Labour: Pain, Pushing and Pure Joy

It finally happened. After months of waddling, obsessively googling symptoms, and packing (then repacking) the hospital bag, it was go time. The bags were by the door and we were on our way to the hospital — buzzing with nerves, excitement, and a healthy dose of fear-of-the-unknown. Spoiler: labour is a ride. And while no two stories are the same, here’s how mine unfolded.

Let’s rewind. I had my 40-week midwife appointment on the 22nd of October, and I was booked in for an induction on the 30th. That felt like a lifetime away. But on the 27th, I wasn’t happy with baby’s movements, so off we went to the maternity unit for a check-up. Thankfully, all was fine — but then the midwife asked if I wanted to bring my induction forward to tomorrow. Um, YES. My excitement was through the roof. We were going to meet our baby boy sooner than planned.

I barely slept that night. My brain was doing Olympic-level cartwheels of anxiety and anticipation. By 8:30am the next morning, we were at the hospital, bags in tow, being shown to our room. We spent the day pacing, faffing, wondering how this was all going to go down. A midwife came in, did the usual checks, and then came the classic: “Let’s see how dilated you are” (everyone’s favourite). To my surprise, I was already 2cm — so no induction meds needed. I was put on the waiting list to have my waters broken instead. But of course, they couldn’t say when that would actually happen. So we wandered the hospital, grabbed snacks, and even saw my mum and sister (who were coincidentally in Blackpool). Doing anything we could to distract ourselves.

Later that evening, I had a shower, we put a film on, and I tried to sleep. Heavy emphasis on tried.

At 3am, I woke up with stomach pain. I nudged Dan and said, “I don’t know if I’m in labour or if I just really need a poo.” (Romance isn’t dead.) I sat on the toilet… nothing. So I bounced on the pregnancy ball like a stressed-out kangaroo while Dan fetched the midwife. She brought me paracetamol - and let me just say, once you know you’re in labour, paracetamol feels like someone offering you a TicTac for a broken leg.

From then on, I was rocking and groaning my way through contractions.  At 6:30am, the midwife came in and said a room was ready — we were officially having a baby! We packed up and headed down in the lift, where we shared a ride with another woman mid-contraction and screaming. I suddenly thought, “Wait… am I really in labour? Should I be screaming too?”

Once we got to the room, they hooked me up again — yep, contractions confirmed, and things were happening naturally. I turned to Dan and said, “Told you!” They gave me four hours to see if I’d dilate more on my own before stepping in. So I paced and bounced the room, breathed through every contraction, while Dan rubbed my back and soft music played in the background. I was trying to be strong - you know, go without the drugs for as long as I could.

Four hours later, they checked again — still only 2 to 3cm. Not the progress we hoped for, so they broke my waters. Not painful, just very weird. As soon as I stood up, water came gushing out uncontrollably. I looked the midwife in the eye and said, “I just pissed on your floor.” Classy entrance into active labour.

Things ramped up fast after that. I hit the gas and air like a pro and asked if I could get into the bath. Dan’s main job? Keeping me from drowning mid-contraction — I couldn’t even hold myself up. Then came the pressure. I told them I felt like baby was coming and asked to be checked again. Turns out I hadn’t weed all day, so they popped in a catheter (joy), then did an internal exam — I was 8cm. From 2 to 8 in about three hours.

At that point, I was done trying to be a hero. Kept saying the usual labour sayings to Dan like ‘can you do it’ and ‘it fucking hurts’. I asked for diamorphine because the pain was next level. They prepped it and gave me it. But then — boom — I felt the baby coming. The midwife didn’t believe me at first… until she checked and said, “Yep, that’s the head.”

Push time. I screamed (the loudest I ever have) and pushed my way through the next contractions. But baby was getting stuck, so they asked if I could stand to let gravity help. I tried, and very glamorously, I pooed on the floor. I looked at the midwife and said, “I’ve pissed and shit on your floor — you’ll never want me back.” Keeping it light, as always.

Standing didn’t help. Baby was still stuck, so they said I needed to be cut (episiotomy — though who can remember the name at that point?). They called in the doctor, started prepping, and I remember asking politely, “Can you hurry, please?” because I was still contracting, and baby was still wedged. Meanwhile, Dan was in the corner, crying. Not out of fear - just pure emotion. He later told me he felt helpless — wanting to do something but not being able to.

Finally, they made the cut. One contraction later, our baby was born.

Because of the diamorphine, we’d been warned he might come out quiet and blue. So when he arrived and didn’t cry right away, I held my breath. It was probably 20 seconds — felt like 20 minutes — before I finally heard that tiny cry. And then… they placed my boy on my chest.

In that moment, everything disappeared. The pain. The panic. The chaos. All I could see was him. I was holding our baby for the very first time, and I couldn’t stop crying. Pure awe. Pure love.

Dan cut the cord (a bit of a blur thanks to the drugs), and then it was time to deliver the placenta and get stitched up. I opted for the injection in my leg to speed things along — and honestly? That might have been the worst part of the whole day. Absolutely vile. No one warns you about that part.

And then finally… just the three of us. Me, Dan, and our baby boy. Our family.

He was so small. So perfect. It was surreal — like, you were in me this whole time? The love was instant and overwhelming. I just wanted to protect him forever.

Nine long months of nausea, tears, excitement, aches, and endless planning had all led to this one day. And honestly? Labour was the best part. It was intense, painful, messy, and overwhelming — but it was also the most empowering incredible, empowering, love-filled day of my life. I look back and smile. A lot.

Yes, it hurt. But I’d do it all over again to relive that first moment.

Because that was the day I met Jude.