Exactly 12 years ago today, I gave birth to a beautiful baby girl. Unlike my first child, she was on time. Well, sort-of. My midwife was concerned about the increasing protein counts in my urine, showing signs that my kidneys were shutting down. I was referred to the maternity unit at the hospital. The specialist on call gave me two options: they induce me, so I could give birth that day; or they admit me and we can wait for labour to start on its own.
Umm… Such a silly question to ask a pregnant woman who was so over this thing called pregnancy. Eight hours later, my daughter was born.
My daughter CJ at four months old with her big brother Anthony, who was four at the time. (Sept 2005)
I remember like it was yesterday when my husband brought our son in to see his sister. “She’s tiny, mummy,” he said. “She’s tiny.”
“Yes, Anthony. All babies are tiny.”
Little did we both know that she was also cheeky.
CJ (Christa to those of us in the family) has always been a determined child, never letting anything stand in the way of what she wants. Never mind that she might not actually know what she wants, but that’s beside the point.
