3 weeks ago it was also a rainy Monday. So I am told, anyway, as I have no recollection. 3 weeks ago I was in the birthing pool, attempting to push little Pip out into the world. Today, we are snugged in bed, Pip sleeping on my chest, wrapped in a bird print muslin swaddle, with Delilah sleeping at the foot of the bed. Our weekend visitors have left, and it’s just the three of us.
Yesterday afternoon was sunny, so we went for a walk. Pip tried out her sun hat. I tried not to collapse with tiredness. For Saturday night was spent napping on a camp bed in a hospital room as they monitored Pip. We felt she wasn’t well on Saturday afternoon. She had some signs of dehydration and the midwife wouldn’t come out to see her, advising instead we took her to A&E instead. Whilst there, she came out in a rash, with a few spots that didn’t fade when pressed. Hence admitting her to monitor. Thankfully her temperature stayed constant and the spots didn’t increase, so we were released in the morning. She may have some kind of virus but aside from us monitoring her temperature and spots, which seem to have largely faded, there is nothing else to do. By this morning though, she seems a lot better.
All through the hours we spent being assessed, and even the night sleeping in my clothes on a camp bed, I felt in control. Worried but not overly anxious. And then, about 7am, watching my daughter sleep in the massive hospital cot, I suddenly found myself cold and shaky, in tears. Perhaps I’ll write about this once I’ve finished the birth story, but although I’ve loved her from the minute she was laid on me, it’s taken me a while to get used to her. And now suddenly I am, and I found myself crying.