Sorry for the radio silence

Hello!

Sorry for the radio silence from me, life has run away from me a little bit recently.

I've been back at work full-time since July and it's been a real juggling act. It's so hard finding the time to fit everything - and everyone - in now that I spend five days a week at work all day. However, it's got to be done and, for the moment, we're making it work.

I'm still at Slimming World - just 3lbs away from my target now. Although, after the last few days, probably a few more than that!

I'm feeling so, so, so much better about myself. I would almost go as far to say as I feel back to my old self. I'm feeling confident, happy and so comfortable in my own skin again.

Last week I wore a dress that I bought the summer I finished uni and got my first "proper" job; a whole six years ago.

I used to wear it a lot to work, but worried I'd never fit into it again.

Yet, here we are, wearing it on Thursday!!

I'm back in all my pre-pregnancy clothes now and have bought some lovely new things for our holiday (one month today, wahoo!) including bikinis!!!!

Yes, I know I said a few months ago you wouldn't ever see me in a bikini again, but that's how much better I feel. Granted, they are high-waisted bottoms, because I'm not feeling that confident, but it's a huge step that I didn't think I would be taking any time soon.

I really hope I feel as good once we get there, and I step onto the beach. If not, I've got some lovely beach trousers I can wear to cover up!

So, what else have we been doing?

I feel like our feet haven't touched the ground. 

You know, I don't even think I've written about Peyton's first birthday until tonight. So, I've written a separate little something about that, which you can read by clicking on these words here.

It's not the most riveting read. However, I feel like I've started a bit of a tradition here with blogging milestones etc, so couldn't miss her first birthday. 

We've also been to CBeebies Land which was a great day out for Tom and I, as well as P. Again, if you want to read all about that then just follow this link here.

And, finally, we've been to In the Night Garden: Live at the theatre. Another fun-filled, family day out which I've written a few words about, incase anyone is interested, here.

Those are probably some of the bigger, more exciting things. However, we've also done loads of other stuff. We had a heatwave, which warmed us up nicely for Dubai's temperatures; Peyton's started having sleepovers at my mum and dad's; and she's had her first, proper haircut.

Yep, at 13 months old the girl has finally had a much-needed chop.

Granted, it was so much shorter than I was anticipating...

However, it was needed. The top was unruly and the back and sides were just not in the same league.

Now, it's all the same length and is much more tidy.

She had it cut last weekend and, already, it's grown loads. I'm hoping, by the time we go away, we'll be able to put it back in her signature top knot. As much as it's nice her having her hair down, I do love her with it in a pony/top knot!

We've found a love of hoovering...

...eating at the big table...

...visiting the pub...

...being pushed around on my trike...

...eating cucumber whole...

...and a love for animals.

I've really missed writing my blog. I sometimes will be laid in bed, ready to go to sleep, and suddenly will think of loads of things I want to write about. However, finding the time to actually write them is another matter!

The only reason I've managed to churn out so much tonight is because Tom is at work so I've sat here writing since Peyton went to bed at 7pm, and haven't had any tea...! It's gone 9pm now so probably better sign off soon and feed my face.

While I've missed writing, it's also been quite nice.

I've only ever written my blog for me. I started writing it while I was at uni as a place to share my thoughts on current events, issues and topics that I was passionate about. It was a place to show off my writing style and practice writing things that weren't academic essays. I could write about things I was interested in, and that I had an opinion on.

I've shared almost every single milestone moment since then on my blog. Meeting Tom, getting engaged, wedding planning, pregnancy, becoming a mum, dealing with the hard times that brings... 

It's been a place to offload, make sense of how I feel and what I think, and document how my life is changing. It makes me happy to think I've all these periods in my life to look back on one day, like an electronic diary I'm sharing with everyone else.

Whilst that's always been my intention for my blog, I've found myself spending more time looking at the views each post gets. Previously, I'd post it and think nothing of it. However, my last few blogs I've been checking the views; the likes it's got on Facebook; how many people have commented. 

It bothered me that I was starting to care about that, because I've never written this for anyone else; only for me. It's so easy to get tangled up in this social media web, and I didn't want that.

I wanted to keep doing this for me; and for P.

So many things I think about writing but don't, because I don't think people will want to read them. But, from now, I'm going to write it all. The good, the bad and the ugly. The highs, the low and the in betweens. 

I can't promise I'll write as regularly as I used to, but I will do my best.

Mother's Day

Tomorrow is my first Mother's Day "on the other side".

For 27 years I have been celebrating Mother's Day as a daughter, spoiling my mum. I remember when I was little we'd get up early, go downstairs with dad and pick some flowers from the garden, pop them in a little vase and make breakfast in bed for mum. We'd put the flowers we'd just ragged out of the garden on the tray of toast, cereal, coffee and orange juice; and all pile up to wake mum.

One year I remember taking my tape player (so 90s) and little tinny battery-operated microphone downstairs and singing Mama by Spice Girls to her while she was on the toilet. I was obviously at the age where I recognised the lyrics and the sentiment behind them, but not quite old enough to understand personal space yet.

Every year as a child I used to ask why there was a Mother's Day and not a daughter's day (we'd have the same conversation on Father's Day, too).

My dad used to say, every time, "every day is daughter's day" and I'd scowl.

I remember thinking it wasn't. I didn't get showered with presents or extra attention every day of the year, and nobody ever made me breakfast in bed. And it just wasn't fair.

Well, seven-year-old me, it all makes sense now. Every day actually, is in fact, daughter's day (and son's day), especially when you are a child.

Every day of my life now centres around Peyton and her needs. My day runs entirely to her schedule, my social life needs planning around her childcare, and practically all our disposable income is now spent on feeding/clothing/entertaining/caring for her.

My dad was right.

I understand even more now what Mother's Day is all about. It's not just about picking flowers from the garden and breakfast in bed; or going for Sunday dinner and giving your mum chocolates.

It's about showing your appreciation and love for your mum, for thanking them for everything they do, the sacrifices they make, and letting them have a day off (of sorts, cos we all know there's no real day off when you're a parent!)

Mums are superheroes and we definitely deserve to be celebrated, thanked and shown our appreciation of. Because, some days, we just need to know we're doing a good job.

I can only imagine how painful Mother's Day (and Father's Day) is for those who have lost parents. As I've gotten older, I've loved celebrating Mother's Day with my mum. We always go out somewhere for drinks/afternoon tea/dinner/shopping and it's so nice to have the excuse for mother-daughter time. It's so nice to thank my mum and spoil her. So, for those who've lost their mums, it must be a dark day.

Likewise, for those women who are mums to angel babies, and babies who were too precious for this earth. As lovely a day as it can be for some of us, for another section of the population it's a difficult day.

There'll be people waking up tomorrow marking the first Mother's Day without a mum, or a child, and it'll be really difficult.

So, while I'm feeling incredibly blessed to have my gorgeous girl and to get to spend our first Mother's Day together, I'll also remember those for whom it's going to be a hard day.

So, whether it's your first Mother's Day with a little one, your first without your mum, your first without your baby, or your first that should have been, I hope tomorrow is everything you want it to be; whether that be a day all about you, or a day that's just like any other Sunday.

Lots of love to you all x

It's been a year since I found out I was pregnant

I can't believe where the time has gone - I honestly remember it like it was yesterday.

We'd got back from our honeymoon on the Tuesday and, the last few days we were there, I'd said to Tom I had felt different. We'd been trying for just a month at this time, so I didn't think we would be lucky enough for it to happen straight away.

I blamed my growing boobs on the fact I'd been eating three desserts a night while in the Seychelles!

We went into town on the Wednesday and Tom said I should get a pregnancy test, just to see. I didn't want to, though. I didn't want us to go home and me do a test and us have the anticipation and build-up, then it be negative. While we never expected it to happen straight away, it would feel like such a blow if it came up 'not pregnant'.

The following day, I went into town with my mum for lunch. We went to New Look and I bought lots of lovely autumnal clothes (which I managed to wear for approx a month before none fit - smashing!) and she went to Boots for a flu jab. While there I considered getting a test, just so I'd know. I didn't, incase she came out from getting her jab and caught me in the queue with one, and instead went back into town later that day. I went to Tesco - I figured I'd see less people in there I'd know, given I used to work in Morrisons!

I dashed home, as I was going out for tea with my best friend so had to be quick, and peed on the stick as directed. It didn't take long for the result to appear 'pregnant 1-2 weeks' it said. Holy fuck. I remember standing in our downstairs loo shaking. I whipped out the other test and tried to do that to check it wasn't false. Although, of course, squeezing another wee out so soon after was hard - but it gave the same answer.

I didn't know what to do. Tom was at work and I was going out. I couldn't believe it - I was pregnant.

When I got home later, and Tom strolled in the door, he had a paper bag in his hand. "I bought you this, just do it whenever" and he chucked the bag my way - it contained a pregnancy test. I tried to hide my smile. I'd been thinking all night about how to break the news to him, and all my plans had gone out the window now.

"You've already done one, haven't you?" he asked. I grinned. "You're pregnant aren't you?!" he asked. I smiled and nodded.

And that was it.

We didn't tell our families for a couple of weeks, until we went out for my birthday. As desperate as I was to tell them, I was also terrified. The more people who knew, the more people we'd have to tell if something went wrong.

I had my booking in appointment at the doctors, with the community midwife, on my birthday. It was a birthday I'll never, ever forget. Usually on my birthday we go away for a night, have a day in Leeds shopping and drinking cocktails, and go out for a nice meal. But last year, I went to the doctors to book myself in with the midwife.

It was quite easy to get around going into work late that morning, given it was my birthday. I just told my boss a little white lie that I was going for a birthday breakfast with Tom as he was on a late that day. We spent the evening sitting on sun loungers in our living room (our sofa had gone into storage as we were waiting for the delivery of our new one) and eating Domino's.

I don't know how we'll spend my birthday this year, but we'll have our gorgeous little girl here to join us in whatever we do. Something we dreamed would be the case this time last year.

October is baby loss awareness month and I kept seeing stuff all over Facebook about it. I panicked every time. We were so, so lucky to get pregnant so quickly, it just seemed too good to be true. I was convinced something bad was going to happen and we'd lose our little pea.

Every strange feeling I had, I'd rush straight to the loo. Every sensation, every bit of fluid, I was straight to the toilet to check. I wanted to buy a test everyday to check I was still pregnant. I was a woman on the edge.

People try for months, years, to conceive and, even when they catch on, suffer the most heartbreaking miscarriages. Baby loss is so, so common - even though it isn't talked about as much as it should be - and I felt we were just too lucky.

I couldn't wait for our scan. I just wanted confirmation that 1. the baby was still in there, and 2. everything was ok.

Of course, it all was, and once my sickness kicked in I had regular, daily reminders that I was pregnant.

The last year has been the biggest, most life-changing whirlwind. Being a mum is something I have always dreamed of.

When I was little I had dolls for way longer than my friends (and was probably socially acceptable!) One in particular, Katie, was my absolute favourite. She had a birthday - and would have a party; she wore proper baby clothes and proper baby nappies; and was my way of pretending I had a real life baby.

I've always known I wanted to be a mum and, was stupid as it sounds, I feel like my life is complete now Peyton is here. It's the job I have always wanted. Don't get me wrong, it's the hardest job I've ever had. But, my god, it's the most rewarding, too.

My first blogs when Peyton was born, looking back now, all sound quite negative. My blog has always been a place I have liked to write things down and get things off my chest, particularly on the bad days. When we have had all the good days, I feel so happy and content in myself that I don't feel I need to write. I've realised, though, that I do need to talk about all the fabulous sides of being a mum. Not just for me, but for Peyton when she's older. I don't want her to read all my blogs and think she was a nightmare child or that I struggled and was miserable, because that would be totally inaccurate. We've had bad afternoons/mornings/nights/the odd day, but on the whole she has been an absolute dream.

We've made so many amazing, special memories already. We've had such wonderful, happy days out as a family, just me and her, and with our friends.

She's such a happy, smiley little girl and has completed our world. Everyday she is learning something new and becoming more aware of the world around her. Her latest trick this week has been taking my glasses off and launching them across the room - not ideal.

Peyton will be 16 weeks next week, and four months old on the 20th. I've ordered some bits this week off Amazon to get us ready for weaning. I can't believe it's time to start thinking about that already, but I need to be organised otherwise time will creep up on us and I won't know where to begin.

I've ordered Annabel Karmel's book on weaning which is basically a how to guide on what to feed, when to feed and how to feed your baby. I haven't had chance to read it yet... but I've flicked through the contents and it looks really helpful. I'm unsure what route we will go down when it comes to introducing food, whether we'll do baby-led, puree or a mixture of both.

If we start before six months, we will do puree to begin with, then maybe begin with baby-led at six months. But, honestly, until we start I don't think I know what we'll do. It all depends on how Peyton is with it.

I'm excited to start introducing food, but also a bit scared - and maybe sad, too - because it means she's growing up. And while that is amazing and exciting because it opens up a whole new chapter, it means she won't be as dependant on me anymore. I've already mentioned about weaning her off the boob in a previous post. At the start, making it to six months seemed impossible. I remember around three weeks in thinking I'd be happy if I made it to a month, then it was two, then three. Now I can't imagine stopping.

In the early days, it was tough. More because I felt so unprepared, uneducated and totally unaware of what the realities of breastfeeding really were. I didn't know about cluster feeding, I didn't know what was normal, and I didn't know how I would ever feed in public. Now, I just whack the boob out wherever is required. I used to cover up with a muslin, but I've now found ways to keep my boob all covered, with Peyton covering the bit she needs, so you can't see anything. Plus, she hated being covered up (as would anyone if you threw a cloth over them while they were eating!)

I love breastfeeding now. And I can't believe I'm over halfway to my goal of six months. 

I've gone off on all sorts of tangents now, I do apologise. 

My life has changed an unexplainable amount in the last year, but I don't think I would have it any other way. 

The Brutally Honest Truth of a Dad's view on childbirth

It must have been a Monday in March. I don't remember the date because it turned out to just be any normal Monday, but at around 5.35pm the pit of my stomach grew into a cavernous ache of nerves and loss. I would always ask Nat if she had plenty of baby kicks and when she got through the front door she didn't give me the familiar reply I had heard around 100 times previously.

Little P, as we would call the bump before she became Peyton, would kick every two hours continuously for around eight or ten kicks per session - or so Nat would tell me. But she told me on that particular Monday evening that she hadn't felt P kick since breakfast and even after tea - there was no niggle, swish or roll from our little bundle of joy.

"I've just been busy, so she must be asleep," Nat told me at around 6.30pm. But, as not-yet parents, we panicked. Well, it was mainly me urging Nat to call her emergency number to the midwives at York hospital.

They say on various documents and pamphlets I had skim read that if mums-to-be feel no kicks, they shouldn't leave it until the next day. The number Nat rang was kind of a 999 call for all mums-to-be called Triage. I was mainly concerned that there was a problem that had gone unnoticed from our 12 week and 20 week scan - and I couldn't take the risk which would stick with me the rest of my life.

Being a journalist, I cover at least four baby or child deaths a week, and I've dealt with grim stories well - until Nat told me she was pregnant, that is. We were pregnant, more like.

I think the real fear for any dad-to-be is the unknowing and the life-changing, and uneasy, environment they find themselves in.

It's hard because there is nothing for new dads. We are the strong, stone harbour, whereas our partners are the vessel floating waiting to safely bring their cargo ashore. Strange analogy, but a true one.

Being told at around 26 weeks that your little P is not kicking like the clockwork Subbuteo set she usually would do meant the frantic urgency to get to hospital was definitely on. I remember I picked up my car keys and felt I was in a dream-like state as I tried to bring up any conversation possible. I think it must have been work-related as I tried to take Nat's mind off her own thoughts and my uncomfortable numbness.

We got seen to straight away by the fantastic staff when we got to hospital. We were told we were right to come in, but after Nat got put on bed and had the doppler-thingy held to her stomach, the heartbeat kicked in and I breathed a huge sigh of relief. It was the first time I had heard her heartbeat in real life and not via a phone recording. We then were hooked up to the polygraph machine for about 90 minutes before the midwife said everything looked fine and, if we were happy, we were allowed to leave; which we did. We drove home, Nat thanked me for being strong - and we never mentioned that Monday to anyone again. That is, until we spoke to the midwife as we waited outside the entrance hall on the 41-week mark.

It was a heart-stopping evening that looking back we did the right thing. DADS - TRUST YOUR INSTINCTS. Keep on at your wife - and nag them back.

Nat, as you all know, was a week overdue. But due to her unbearable mood swings (sometimes warranted) and scorching heat, I was really hoping the baby was going to be early. I think the worst part about it all was that everyone we knew believed little P was going to be unleashed into the world early. 

We worked as a team. New dads have to feel like they are carrying some of the burden too. I would help her by putting her socks on or painting her toenails. I would honestly do anything to make her more comfortable, more at ease. I'd do the dishes, cook tea, hoover, do the washing, cut the grass, dust ornaments, put the recycling out, wash the cars... I think Nat got sick of chicken, rice and wedges; but she would get what she was given. 

She later said it helped during those weeks of sickness. So, remember fellas, don't step off the gas when you find out your spermies work. Seize the day and help her with all you can. 

I did actually do all of those things mentioned above. Not that I would want to blow my own trumpet or anything. However, this was a woman doing an incredible thing for me, for us both. She was carrying our child. 

Starting a family is something that men see as an accident that makes them grow up, or the prize 'and finally' section after saving up to purchase an engagement ring and saying 'yes' 200 times to get you over the line in the build up to your wedding day. I think, in our case, it was more of a Happily Ever After scenario. Also, note: I'm not Prince Charming. The bottom line in life is: Men don't know if they can have children. [Without stereotyping or drawing boxes] 

Men don't usually choose to play with baby dolls when they grow up and they don't push them around in pushchairs as youngsters. We were too busy jumping across dykes and playing tag, or Italio, maybe even block. 

Women dream of starting families from being young girls, some women grow up to be repulsed by children, while others even freeze their eggs just to make sure their timeline can push past boundaries - and they can become a mum in their 50s. Some couples try for years and years and years to get pregnant - so after finding out we were pregnant after trying within the first month was a dream come true. I felt like I had skipped to the end of a really hard computer game and collected the bounty. I felt like we had cheated the system. It was almost too good to be true. 

Nat, I know, was shocked and she didn't want to believe it. She even hid the fact that she had take two pregnancies tests already. She'd refused to go into town to buy a test the day before. I went against her wishes and bought a pregnancy test the same day she did and, when I turned up after a 12 hour day on the road and flung my stuff down and presented her with a pregnancy test, she did a weird smile. It was like the joker and her eyes glazed over. "You've already done one haven't you? You're pregnant'?!"- I remember it clear as day. She nodded. My first two words. "You bastard...!"

Having a child is a monumental moment. Parents sell their homes to give their children a better life, for dance school or for them to join a football academy. I knew from this moment on that my life would change forever. Dads take note - pack as much as you can into these nine months. I'm not talking a quarter-life-crisis. I'm saying sort your direct debits, stop spending money on takeouts and accumulators on a weekend that will never come off. Start that saving because when your dearly beloved hits that maternity pay then it's all down to you to provide. 

Nat would do well to keep things from me, but there are also things that I never shared with her during those [long] nine months. I remember thinking during our second hypnobirthing session when we were asked to think of all our negative thoughts. 1. What happens if we leave hospital without a child. 2. What happens if I leave hospital alone, without my partner or our child. Very solemn thoughts and ones I never shared. But of course - this is what a dad-to-be thinks. 

During hypnobirthing I was made to process every single outcome and then burn it away beneath a large oak tree, bursting the pile of questions and worries into flames. And it did work. It worked right up to that point that really matters - when our birth plan took a sideways march towards surgical equipment and blue scrubs. 

I was brave for my wife and told her everything was going to be ok. [Dads take note. Being brave has to be your natural instinct now]. 

Nat's palms became sweaty and her poor pupils dilated wider and wider as the tools were wheeled into the room on a pair of trollies. A resuscitation machine also came in with really warm lights. A thousand questions left unanswered buzzed around my head as I steadied the vessel, the ship containing my wife and soon to be daughter. 

How would we cope if something went wrong? What if we're in hospital for six weeks? What if one of us had to be a carer for her? How would we pay the mortgage? How would we tell people the bad news? I attempted calming techniques, but our iPad with the soundtrack of Ed Sheeran, Sam Smith and other calming tunes was long gone in the other room. However, within five minutes, at 17:11 on June 20, Peyton was out. She was squeezed out with a suction gun that Nerf would probably look into creating for next Christmas' must have gadget. 

But, let me start from the beginning. Nat, as I have just said, likes to keep things from me - after I had asked her on the Tuesday night if her contractions had gone away she definitely said "yes, they've gone now". I'm about 99.999% sure she said "yes, they've gone away now".

She'd said this for about two weeks. This old news had made me mentally and physically prepare myself for another day at work on the following day - which was a Wednesday. But, after she got up in the night at around 3am and stirred me by walking across the room in her brown dressing gown, it made me wonder if she was just trying to get it going, or we were 'cooking on gas'. After all, she didn't really sleep while she was pregnant [another thing I didn't like about her being pregnant].

So, at 6.12am and she hobbled into the bedroom and says "it's time" - I sleepily replied "time for what? work?" Of course I did, I was supposed to be up at 6.30am. She could have waited to at least I was supposed to be up for work. When we first arrived at hospital I had this burning desire, which I think was the journalist in me, to make sure I had a parking ticket. "Congratulations, we'll get you booked in you're 4cm dilated." With my reply: "That's great, thank you so much. We'd like a water birth please - but parking, what about parking? You say there is a permit of some kind?"

The next few hours were pretty dull, but at this moment - dads-to-be take note - you need to make sure you get in close to the plug with the phone charger. Get this in early, so that the you don't have to keep updating all the people texting your wife's phone who now have cottoned on that the wheels are in motion [she's about to pop out her baby] and the fever spreads in to family and friends fast. I spent the time from about 9am until about 2pm making sure she was drinking and eating so her blood sugar was up and so she had energy to push. Would she take food or water off me? Would she chuff.

"No, I'm fine thanks" and "not now, it's making me feel sick" were common replies. I would then kick back in the weirdly hard leather two-seater sofa they had next to the birthing pool and would manage the Spotify playlist of songs we had pre-picked ahead of the birth.

I also text my mum and Nat's mum hourly updates to make sure I wasn't letting anyone panic. Tommy's tip: You get extra son and son-in-law points for this.

I thought I had a pretty tasking job until Nat really kicked into gear with her contractions and I had to stop the gas and air she was sucking on from going in the water. I really did want to have a bit of the gas and air during the brief time Nat used it, but I didn't want Nat to get a throat infection or mess up the divine path we had set out in our birth plan. I didn't want to disturb Nat in her peace and serenity, so I didn't. But next time.... I'm going to have a blast on it.

It quickly rolled around to 4pm at the hospital and our snack game was pretty poor. I would suggest taking a cool bag, because the carrier bag we had was full of clothes and pieces of paper. You need a regimented snack schedule. The light bites of cakes, crisps and flapjacks were great - but they didn't cut the mustard from 6am until 6pm. You need fridge raiders, fruit, bananas, sandwiches, salads. This is just for you by the way. But try and get your partner to eat little and often. Sweets and lucozade sport energy drinks are good for your partner, but after a while, and when it gets to the business end they will power on through without.

So, yeah, anyway 4pm rolled around and I knew this was an important time for me because it was the shift change over and our wonderful middle-aged midwife of many decades of experience Clare was substituted for a younger model in the form of the brilliant Liberty.

At first, I immediately did this bigotry thought of, she looks young so she's not that experienced. However, this was a massive dick-thought because Liberty was fantastic and wise beyond her years in her field of midwifery. [Oh, and by the way Tom, she probably saved your daughter's life...]

And so, of course, this is when Tom thought he had to step up. "So maybe let's try this and if it doesn't work we can always get back in the pool" I would say every five minutes - hoping that the new midwife would allow me to input my own ideas. She obliged and we carried on pushing on dry land for a few minutes while Nat waited for another contraction to come along.

As I walked over to the sofa, with Liberty at one side of the sofa opposite Nat with towels around her, three brown splodges appeared on the paper towels from where Nat was sitting. I didn't think much of it as I had already looked at the head at this point and was adamant with my positive thinking mantra that this was nothing to be worried about.

However, as I steadied Nat for another go in the pool and then reverting to the birthing chair, Liberty quickly held up the paper towel, said that she thought the baby had done a poo and legged it out the room. "Are you sure it's not Nat who has done it?" I replied back. "No, we've checked and it's the baby," Liberty replied. "The baby is in distress, so we'll have to get her out". By this point the teenage Tom would have just ran out the room and been inconsolable, but after both hearing what Liberty said, Nat tried two more pushes as the room across the hall was being prepped for our arrival. Nat, who was visibly physically exhausted, but mentally still very focused, heaved one last push and then - quick as I had seen her all day - hooked her left arm around my neck we walked as if we were in a four legged race towards the next room. "It'll be ok I said".

"She's ok. isn't she?" I said hurriedly while Nat was out of earshot. Liberty replied with a determined "we don't know yet until she comes out". But, with that, a large foreign lady came bounding in to the room like she was waltzing up to a night doo wedding buffet.

"Who the hell is this?" I thought, secretly. But, once again, my mind was in 5th gear and heading for a big finale. "I'm not liking what I am seeing on this heart rate darling, we need to get the baby out and I am going to perform an episiotomy and ventouse" - or a 'Kiwi' as I later knew it as. I was not quite sure what that was at first, but I understood that the suction cup would be used at some point.

As I was kind of stood to Nat's left in 'no man's land' I saw Nat [my pride and joy] being cut [also note: not one for the feint hearted]

Nat, who was by this point doing fantastic in her dogged state, denied help from the gas and air and shrieked out as the next contraction came and the suction cup was attached to little P's head. As it attached it disappeared back into Nat. On the next contraction Nat smashed some big breaths and as the sister pressed the trigger, P's head appeared - a full set of black curls with her eyes shut. A whole 25 seconds came ticking and the shoulders were through and she was out.

Peyton was born. She was slapped on Nat's chest for about 3.58 seconds. Her confused eyes buried into her mum's face, then rattled around at me as she let out a scream - she was fine. She was rubbed down as I blubbed out the words "she's gorgeous" through teary and tired eyes.

I cut the cord while taking as many pictures as I could, but I wanted to see her in real-time. Not through a phone screen [old school, I know] - but instead with my own eyes. I was then passed Peyton to hold for the first time. She couldn't hold her head and just dug her fingers into her eyes, I told her to stop it.

For brief moments she stopped and just looked around and I constantly needed reassurance from the midwife that she was ok and still breathing while taking in the world around her. I searched her face, almost examining it, a sugar bug rested across the bridge of her nose, a white spot on her tongue and two marks where she had dug her claws in the process of learning she had hands that could touch her face.

As I held her, Nat was poking around from the side of her doubled-over bed as her placenta was being physically yanked out of her by the hand of the sister. Nat's cries became blood curdling and my focus was back on my wife - because even though the baby was here Nat wasn't out the woods.

I felt each stitch as Nat was sewn back up and she gulped air. "You're half way there," she was told. "No way, just half way?!" she replied.

Nat was as tough as they come during her labour and she later told her new midwife about her birth and she thought Nat had had a spinal block after looking at her notes. But, of course, it was just her putting her mind over matter and using hypnobirthing to block out the pain.

This was without a doubt the best gift I have ever received. Such a heroic gesture. Jesus crucifying himself, Aslan laying down on the slab for his kin - no doubt any woman who undergoes childbirth, whether a C section, natural or everything under the sun, has achieved an amazing feat.

I don't understand how a man can witness the human body doing this amazing thing, their wife, partner, girlfriend or fiancee do this for them and then weeks, months, years later separate and divorce.

I guess in the end, as a father you have to evolve or die. You can't be anything in-between. I don't know if I will be a great dad, or even a good dad, but I know that after sharing this experience with my wife I will give it everything I have.

I would say we are stronger than we would ever have been without it. Yes, we will argue more, we will bicker and disagree 10 fold. I guess because we have more to agree and disagree on - there is three of us now after all. We may have to make more sacrifices in the future. But, in the end, I know what she sacrificed for me, the horrendous pain she went through and the nine months prior which included sickness, uncomfortableness and insomnia. These things make me thankful to her for every day she has given me a life [Peyton] which has made my life worthwhile.