An Unseen Celebration

The birth of a baby is, in most circumstances, a cause for celebration and my third grandchild's was no exception. Although it was tinged with some sadness because it would be the first great-grandchild my mum wouldn't get to hold.

She had done well to see fifteen others in the family before she left us at 94. Her not seeing this one really depends on your own view of the afterlife. We liked to think of her still watching over us all from somewhere. No doubt tut-tutting at a lot of what she was seeing, as she did many a time when she was alive.

But there was also sadness for me with this one because it was touch and go whether I was going to get to see it.

For a mum, there aren't many advantages to your daughter deciding to be a single mother and go it alone. In the absence of a partner, you become the go-to person which can sometimes – often – cause friction. But there IS one thing going for it...

When asked to be the birthing partner, there's no competition!

I was very lucky to see both my older granddaughters being born and I was desperately hoping I would be lucky enough to see this one too. But the chronic fatigue I had been diagnosed with five years earlier had taken away so much of my former life that I wasn't sure if this was one more thing it was going to rob me of too.

Nikki did still want me there if possible, so we devised a plan. A friend would take the girls on the morning of her induction date, drop Nikki off at the hospital where she would go it alone until the birth was near, then phone me and I could go up at that point.

Of course, as we all know, making plans where babies are concerned is usually not advisable. On arrival at the hospital, an emergency meant that there were no midwives available to do Nikki's induction and see her through labour. She was advised to go "somewhere near" so that she could be ready to come back up at short notice. As it was ten minutes from the hospital the obvious "somewhere near" was my house.

So bang went all my plans to conserve my energy as I instead calmed her nerves for the next two hours. She then got a call to go back up – a midwife from Elgin had been secured to help out. And as I was now the taxi service and chief bottle washer for the duration, off we set. Another friend, Gemma, was on standby but only available after work. We were only at 11.30am at this point and I was already exhausted. I thought my luck was surely out.

Rebecca, our lovely midwife, was a very calming influence. Her and Nikki hit it off straight away and she efficiently carried out the induction and took control of topping up the epidural – something which was to cause havoc later on as it turned out. But by 5pm we weren't much further on and I was seriously flagging. Gemma arrived at six and I honestly thought I would have to go home at that point but decided to try sitting quietly in the car first.

When I begin to "run on empty" like that, I feel dizzy and become very sensitive to light and noise. So sitting in the quiet car with my eyes closed did help. After half an hour I opened my eyes and was horrified to see three missed calls on my phone!

I walked quickly back to the labour ward to discover Rebecca had gone off duty. Nikki's Oxytocin had been increased but two epidural top-ups had been completely missed which had sent her into a tailspin of pain and panic. The lovely calm environment I had left had been turned into a maelstrom of mania and she was now frantically pushing in a mire of sweat and tears.

We were saved by the nightshift. The pushing was stopped, the top-ups restored and calm reigned once more. But my heart sank when I heard the words, 'I think we might get you to push again around a quarter to eight.' It sank even further when a senior midwife later added, 'Actually we might leave it until nearer quarter to nine.'

I would be toast – very burnt toast – by that time!

But my half hour in the car had done something. A sandwich and a cup of tea with paracetamol did something else and, by some miracle, there I was at quarter to nine mopping Nikki's fevered brow as we welcomed her first son, Ruari, into the world. I had done it!

In the joyous tearful aftermath of the snuffly, squeaky, adorable sounds a newborn makes, we decided to have a competition to guess his weight. I cast a critical eye over the tiny body and thought 8lbs, maybe 8lbs 2oz's at a push. Definitely not more than that. The other two guessed even lower.

Suddenly, I saw the numbers 8 and 6 in bold size 20 font in my head. I knew with complete certainty that they had nothing to do with me but changed my guess nevertheless. We waited with bated breath while Ruari was put onto the scales and... 8lbs 6ozs. Right on the money!

Nikki and I looked at each other.

'Granny's here!' we laughed in unison.

Which made me remember the frantic prayer I had sent up the day before asking for help to get me through this.

I think it's safe to say she heard me.

And I was very glad we'd both made it.