like water, but made solid. He was here. Real. The moment I’d imagined a thousand times, and it didn’t even come close to matching the sheer intensity of it. I know I’m a shitty author for saying this, but I can’t describe how amazing and strange it all felt.

When they took him from me to weigh and put on a diaper, I asked if I couldn’t just hold him naked for a while. Skin to skin. A primal part of me felt that overwhelming need to get rid of any barriers between us. But the nurse said it would be too messy if he pooped. I thought it was silly at the time, but when I saw his black, tar-like substance that was his poop, her comment made more sense.

The Hospital Days

Those first few days were a blur. There was joy, but also exhaustion, confusion, and an unsettling realization that no one was coming to take over when we needed a break. Nurses came and went, and my partner and I just kept looking at each other like, Are we seriously in charge of this tiny human now?

Leaving the hospital was terrifying. I cried as we walked out the doors. But as I would soon learn, my threshold for things worth crying over was about to hit an all-time low. (Thank you, hormones.)

Of course, I eventually got over that. These days, the kid sprints full-speed into walls for fun. Maybe this is just how they learn? Or maybe he’s just built differently, either way, not my problem until he starts skipping vowels. But since his vocabulary currently consists of ‘chocolate,’ ‘no,’ and an occasional dinosaur noise, I guess we’ll have to wait and see.

If this story resonated with you, leave a comment.
I’d love to hear your thoughts!