It's the saying every married couple hears in the run up to and on their wedding day, 'best day of your life, until you have kids'. Aside from the fact it was far too early for people to be saying that to me then, turns out they were wrong anyway.
My wedding day is still the happiest day of my life. I celebrated marrying the man I love with my friends and family. It was a party, the food was good, there was a band and not to blow my own horn, but I looked pretty decent too.
To clarify, having my beautiful baby boy and becoming a mother is the most positive experience and has impacted my life for the better in every way. That day though? Well, it pretty much sucked.
I was in labour. It hurt... a lot. It is not a beautiful process. I puked several times, I'm nearly (not fully because I told my husband never to tell me) certain I did what every woman fears doing (the dreaded poop) in front of a room full of people, I was prodded, poked and cut in very sensitive areas and to quote my husband "it was like scene from a Quentin Tarantino movie with the amount of blood all over the place".
In the immediate aftermath, I sat and waited for my son to be brought back to me as they worked on him at the table down the end of the room. Exhaustion and confusion slowly gave way and my head cleared enough to wonder why he wasn't in my arms yet. Thankfully, it wasn't long until he was, and full on panic didn't grab hold, but still, it was not a pleasant wait.
While delighted to finally have him in my arms, it was soul destroying to see him so hurt and shaken from the trauma of his delivery. The poor guy had been through the wars and it showed.
He was a big baby and had to have his sugars tested. They were low, he wouldn't latch again and I couldn't express enough so he had to have some formula. Not the worst thing in the world, but it was tough for me to falter at the first hurdle after already having such a rough morning.
I traded in the opportunity to wash away all of the above, in lieu of fainting and face planting the bathroom floor. I woke up naked in a pool of blood with two strangers picking me up. It took a minute to remember what I'd just done, realise where I was and who they were likely to be. That felt likes a pretty long minute.
And finally, I had to have a catheter inserted because the world felt I just hadn't been poked enough and a bag full of pee beside my bed was just the ticket for when visitors arrived.
So yes, my family is the best thing to happen to me. But as for the day itself? Not so much. I don't feel bad for saying that and, if it wasn't your best day, you shouldn't either.