After pushing out the baby and then the placenta, the midwives take me upstairs to examine me and then both look to each other to do the stitching. It emerges that neither of them does stitching, so they have to call another midwife.
While she's waiting, the baby is weighed (8lb 12) and all the checks are done. We've got a healthy baby and I just can't stop admiring his beautiful eyes. He really has soft skin, long, feminine hands with delicate fingers and long toes. All of these features are inherited from his dad.
Another midwife arrives and surveys the damage. Much like my house, which looks like a murder scene, things downstairs do not look good. Worse than usual in fact. Apparently I have a third degree tear which will involve being taken to hospital by ambulance and an overnight stay. I can't believe what I'm hearing as I feel great considering that I've just pushed an 8lb12oz baby through a part of my body I used to like.
I feed the baby and wait for the ambulance. Two lovely paramedics arrive, a lady who tells me not to keep giving birth to boys if you want a girl as it will mean that you end up with 6 children, and a man who keeps showing me his namebadge and winking when I say we've not decided on a baby name yet.
The baby goes in a car seat and he and I travel to Reading in an ambulance with a very worried MrM following behind in his car. The traffic is horrific, reminding me why I chose a homebirth in the first place, and I have my first sleep in weeks.
We arrive at the hospital and I'm taken into a room where I'm sewn up. MrM takes the baby into another room and what happens next deserves its own post as I am so embarrassed. I shall write it down so it's not in my head, send it out to cyberspace and try never to think about it ever again. See you on the other side!