When are the grown ups coming?

Christiaan and I are a bit more… mature… than some other parents. We’re the cheese of parents. Not the mouldy sort, no, I mean we’re not THAT old, but the sort that’s been around a while. More than Dairylea, less than Stilton…. MATURE CHEDDAR! That’s what we are – the mature cheddar of parents. Hooray, right now that’s sorted.

So anyway we’re older than a lot of parents of a toddler – not scandalously so but enough that we’ll not be the trendy parents at the school gates. I’m alright with that mostly, but I am worried that when Eli wants to kick a ball with his dad that arthritis will make it less fun. Not that I’ll be arsed to be fair, we’re already established I wont be taking part. Me, my mobility scooter and my flask of tea will be more than happy watching from the sidelines under a fleecy poncho (yes they exist).

Christiaan and I got together in July 2012 – I imported him you know. Off of that England. We worked at the same firm but some 300 miles apart, after months of driving up and down the country we decided enough was enough and he immigrated to Scotland to live with me, in what was an incredibly quirky house. We were engaged in February 2014, moved home in April 2014, married in November 2014 and fell pregnant with Eli in January 2015…. You can tell there was no M.E. at this point right? Life moved FAST in the land of Sarah back then.

Pregnancy wasn’t great for me, and if I’m honest I think it was when my body started to get a bit pissed off with me. Eli was a big baby, he was breech and he was forever dancing around and being a bit of a tit…. then my blood pressure started playing up, my kidneys started getting a bit narky and infected and before you know it BOOM, I’m on meds for blood pressure, antibiotics and appointments every Tuesday with the consultant. I was not impressed.

My darling son was not for turning – not even when a doc has his hands dug into my pelvis from the outside trying to manually turn him. If you’ve never experienced an ECV you’ve never lived – its one long massive party when you’re the size of a whale and hormonal. The consultant and Christiaan had a talc fight though, which was nice, I enjoyed seeing them bonding while I was stranded on the bed…. fuckers.

So Eli was breech, I was pissed off, Christiaan was covered in talc and the consultant wasn’t arsed in the slightest – a C Section it was then.

Eli was born under a bit of a cloud of drama on the 23rd of September 2015. What I hoped would be a relatively calm, albeit sterile delivery when to shit when my body decided blood was for the week and a massive hemorrhage was in order. There I was laid with my belly sliced in half, blood everywhere and a lot of panicked faces when I decided I’d have a good spew. I don’t know if I can explain how it feels to spew while you stomach is wide open but the good news was; feel it I did, because, well the epidural packed up and went home. What a fucking nightmare. The anesthetist was frantically trying to get me sorted, surgeons were trying to stop the gush, I was chucking up and Christiaan…. well he was stood on the sidelines with a 9lb bundle of baby.  I was stitched up, pumped full of new blood and wheeled round to begin “parenthood”… If I’d had my wits about me I reckon I’d have laughed – it was all a bit mental.

So he was here, and to be honest, I think babies all look a bit alike when they’re born. They’re a bit like elongated swollen testicles – Eli was no different. There was no huge gush of love like they explain on the telly and to be honest I was a bit relieved; it would have been utterly removed from who I am to be all serendipity about it.  The hospital packed Christiaan home around 8.30 that night and left me alone with this wee bundle though, well he wasn’t wee, he was pretty massive compared to the others… but you know, he was smaller than me.

To be honest I was shitting myself, I had a catheter up my fanjo and my legs were still dead after my increased epidural which, ironically, started working better after Eli was born. I wasn’t sure if my boobs had got the memo about becoming a dairy either. What if Eli or my boobs had no idea what they were doing? How could I walk over to his cot and sort it all out when I couldn’t walk and which cruel fucker didn’t even put the light on in this bastard room?

That first night was terrifying. My body was shit, it had been through an epic ordeal and I had no idea what to do with a baby…. what the fuck had we been thinking? Surely no one would trust me to look after a baby on my own?



I did it though, I made it through that first night and Christiaan was the first dad through the doors the next morning – armed with a car seat…. both he and I were determined I was going home that day. I only had to convince all the nurses and midwives and consultants I was ready and not going to drop down at any point.

I was discharged at 2pm 😉

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