Well 39 years ago today I was there heaving and thrutching (as they say in Oldham) trying my hardest to give birth. He was, unfortunately, a breech baby and I swear he was hanging on to my ribcage saying no no I don't want to be born. These days it would have been straight down the theatre and no messing with a firstborn breech but in those days it was a case of hang on the bed head and get on with it.
Eventually he and I parted company at 2.30pm with the help of God knows what drugs, forceps, many doctors and a lot of swearing. Because of his traumatic birth I then didn't see him for 48 hrs as they rushed him off to intensive care and there was none of the care for me that the mothers have today. They just roughly embroidered my bits together with twine and a darning needle and dumped me on the mat ward and left me baby less. Two days later, after many enquires from me as to the whereabouts of my baby, I was presented with this strange unwashed bundle and told it was mine and they wondered why we didn't instantly bond! Thank God birth is a more enjoyable event these days and a family affair. I had no visitors allowed during labour and definitely no one allowed to be present at the birth. It was primitive in those days girls. Positively Dickensian in 1969. No epidurals or scans for us. No knowing what sex the baby was before birth. I wanted to breast feed but Ian was born in the days where I was considered to be a big nuisance for even wanting to try, instead of help I got given a bottle and told to give him that instead. Things have changed for the better.
In spite of all of this he turned out to be a great guy. Even with 4 months of screaming colic we did thankfully eventually bond. After a few months of baldness he turned out to have gorgeous blond curls but unfortunately he soon reverted back to the state of baldness again in his late 20's. Good job it's fashionable to have a shaven head.
Happy birthday to my son and heir (of what?) my one and only fruit of my loins. Have a good day,
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