Mental block, and a beautiful baby boy.


Every time I try to tell him how I feel, my mind goes blank. Every time I try to write, the sentence disappears. I even struggled writing these two.

On January 19th this year, I found out that I was pregnant. I was speechless to say the least.

As time went by, I didn’t fully relalize that I was in fact carrying a child. It never actually hit me. And then he arrived, almost two months early. Seven and a half weeks to be exact.

32 + 5,  2,410grams and 43 cm long. My own beautiful baby boy. Benjamin Illias.

Here’s how it went down;

I had had pretty painful aches around my lower back, hips, and in the front. Kind of like a belt; every night for three days.  The pains always went away, so I never thought anything of them.

On the fourth night I heard a pop from inside me, and something splashing. I went to lie down, very confused. Then my water fully broke, a wave splashed out, again and again. I panicked and called the hospital. They sent an ambulance to come pick me up, and I was strictly ordered to lay still until they got there. My little boy was sitting in my pelvis instead of being head down, like they’re supposed to be. I had to lie still so that the umbilical cord wouldn’t get cut off, and stop my baby’s oxygen supply.

I arrived at the hospital, quite clearly soaking. They brought me in and started an IV drip, antibiotics, and then something to try to stop my contractions.  My mum, my mother in law and my boyfriend were all there. They took some tests, and then brought me into another room, they had to check how much water my baby had left, and if he was still with his butt downwards. Needless to say, he was.  He was still doing great, so they put me back into the room and told me to get some rest. They hooked me up to a machine that measures contractions, and baby’s heartbeat, and gave me some more IV fluids.

My boyfriend also got a bed brought it, so I wouldn’t be alone. Our mothers went home, being told it wasn’t likely that anything would happen that night. Or so they thought.

My contractions kept getting stronger, so I pulled the cord to call the midwife into my room. She then proceeded to measure how dilated I was. 5cm. Halfway there.

That’s when people started running around. I was told I was going to have a cesarean section within the hour. Needless to say I panicked. I was told that it had to go that way because my baby boy’s head was broader than his butt at this point. Nothing abnormal, but would put too much strain on him if I were to deliver him vaginally.

They prepped what they could and rolled me in, leaving my boyfriend to put on the clothes needed, and me to get my spine sedated. When they were done, I was numb from the top of my chest, down to my toes.  Still slightly panicky.  But It would’ve been so much worse if I hadn’t had my midwife there. She was such great support, but sadly she couldn’t stay. She had to leave the room to prepare for my baby boy.

According to my boyfriend, it took 10 minutes for them to open me up, 7 layers or tissue, and take him out. But he didn’t cry, he only grunted ,like he was annoyed, and then looked at me. I shed a few tears, and then they took him out of the room. He was born 1st of August, 05:52 am

I was struggling not to fall asleep. It took another 45 minutes to close me up.  And I managed to blurt out; Are you done yet?!  Needless to say I got a few chuckles out of that one.

I was exhausted, and needed sleep after being awake for 24 hours.

After everything was closed up, they rolled me up into another ward. I was told that I would have to stay there until I had regained feeling in my feet.  I wanted to see my baby. My beautiful Benjamin Illias.  My boyfriend was there, and helped me put my piercings in, gave me something to drink and salty crackers. I was starving. After that I drifted in and out of sleep.

I barely remember them rolling me up to my room.

I asked the nurses to roll me down to the ward he was in, so that I could meet him, and hold him.  I don’t remember holding him for the first time, all I have is pictures of me being exhausted, and him full of tubes over his little tiny face.

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We spent the next month in the hospital. Giving him baths, feeding him though his feeding tube, cuddling with him, bottle feeding him, attempting to breastfeed, changing nappys and just bonding with him. It was a long month.

And then we got to go home!

The first night was terrifying, but me somehow made it through. We were suddenly on our own, no nurses just around the corner. Just us.

The time at the hospital wasn’t just a dance on roses, I was depressed, confused, angry, and oh so guilty, for every single thing. There were breakdowns, a tonne of them. And a few thousand tears. I barely ate. I was unable to bond with him, and it tore me to pieces.

That state lasted for about another month, still not completely out of it, but I’m managing. Now I love that little boy more than anything, he’s my little ball of joy. He’ll be fourteen weeks old on Saturday. Three months and one week.

I love being a mum. I finally have a purpose.

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Here he is, just a few days old. ❤

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