After a traumatic first labour, I really thought I would be overcome with fear when my second labour started. I was, but ironically it wasn't about labour.
It was 1.32 am when a contraction finished and I crept into the room of my sleeping son's room. He was two and a half and looked like a baby. His legs thrown out over his duvet and his hair damp against his forehead. It was a warm summer night. I knelt beside his cotbed; kissed him lightly on the head and told him I loved him.
I moved to leave but then it hit me. This would be the last moment we shared together as two. The next time I would see him there would be another baby to kiss and love. Fear of the unknown gripped my heart.
How would he cope with having to wait his turn for mama's attention; to no longer be the one to get all of my attention and love. How would the baby cope with not getting my undivided attention like he had been getting? I had two more minutes before I knew the next contraction started. Our time was running out. My heart tightened and tears streamed down my face. How would this change him? Was my sweet little boy about to become a jealous toddler? Would our relationship change? One minute left. I didn't want to wake him but I held his hands and kissed him over and over. I told him I would love him the same as before and vowed to not let the second baby change our relationship.
I could feel the tightening start. I had to leave the room before it intensified. I kissed him one last time and walked slowly to the door. Looking back he lay peacefully oblivious to the fact he was about to become a big brother.
His little brother was busily making his journey to the world and I had to go. There was no time to fear labour, I had to get the baby out quick so my husband could be home when our toddler woke up. I did, he was, and I had nothing to fear.