I blinked and the little room was full. It was like magic. Black magic.
We'd spent the afternoon in this small room. My husband, my mother, me and you.
Except you hadn't arrived yet.
By then you were 14 days overdue. You had quite rightly decided this wasn't a world you particularly wanted to come into, and following the horror of our family's bereavement those two weeks prior, I can't say I blamed you.
My labor had commenced sporadically on the Wednesday and it was now Sunday afternoon.
I'd finally caved and asked for an epidural, and our afternoon's entertainment was watching your heart-rate as I contracted on the monitor.
Except for when it stopped.
Then it wasn't fun anymore.
Initially we were a bit confused.
Maybe the monitor wasn't working?
My husband went out to ask a midwife about it.
She came in and watched it with us.
Another contraction.
As soon as it started your heart-rate dropped off the monitor.
And then I blinked.
Suddenly there were at least ten people in the room talking in urgent, hushed tones.
I remember the doctor saying I needed a c-section now.
I remember obediently parroting the lines I'd had in my Childbirth Trust classes: "Do I really need to have a c-section?"
You would probably die if I didn't.
Decision made.
In the operating theatre a nurse scolded me for interrupting her tv show. It was a cliffhanger on Coronation Street apparently. I apologised over and over for inconveniencing her.
The anaesthetist asked me if I was anxious and did I need something to calm me down?
Let's see.
'My aunt and godmother just died, my own baby could die, anxiety doesn't even begin to cover it.'
I said none of this.
I nodded and said: "Yes please."
And so it began.
You were lifted, quiet and silent out of my womb.
You were tangled in a knot of cords.
You were a mottled red and blue.
The room was so busy but the silence was deafening.
And then you arched your little head, gave a shrill cry and arced a perfect jet of urine all over the surgeon delivering you.
And everyone in the room laughed and laughed.
My boy,
never conforming, always challenging the status quo.
7 years on,
I'm so proud of you for getting here.
Happy Birthday.