At long last, the news millions of people around the world have been waiting for. The Duke and Duchess of Cambridge announced the birth of their son last week, and the wait was over.
The safe arrival of a baby, whoever the parents may be, is always such a happy occasion, but the timing couldn’t be more perfect for this royal baby given it’s the Jubilee year. I missed out on being in London for the event by four days but, as we know, babies decide when they’re ready to come.
I remember my daughter’s birth as if it were yesterday – how the last few weeks seemed to last longer than the previous eight months. I had hand-washed all the wee singlets and nappies and sleeping suits. The cardigans and shawls from her respective nanas had been taken out of the tissue paper and placed into the drawer in the nursery. Our little flat in Wellington had been scrubbed spotless, right down to the skirting boards, and there was little left for me to do except wait for this much-wanted little person to enter the world.
I had given up work in the last month before Kate was born, and it was the most glorious summer – much like the one England is experiencing right now. The long, hot days stretched into balmy nights, and I would lie out in the long grass in our overgrown patch of garden and sunbathe, feeling the baby move lazily in my tummy as I read to it aloud. Or I’d go to the Basin Reserve to lie on the embankment and watch cricket matches. I found it soothing, although some of the outfielders seemed a bit edgy when they glanced over the fence and saw a woman who looked ready to pop.
This was in the days before every man and his dog had a mobile, so I could hide from the caring callers wanting to know if I “had any news”, while feeling reassured that Wellington Hospital was just up the road from the cricket ground should anything happen.
They were lovely, those last final days. Waiting was your only real job. When the end of the wait comes, it all happens pretty quickly. And no lurid stories from friends or gruesome birth films can prepare you for the event.
During Kate’s birth, while her dad was sleeping on the hospital bed, I was walking up the corridor with a friend. I commented how well I was coping with the labour pains and my friend said, nervously, that things might get a little bit worse. Oh, I scoffed, it can’t get worse. I wouldn’t be able to manage more than this – nobody could. And, with that, a pain like no other seized me, grabbed me and wrung me out. I emitted a piercing wail and my friend looked at me sympathetically. “Now you’re in labour,” she said.
Labour is tough and hard and long, and then, all of a sudden, you’re holding the most perfect little creature in your arms and it’s like you’ve always known each other. You marvel at every perfect fingernail and follicle of hair, and it seems incredible that, every minute, this exact same miracle is happening to someone else.
Now, the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge have their own perfect little miracle, and it’s wonderful to know that all who eagerly awaited the baby’s safe arrival can share their happiness with them.
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