Together again
No, this is not a reunion fic.
When I put in one of my earlier 221b's a brief mention of "breech birth", little did I know that I'm signing the doom coming upon me.
One notion: It can be very, very vocal, indeed, thank you very much.
Unlike the deliveries of my two daughters, twelve hours each, where I had enough strength to labour and enough time to handle the pain on the psychical level, this time... I've been reduced to crying mess, all I remember that I've begged God for quick and merciful death. My son decided to rush and my only luck was that the body-splitting, tissue-tearing, bone-cracking pain lasted only 45 minutes. (I very nearly didn't make it to the clinic and my guardian angel had a tough day keeping the birth water in while I was still in my father's car on the way - I started to deliver in earnest ten minutes after I passed the reception.)
After those minutes, my son was put in my arms and all the medics around me stared in awe because the boy had four kilograms. Nearly eight pounds if I remember the ratio. Not something you see coming legs first every day and so quickly.
Now I am at home, after four days at the clinic, the boy is thriving, the girls are crazy and the father is much, much relieved.
I'll be back at writing as soon as we create something of a routine. Naturally, I did start the Jane Eyre thing I mentioned earlier, on the evening previous to my son's coming, and now I have no idea when I'd finish it, but I will!
When I put in one of my earlier 221b's a brief mention of "breech birth", little did I know that I'm signing the doom coming upon me.
One notion: It can be very, very vocal, indeed, thank you very much.
Unlike the deliveries of my two daughters, twelve hours each, where I had enough strength to labour and enough time to handle the pain on the psychical level, this time... I've been reduced to crying mess, all I remember that I've begged God for quick and merciful death. My son decided to rush and my only luck was that the body-splitting, tissue-tearing, bone-cracking pain lasted only 45 minutes. (I very nearly didn't make it to the clinic and my guardian angel had a tough day keeping the birth water in while I was still in my father's car on the way - I started to deliver in earnest ten minutes after I passed the reception.)
After those minutes, my son was put in my arms and all the medics around me stared in awe because the boy had four kilograms. Nearly eight pounds if I remember the ratio. Not something you see coming legs first every day and so quickly.
Now I am at home, after four days at the clinic, the boy is thriving, the girls are crazy and the father is much, much relieved.
I'll be back at writing as soon as we create something of a routine. Naturally, I did start the Jane Eyre thing I mentioned earlier, on the evening previous to my son's coming, and now I have no idea when I'd finish it, but I will!