He looks rather concerned about something, doesn’t he? Or maybe he’s just trying to figure out what’s going on around him. Maybe he’s analysing. Because he is going to be one of the great brains of his generation you know. Charlie and Amélie: they’re going to change the world.

Because it is so totally and utterly worth it. Eventually.

And she’s not just an amazing daughter. She has now turned into an amazing sister too: she is attentive and loving (actually, completely and utterly smitten) and helpful and, oh I can’t even describe it… she’s just wonderful. You’re going to have to take my word for it. Today, Hanno was waiting for us downstairs with a car and I was trying to get Charlie ready, changing his nappy. And of course, as soon as I got the dirty nappy off, he went and peed everywhere (how do boys do that? It really was everywhere). And then he pooed too… So I had to get him completely undressed, find new clothes, get him dressed again and into his buggy all while Han was stopped illegally outside our front door waiting for us. So Amélie jumped into action. She ran into the kitchen and got a tea-towel to mop up the floor. Then she went to Charlie’s room and got him a full set of new clothes (colour-coordinated and everything). Then I dialed Hanno’s number so I could warn him we were going to be a minute and she took the phone and explained everything to him. Then she picked up my bag and a blanket for Charlie, opened the door and called the lift so I could focus on getting the Mr Boy out of the door… It may not sound like much… But it’s just… Nice. Because she enjoys it, she does it happily. She gets me glasses of water when I’m feeding too. And she makes up bedtime stories for Charlie.

Last night she asked “can I tell a boy story?” then proceeded “a long long time ago, there was a boy who was called Hanno. Hanno had a family: there was Cass, Hanno and Amélie. Hanno really really wanted a baby. Then one day he had a baby and he was really happy! The end”. I know she’s not perfect. I know she has her moments. There are times when she’s so stubborn or ignores me so deliberately that it drives me to absolute distraction. She creates mess like no-one else. And is not good at tidying her room. And man can she whine when she wants to. But generally, overall, she is without competition. No-one compares.

The first week of leave was lovely. We tidied the flat, bought new bedroom furniture for Amélie and transformed our messy dump of a spare room into a lovely bedroom for a baby boy. We were busy and excited and together. It was good. Then the second week came. We were ready. I was waiting. I started to get annoyed. I had a doctor’s appointment and was told I was 3cm dilated. And I had a couple of contractions. I lost the mucus plug. I thought I was on my way. A whole week passed. A whole week of waking up every morning feeling disappointed. Then the disappointment turned to frustration. At each appointment (every two days now), I was told that nothing had changed. That the baby was happy and that they would see me soon… Every time I left the hospital I thought to myself: I won’t make the next appointment. I’ll have given birth by then. But the next appointment would come around and there I’d be. Waiting for the doctor while I waited for my baby. Again.

Finally, they told me they would book me in for an induction. The induction was planned for the Monday but I had to go into hospital the night before. Han and I turned up around 7 and I was taken straight to a monitoring station to check for contractions and other signs of “readiness”. Conclusion: there would be no need for a pessary (which is inserted into weaken the cervix) so I could go straight on to the oxytocin drip to trigger contractions. They decided to get me started at 5am. Yes yes, you read that right: I was about to do one of the most tiring things in the world and they thought it would be a good idea for me to be up and ready before the sun was even contemplating rising. Brilliant.

Hanno joined me in the delivery room at about 7. They had told him not to come in until 8 or 9 but he couldn’t sleep so he came in earlier. And thank goodness because, by 7, I had been lying on a bed watching the ceiling for two hours and I was getting very very bored. Every time someone came to check on me I would say: “I can’t feel any contractions. I don’t think anything’s happening” and they would reassure me: “oh but it is. You’ll start feeling something soon, don’t worry”. More time passed. We called home to speak to my dad and Amélie, told them what was happening (nothing), and waited some more. After over five hours, finally, someone agreed to examine me… “There’s been no progress”. Well, I did kinda tell you that but ok. “We’ll have to break your waters to get things moving”. Yes please! I don’t think I can take another five hours strapped to machines with a huge needle in my arm for nothing. So they broke my waters.

Within seconds, all hell broke loose inside my body. I’ve already given birth once. It was a quick birth first time round: eight hours from my very first contraction to holding my baby girl. But eight hours is long enough for your body to become slowly accustomed to the increasing pain. I’m not going to lie: I screamed even then. It hurt like nothing I’ve felt before, but at least, somehow, there was time to get used to what was happening. I was able to sit in a bath for a while, able to try different positions until I found one which was somehow bearable. I was able to occasionally sip a bit of water, or wipe my brow, or make my way across the room for a check-up. I had nothing like that this time.

They broke my waters and I started vomiting, my legs started trembling and I started wanting to push. They broke my waters and I started to scream. I did not have time for a bath. I could not even have gotten to the bath, on the other side of the room, if I had wanted to. I could hardly get on or off the bed to be examined. With my first birth, I had an amazing midwife who would check on me wherever I happened to be and in whichever position I happened to be in. This time, not so much. Believe it or not, she was somehow unable to examine me when I was simply bent over the bed. She tried, but she couldn’t do it. She just hurt me. So she kept on asking me to get onto the bed and lie on my back. This was the worst possible position for me to be in. It increased the pain immeasurably. Not to mention the difficulty I had climbing onto the bed – much higher than your average bed – in the second or two I had between contractions. I would try. I cried. I apologized again and again: “I’m sorry, I’m trying, I can’t, it hurts, I want to push! Help me please!” and she would get annoyed with me: “ok, after the next contraction finishes, just get on the bed”. But the next contraction would barely finish before the next one started. I would get one leg on the bed and have to stop, I would bite down on my fist and scream. Somehow, eventually, I managed to get on the bed.

I had gone from 3cm to 10cm in just over an hour. I started to push. That’s the best bit: when you can actually channel the pain into something productive. With Amélie, I remember being told: “you can take your baby now” and I was incredulous because, after all that pain, I hadn’t felt anything. But sure enough, when I reached forward, I was able to pull her out. Here again, my experience was different: I felt his head emerge (it was a big head at 38cm) and then I felt his shoulders. I knew before they told me that I could reach forward and take him, all slippery and warm, onto my chest. Charlie was born less than two hours after my waters were broken, at 12.50. The shock to my body was immense. My muscles were still spasming and trembling an hour later. But it was worth it. Every single excruciating second of it. My boy is beautiful.

And, needless to say, his sister fell head over heels in love with him straight away.

The funny thing is, as different as these two pregnancies were, and as different as the births were, both my babies came out weighing exactly 3.910 kilos. I don’t know why but that kinda seems incredible to me. Amélie was 51cm to Charlie’s 52 and her head was a relatively more reasonable 36.5cm round (against Charlie’s 38). And they look identical. We have pictures of Amélie in hospital and they could just as easily be of Charlie. I’ll try to scan them in soon so you can see for yourselves. But it’s quite remarkable.Contrary to what these pictures suggest, Charlie is actually a very calm, content baby. I’m sure I’m more relaxed and more confident too which must help, but still. He’s lovely.Clearly though, I have to learn to take pictures of him when he’s not screaming. Surely I can’t have produced another baby that hates my camera!

Before:

After:

I kinda loved how the daisy at the back looked so battered compared to the one at the front so I tried to emphasise that by healing any small blemishes the front one may have had. Then I added a little texture to create a bit of an aged canvass look. Finally, I played with the curves to increase the contrast, soften some of the darker tones and adjust the white balance. It may not be to everyone’s taste. It’s certainly not a very natural look. But I like it. So there!

Then I spotted this blue door and asked her to stand in front of it for a quick picture. It had to be quick in the end because Amélie declared it smelled of “dead animals” and couldn’t bare to stand there for more than a few seconds. I think it’s a fish shop that supplies the surrounding fish restaurants. Clearly, the sun was not doing it any favours.

We continued on to one of our favorite bakers (Charlie’s) and treated ourselves to some fresh bread for breakfast – I did offer her all sorts of yummy pastries but she’s an odd-spod and preferred plain bread (just like her mother in fact).

Then it was straight on again (she decided to go straight on at every intersection saying “you are the waving person and I’m the straight person” because I would wave my hands to indicate our options and she would always point straight ahead) until we reached the Grand Place and its early morning flower market.

By this point, I was starting to feel rather heavy so we sat down in the early morning sunshine for a fresh juice (strawberry and apple – yum! and perfect for creating a big red mustache).

Finally, we headed through the Galleries Saint Hubert…

… stopping only to peer through the letterbox of one of our favorite bookshops for signs of life (there were none, unfortunately – too early).

Then it was homeward-bound. Although we did stop to call Hanno and ask him if he wanted to meet us in the park opposite our flat for a bit of fresh-ish air (he had stayed at home to work on an essay).

We didn’t actually use this phone. That’s just Amélie finding yet another distraction along the way. Here’s another (the window of an architectural practice with very cool models on display):

She’s my distraction, clearly. And the best one in the world. Yesterday was the first time ever that she actually agreed to let me take pictures of her. She didn’t stop moving much, so it was still a challenge, but at least she wasn’t deliberately trying to avoid me!

And, at last, we did reach our park. And Hanno did join us. So we even got a picture of the two of us together: me in a dress Harriette made for me and Amélie in a dress Harriette found for her. Thank you for keeping us clothed Harriette!

And that’s it. By the time these pictures were taken, it was past 10am and getting far too hot to stay outside. In fact, it was far too hot to do anything but sit in a cool swimming pool. Since we don’t have one of those, we went home and sat in a cold bath instead.