It was Monday night.
After a false excitement the week prior, at 6pm I received a text message. Tonight COULD be the night.
Like every night for the past 2 weeks, when I went to bed I made sure my phone was beside me and turned it OFF silent.
I was on call.
Ready to photograph a birth.
1am…the call comes. LOUD in the silence of the night.
But I am instantly awake.
By the time I made it into town…into the ghost of the hospital carpark, it was 2am.
I walked into the birth suite, only to be told they were going home.
They’d only just arrived and they were going to send them home – 1/2 hour away.
This is a woman so in tune with her body…it was her fourth baby after all.
So they decided to walk the street first.
We chatted, I photographed, I left them in peace.
And on their way back to tell me they’d decided that they would go home, it happened.
Her waters broke.
In the middle of the street. Right.outside.the.hospital.
It was 2:40am.
Back in we all traipsed – and got the perfect midwife really.
It all makes part of an entertaining story…and they couldn’t have been happier with the hospital.
I am going to say it now (with a touch of envy)…she was amazing during the birth.
Smiling, joking, quietly scrunching her face with every contraction.
We took bets on what time he would make his entrance into the world.
The girls won (yes…I felt the need to add that!).
At just minutes to 4am, a healthy little boy was born.
I was trying not to cry….it was beautiful.
And proud dad was there every step of the way.
To catch him.
To hold him.
To love him.
I was back home in bed by 6:30am. How incredible is that??
After having five children of my own…this is the first birth I have been honoured enough to witness and photograph. I feel incredibly privileged. It was beautiful. And the photos just remind me how special it truly was.