With Lucy overdue and a free invite to a black-tie do in our pockets, we sat in Starbucks anticipating the night ahead. The hardest decision to make was what type of little black dress was Lucy going to buy? And then it all changed.

“Darling…..I think the contractions have started"

Rewinding a few months and Mr Thicky was sitting in an NCT ante-natal class thinking that having a baby was a medical emergency that required teams of surgeons and machines that go "bing". Lucy (of course) had done her research in some depth (think bloke buying a new car) and I was now totally converted to the idea of having baby at home. We had gas, air, enthusiastic midwives (two) and a huge pool in the kitchen - we were ready! As Lucy bounced on her birthing ball, I built and filled the pool - being air traffic controllers, we had done a full risk-assessment, practiced building it and given it a valid certificate of airworthiness.

 

After a number of hours of regular contractions, the midwife was summoned. The "madwife", as she called herself, kept my mind off the grunting animal in the pool that was my wife by ordering regular cups of tea and being totally relaxed and normal whilst I did the "bloke waiting for a baby to arrive" routine - pacing and fretting. Lucy was incredibly relaxed too, and carried on a     conversation for many hours with the odd interlude to scream like a wolf in a full moon with its paw  caught in a trap. Not through pain, apparently, but just the natural noises of birth. Gas, air and cold cloths were my contribution ­ allegedly a vital one but I do admit to a helpless feeling akin to turning up at the wrong school reunion.

 

At one point Lucy and the madwife disappeared upstairs to do something related to breaking of waters so I busied myself with washing up. A cowardly, but I feel wise, move.

 

The pool was an absolute godsend and I was amazed at how relaxed Lucy was with minimal application of gas and air (probably just a ruse to keep me busy). At one point, the two midwives and I were chatting in the living room when we realised that perhaps we should go back into the kitchen since Mrs K was making more noise than usual! Just after five in the morning, it became apparent that Kirkland junior was about to make an appearance.

Temperature of the pool was critical and very much a job for a man with a scientific background so I busied myself with hoses and thermometers whilst the midwives hovered around the pool like wicket-keepers waiting for a fast bowler.

 

The magic moment as the head appeared was comically punctuated by cries of "DON'T SIT DOWN!" and then all the tension and tiredness disappeared as the mad wife said "hello" to the little wrinkled face (not me). Out popped what we had         assumed would be a boy, given the history of NO GIRLS in my family and as Lucy cradled the perfect little newborn in the pool, her face was a picture of delight as she announced that it was a girl!

At this point, I cried a bit..... well.. a lot actually and the following few minutes are a bit of a blur as we just stared and stared at the perfect little girl called Niamh, the goodness from mummy still pulsing through the umbilical cord. The time had come to let Niamh loose on the world and I cut the cord with tear-filled eyes.

My early fears of home birth were now totally eradicated and we both have very happy memories of the whole experience.

Only an hour or so later, the house was our own and we stared incredulously at the  sleeping bundle next to our bed - 'We've got a baby!" was said many times and the most wonderful day and night was over. Lucy slept soundly as the adrenaline kept me going until the kitchen was back to normal or at least as normal as can be when an excited dad, a birthing pool and a very powerful pump are involved... perhaps a story for another day.

Happy memories shared by Kel and Lucy Kirkland, proud Mummy and Daddy of Niamh.