I thought I was having a boy.
For no good reason, my entire pregnancy I thought I was going to have a little boy. It was just a feeling I had, based on nothing. I didn't mind what we had, but I thought for sure it was a boy – except when I was struck by uncertainty and wondered if maybe it was a girl.
Intuition has never been my strong point.
At the beginning of October, Amelie Matilda was born, after a relatively quick and brutally painful labour. At least it was quick. I couldn't have done that for much longer. As it was, I tried to outsource the duty of giving birth halfway through the labour, but was obviously unsuccessful.
They held her up to me, my tiny brand new baby, and asked me if I wanted to tell H1 what we had. I peered through exhausted drugged-up eyes, trying to discern for myself what to say. The silence stretched on until I said, very confused: "A girl?"
It was a question. I didn't trust my eyes. The thought crossed my mind that they shouldn't trust someone who's exhausted and drugged with such responsibility.
H1 was crying. Tearfully, he confirmed it for me. We had a girl. I lay on the bed, wondering why I wasn't crying and whether I should be. Was something wrong with me?
Then the reality of what had just happened hit and as they put her on my chest, I was overtaken by a feeling of the most intense love I have ever felt. It attacked me from all sides, choking me and rendering my limbs and thoughts useless. It was love for her and for H1, love for my own mother and father, love for myself. It was love scary in its strength, love that was and is truly awesome, in the full sense of the word.
Now, I'm amazed that I could have ever thought I was having a boy – because of course it was a girl, of course it was Amelie. There was nobody else it could be.