Page 27 of How We Loved

“Thank God, you’re here,” I panted.

Meredith guided me back up the stairs, me crawling on my hands and knees.

“Lilah, these are really close together. How long have you been like this?”

“N-n-n-ot. L-o-o-o-ooooooong,” was basically my reply.

She glanced at her smartwatch, pressed the screen.

“Wh-a-a-a-t arrrrrrrrre.” I couldn’t be bothered to finish. The pain was too much and too quick. Finally, I got back into the flat and just knelt on all fours on the floor where I then proceeded to tell Meredith how much it hurt using language so foul and so loud the whole street must have heard it.

Footsteps pounded up the stairs... Ben.

Nope... Tristan. “He’s at the shop. Leaving now.”

I couldn’t answer, but I caught them looking at each other as I wailed through another contraction. After I’d panted until I had no air left, I tried to straighten up, but the pain ‘down below’ was so extreme I couldn’t. I was stuck on all fours in the most ridiculous position. I’ll never be able to do sex from behind again without visualising it.

That’s if I even want to have sex ever again. The jury is out on that and will be for a while.

Meredith called Juanita, who was at another birth. We were told the second midwife would be on her way but we should go to the hospital if we couldn’t wait. She’d be fifteen minutes.

I know I’m always known for being dramatic, but this time I had good cause. “I’m not going to make fifteen minutes.” I managed to squeeze my words out as I waited with trepidation for the next wave of pain.

More footsteps pounded up the stairs, and this time it was Ben. He skidded onto the floor next to me, smoothing my hair, kissing my forehead.

“My love, I’m so sorry.”

I gnashed my teeth together. “Pain killers. I need pain killers, and I need them now.”

“Do you want to go to the hospital?”

The thought of getting in a car, well I just didn’t think I could do it. I shook my head and squeezed his hand. “It hurts. It shouldn’t hurt this much so soon.”

“I know, baby.”

Meredith let the midwife in who helped me to the bedroom with Ben.

“How long has it been like this?” she asked.

“Not long.” I ground out.

“Let's have a feel then.”

Never have I so willingly or gratefully shown my fanny to anyone. She rummaged around and then lifted her head to meet my desperate gaze. “This only just started now?”

I nodded, sweat beading and rolling down my face. “Braxton Hicks, days.” I just about managed.

“That wasn’t Braxton Hicks; that was the real thing. You're almost fully dilated.” It’s like the moment she said the words it opened the flood gates - so to speak. The intensity rose, the burning heat in places I didn’t want it, setting me on fire.

“Drugs! I need drugs.”

The midwife, whose name I didn’t know and who had seen more of my muff than my face, shook her head. “Too late. It’s time to push.” Ben pulled out the clean bedding we’d been told to buy and have ready for a home birth, and as he did I realized what I was about to do... at home... in my bed... with no medical interventions at all.

Which leaves me with one very important question. WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH ME.

It all gets a bit hazy from this point. Lots of crying, swearing, more crying. Swearing from Meredith, who had a brutal lesson in ‘never have a baby’. Eventually, even my mother was in there, and actually, she was lovely. She stood up at the top end, smoothed my hair, patted me down with a damp flannel.

Then, just as I truly thought I couldn’t do any more, there she was, the baby with no name being thrust into my arms, covered in this disgusting white stuff like she’d been rubbed down in lamb fat and was about to swim the English Channel.