My husband apparently heard me shout "I'm not dead" from the next room and came in to see if I was ok. After this hugely embarrassing incident, everything started to become more normal. The baby was checked over by a doctor and chose this moment to do his first proper poo in addition to the tarry like substance that he had also produced.
I had an injection and a cup of tea and we were told that an overnight stay was not in fact required. I was also reassured that I would have torn if I had given birth in the hospital and the home birth was not a contributory factor. In fact, being at home at kept me calm and relaxed meaning that our baby was extremely placid and content.
It was so wonderful to see my dad holding him too having driven up from miles away. Apparently the last bit through Reading had taken more than the rest of the journey though. Dad seemed impressed that the baby looked well filled out and not, to quote my sister, "like an old man or a bird". Or in less polite company, "like a testicle." He also told me about some interesting Josephs in our family tree including heroes of war and a bare knuckle boxer.
Then we were allowed home which hit me when the midwife called down the reception to let the security guard know that we were leaving with a baby. We drove home and prepared to put the little man in his crib. He. Would. Not. Go.
Now, we see that he can be quite persuasive and he spends the first night in the bed with us. Not even 12 hours old and we have failed our first test as parents.