We met only a week ago, but I am already smitten.

Henry officially arrived on a sunny Tuesday morning, nine days after his due date, at a downtown Toronto hospital. He weighed a healthy eight pounds and he is spitting image of his two-year-old big brother, Oliver.

Soft blond hair covers his wee head like peach fuzz and he has the longest fingers and toes. We already see a future for Henry as a piano player – or a tightrope walker.

Many people, from my dad to friends to a sweet old grocer on Queen St., predicted I was having a girl. Although I didn’t have the certainty I had when I was pregnant with Oliver, I suspected I was expecting a boy. Whenever I saw a mom with two sons, the picture just seemed right.

The day before he was born, my midwife and I talked about inducing labour by the end of the week. It seems Henry was ready to come on his own terms.

My labour started just as it did with Oliver. At around 11 p.m., I woke up to the feeling of my water breaking. I called my sister to make her way to the city to stay with Oliver, then my husband and I settled back in bed, thinking we could try to get a few hours sleep before the labour really began.

We were wrong. When I started to time my contractions at around 2 a.m., I was startled to see they were already three to five minutes apart and building in intensity. We called our midwife who suggested we meet her at the hospital. The baby we’d long called Lil’ Bean was on its way.

One parking ticket, two changes of clothing and countless contractions later, we were settled in our labour and delivery room. Over the next two to three hours – although I had no sense of time – I moved between the bed, the tub and a stability ball as I weathered the contractions that would ready my body to deliver the baby.

The passage of time had dulled – or perhaps sugar-coated – my memories of Oliver’s birth. This labour, while moving much more quickly than it did with Oliver, felt far more intense. During some contractions – the kind that leave you gasping for breath as you clutch at a pillow or your husband’s hand and cry out involuntarily – I wasn’t sure I had the strength to go on without an epidural.

It was at these doubtful moments, which I never voiced aloud, that my midwife reminded me that the big contractions were the ones doing the necessary work. I needed them to deliver my baby. Her words helped me to shift the focus away from the pain I was feeling and soldier on, one contraction at a time.

Just before 8 a.m., I was given the all clear to push. While Oliver had a stubborn hand by his face which saw me pushing for hours, Henry arrived at 8:12 a.m. I was surprised – “Really?” I thought, “Already?” – when my midwife urged me to reach down for my baby.

It didn’t take long for Henry to sweep me off my feet. Maybe it was the first time he grabbed my finger with his little hand or the first time he made me laugh out loud with one of his sleepy grimaces. They say you always find room in your heart – no matter how full it already is – to love a child. I’m learning how true that is.

-- Sarah Green

   sarahg@babyontheway.ca