You feel like you are going to die.
The pain is immeasurable to anything else you have ever felt in your entire life.
You've been a mother now for 3 years, slightly more. And yet you've never done this before. And you're terrified.
Because you can't do it.
On writing out your birthing plan, once, twice, and then typing it out, just for good measure, you had decided, much to Harry's confusion, not to have pain relief. For the majority of Kit's formative years you have felt like a fraud. You are not worthy to be called his Mother, because you didn't do it right.
You didn't have the chance to.
To some people, you know it must seem stupid, but you felt that it was something you had to experience, you owe it to her...
...your second child.
It had not been the easiest of pregnancies, but you had been warned of that. When you miscarried Kit, your uterine wall was damaged. Carrying this baby to full term wouldn't just be uncomfortable.
It would be life threatening.
But you had done it. Harry had been there every step of the way, despite how scared he was, and had made sure you took it easy, sometimes fighting you to persuade you to take on more paperwork, spend more time at home and to let him look after Kit.
What everyone had failed to warn you, was that the birth would be equally as horrific as the last 9 months.
It's terrible to think it, but despite your pride at carrying this baby for nine months, part of you wishes you hadn't, because you just can't cope with this pain.
Another one comes and you press your lips together, wincing, willing yourself not to push and attempting to breathe yourself through. Harry notices your erratic breathing start up again and rubs a hand over your back, telling you in a tone as light-hearted as he can muster, not to panic.
He just doesn't get it.
It feels like a boulder in your insides, pushing down, down so hard into your bottom you feel like it might tear you apart. The skin of your stomach is stretched so tightly, you fear you might rip. It's a stinging, burning and aching pain all at once.
"Alright, Nikki, that's you at ten. You're almost there!"
There is a minor celebration in the delivery suite though you barely register. You are dimly aware of someone positioning your legs, bending your knees, and then Harry's hand is on your forehead, cool and soothing against the burning heat of your skin.
You have been horrible to him for the past 6 hours, really, and all he's done is help you as best he can. But now you need him, you look at him through wide, fearful eyes, breathlessness rendering you unable to speak, and so you silently question him.
He sees the fear in your eyes as another wave of pain hurtles to the fore and you writhe, your back leaving the bed as you arch. He looks straight at you and as you cling to him as if he were your saviour he holds your shoulders and restores your calm. You hear his voice, clear above everything else.
"Okay, this is it. Don't be afraid of the pain because it's not going to be for much longer. Don't panic, just listen to your body, and you'll know what to do. You are built to do this."
You nod vigorously, and don't let go of the firm grip on his hand as he leans over and kisses your hair, snaking an arm round your shoulders to hold you.
"You're being so brave. You've barely made any noise at all! I'm so proud of you!"
Deep breath in, deep breath out, you listen. Waiting. For something to tell you what to do. But it is calm again, though there is now a permanent ache in your bones which hasn't shifted. A relative hiatus seems to have washed over you and the rest of the room. You breathe in the silence.
Just as you are about to ask what to do if you can't hear your body. The pain and the pressure build again.
You know exactly what to do.
As it reaches its optimum you squeeze Harry's hand as tightly as you can, push your chin down to your chest to stop you from screaming, close your eyes tightly and push as hard as you can. It's like being in a horror movie. You're in a horrific amount of pain and the only way to get rid of it is to intensify it.
It just makes the pain worse and seems to make no difference, but you don't stop, not for one second when you hear Harry counting quietly in your ear, egging you on.
"Eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen."
The need to push leaves you and you gasp for air, throwing your head back against his shoulder, exhausted and shaking.
"That was fantastic, Nikki! And again!"
You've barely had a chance to recover, when it happens again, and you give it everything you possibly can, before giving up, breathless. Your eyes meet Harry's as you lean your head back.
"Nothing's happening!"
"It will, darling, it will I promise."
"I can't do it! I can't!"
"You're panicking. Stop it, now. You have a medical degree for god's sake."
At first you are taken aback by the sudden sternness in his voice and his abrupt change in attitude frightens and panics you further. He sounds angry, his voice low and fierce and it scares you. Until you remember. You remember what you asked of him. You had told him under no circumstances were you to have pain relief and that if you started to lose it, he was to be tough on you. Perhaps you know yourself better than you thought you did. You can see it now, now that your vision is less blurred; the twinkle in his eye that tells you he's doing what he can for you, what you asked him to do, he believes in you. He knows you can do this.
You don't believe him. But you trust him, so you restart the cycle and push down with all the power you possess and finally, eventually, something shifts.
The pain intensifies and you give a small cry, Harry's grip around you tightens.
"Okay, now Nikki, the baby's head is about to crown now this is going to feel a bit stingy, but I don't want you to shy away from the pain okay? I need you to listen to me very carefully and do exactly what I say and I reckon you'll have your little girl in about 4 minutes."
The midwife gives you an encouraging smile and with no energy to do anything else, you look to Harry. He looks excited and nods his encouragement.
"The next time you feel a contraction, I want you to push as hard as you can until I tell you to stop okay, and then that's all there is to it!"
She makes it sound so easy, if you had the breath you would ask her if she wanted to swap places.
See if that would be 'all there is to it' then.
This time when the pain comes it burns and stings so intensely you can barely think, you bare down, as you did before, and the pain gets ten times worse.
You're a doctor, a pathologist at that; you study the female body on a daily, almost hourly, basis. You know the lengths to which it can be tested. You know the extreme conditions it can survive, the magic it can create.
But if you didn't know any better, you would say this was an impossible task. There is no way you can push this baby out of you.
Despite the extremely vulnerable position you are currently in, you don't want to appear weak, and so you keep going. Unable to hold it inside you any longer, you release an ear splitting, primal shriek. Harry, who has never seen you in such a state before seems to have broken into a cold sweat. He has stepped back from you, looking pale and clammy, and through bleary eyes, you can see that the student midwife has a comforting hand on his shoulder as he looks on in horror.
You never considered the affect childbirth would have on your husband, and in the split second between one contraction and the next you feel for all the new fathers who will have to go through the very same. Much is done to prepare a woman for the birth of a child, they are even shown how to breathe, but little is said to their spouses. No one warns them how their partner will suddenly run cowering back to their most base instincts, and how there will be absolutely nothing they can do to make it better. You know how he hates to see you hurting. But this time it's different. This time it's natural, it's meant to hurt, by rights he should want you to hurt. It must be conflicting, you think and in a moment of pain-induced hysteria, you find yourself actually feeling sorry for him. This is his first time at this sort of thing too.
You feel something give and the midwife tells you to stop and again you gasp for air, your head falling to the side as you fight to stay conscious.
She was right, when it mattered, you did know exactly what to do, and you continue to breathe, in some state of shock, pushing gently when you feel the urge and suddenly, finally the pain is completely gone.
The atmosphere in the room completely changes then. Suddenly, there is a baby, looking just as dazed and confused as you feel. The relief that this is the end of the pain, the achievement at having done it yourself, the euphoria of being a new mum again, the exhaustion, all hit you at once and you burst into floods of tears. The overload of emotions too much to handle after a long, tiring day.
You worry slightly about how he'll react, as you walk with your son, hand in hand down the hospital corridor, listening to him chatting away so fast he is barely making sense.
You remind yourself of Nikki's wish to visit neonatal before you all go home tomorrow, with Kit so the nurses can see how much he's growing up.
You reach the door and find yourself feeling inexplicably nervous.
"Are we ready?" A question more to yourself than your son.
You look down to the little boy at your side, who nods enthusiastically.
"Now before we go in, I want you to understand that you'll always be our special boy, okay?"
You often forget his amazing intelligence for a three year old, and this was one of these moments. With a wistful smile that could only have been inherited from his mother he gives you a flawless answer.
"I knowed that."
Not wasting any more time you open the door and guide him in by the hand, squeezing perhaps slightly more than necessary.
Nikki is sitting up in the hospital bed holding the sleeping baby, in a pink fluffy dressing gown surrounded by balloons and cards. She has obviously had a few visits since you left earlier. You were extremely protective of her yesterday. Both of them. Your girls. Your Mother wanted to come up with her grandson immediately, but you had banned all visitors, perhaps harsh, but she needed to sleep. They both did. Now with no make-up and tousled, blonde hair about her face, she looks well-rested, surprisingly refreshed for a new mother and never has she looked more beautiful. Her accomplishment has left her with a glowing happiness that radiates from every pore, making her seem to shine in the afternoon sunlight.
You lift your son onto the bed and he gently climbs up to his Mother and sits by her side, gingerly pulling the blanket away from his little sister's eyes.
"Kit, this is Freya."
"She's very small."
He looks at her with a furrowed brow for a moment or two, touching and examining each of her hands in turn, before stroking and softly blowing on the dusting of blonde hair on her head.
You share a look of anticipation with Nikki. You would compare the feeling to those dancers on that BBC One show Nikki likes, while they are waiting for their score from the judges. Only it's not your dancing that is being judged;
It's your DNA.
Finally, he seems satisfied and you both nervously look to him, awaiting the verdict. He rocks back on his knees and gives a concluding sigh.
"Can I still have a goldfish if we keep this?"
He seems insulted, taken aback when you both burst into fits of laughter.
Why, oh why, oh why couldn't the writers have just given us a handful of babies?
Then, maybe I wouldn't have had to do this.
Oh well. I've never given birth, so I don't know if this is accurate, still, I'd love to know what you think of this!
Love, as always xxx