Christmas stars

“Starlight, Starbright, first star I see tonight, I wish I may, I wish I might, have this wish I wish tonight.” Technically it’s 4.45am, so it’s actually morning, but nothing I could think of for that time of day rhymed. (Oh, my wish was that the birth would go smoothly).

As dawn was unfolding there was one beautiful big star in the sky as I drove an hour away to a homebirth of a first time mama. She had been in established labour for around four hours before she rang me - she was trying to wait till morning and let me get a full nights sleep, what a legend!

The small problem was that I hadn’t remembered to give her the birth pool which I loan out to my homebirth clients. Her last words before hanging up were “bring that pool!” “Sure, sure, no problem” was my response. When really I was thinking “shit, shit, this is a right f*#% up”. So then I had to wake my husband and explain I needed the pool lifted down from the top shelves in our shed - right next to the sleeping guests in our Airbnb - at 4:30 in the morning. He was very good about it, albeit slightly stoney in response... “NOW??? What the...!?” So by phonelight we were then both sneaking around in the shed trying to lower this huge pool down a ladder and drag it outside. The poor Airbnb guest probably thought he was being burgled. Hopefully he doesn’t leave a review.

Now the only non work appointment I had for December - well the only important one anyway - was a haircut that was due at 10am that day, two hours in the other direction from my homebirth. Bit tricky, it would need to be a VERY fast birth to get there and I imagine the chance of getting a re-book before Christmas is very slim. I held out hope for a while but as the minutes slipped by I accepted my split ends. Really in comparison to the gift of this baby coming before Christmas I’d miss my haircut any day.

Every December mother to be freaks out about her baby being born on Christmas Day. I can’t say I blame them, everyone wants a special day for their child. This baby had chosen to come a couple of weeks early instead of the usual 41 weeks for a first time mum. So we got off lightly, none of the pre Christmas pressure had started. The date a baby is going to arrive has been the thing of sweepstakes and fortune tellers for generations, but in the Christmas season the pressure is on 100 fold. And it’s on the midwife.

It’s hard enough in June convincing a woman that a term pregnancy is anywhere from 37-42 weeks gestation (she believes you until the day she gets to 40). But in December anything after 40 weeks and one day becomes a disaster. There is an expectation that we midwives have some power over this and although we might have some tricks to speed things up, it’s usually only by a day or two. But the focus at appointments becomes all about getting the baby to come. I don’t like it, it’s hard not to get caught up in the pressure.

Now that most people find out the gender of their baby before the birth the actual birth day is one of the last real surprises left to us. Google, social media and modern medicine means we can get answers to almost everything. I like that there is one mystery still out there. That and the fact we don’t know what actually makes a woman go into labour in the first place. That’s pretty cool.

But don’t get me wrong, if I could have some advance notice so I could plan my hair appointments I’d probably take it 🤣.

And what a day to have a baby it was, the sky was slowly turning a pale orange and the mist was rising up off the paddocks as I drove south. It was going to become a beautiful blue sky and there was a new crescent moon, so we didn’t even have the full moon to thank for the baby’s early arrival.

This clients plan was to set the pool up on her deck where she could look out over the beautiful limestone countryside of their farm - oh what an awesome way and an awesome day to have a baby! Merry Christmas little one.

My own first baby is not so happy with me and my Christmas cheer. I asked him via text if he wanted to come to dinner in a neighbouring town with me, his sister and his grandparents. Always up for a free feed he was in quick smart. Then I told him we just had to watch my sisters carol singing for half an hour afterward. (She’s in a really amazing chior - but I’ve never seen her perform and this short casual option seemed like a good way to look supportive and tick the loving sister box - the other option was a three hour sit down concert requiring tickets! You understand my sneaky plan surely?)

So of course number one son then said that no he was busy. “Too late I’ve told the grandparents you’re coming” I said. Very proud of my sneakiness I was.

So off me and the kids trot. Husband had developed a convenient stomach bug - although I thought the vomiting was taking it a step too far myself. After a nice dinner we headed to the town hall for the concert. Think church-like, hushed tones, close proximity, think average age 70, think two teenagers - one shooting daggers. Think me grinning ear to ear about managing to get him there.

So the carols start, I suddenly realised I haven’t been to a sit down event like this since my kids left primary school and was actually enjoying myself. My sister was doing an excellent job and all was rosy... then they asked us to stand and sing along!

WHAT??? She never mentioned audience participation! We’ve been had! So the joke was then on me, I had pulled a number on the son and this was payback. Now my dad is an awesome violinist, my sister has amazing vocals, my mum’s a good singer too. Yet I am tone deaf and the musical ability has completely passed me by.

It has also pretty much passed my kids by. They can’t sing either. Now don’t get me wrong - we sing loudly and very badly to some absolute bangers in the car together, but that has a ‘what goes on tour, stays on tour’ mentality about it. Standing in a row in that church type setting with a 16 year old on one side trying to act very respectful and an 18 year old with a really bad mullet on the other - looking shocked and scowling - just had me in complete giggles. So then we were all off, shaking uncontrollably at our predicament, there may have even been a snort. It was bad, disrespectful even, but bloody funny. A real family bonding experience in fact. I even took a sneaky video of our lip synching and sent it to the husband.

Then they made us do it again!

The son still hasn’t forgiven me.