Letter to my son

A Birth Story Written a Few Days After the Birth of Henry, aka "Grenouille''

By Maude Paquette

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My Darling,

Let me tell you the story of your birth. It’s probably the most beautiful story I will ever have the privilege to tell. You certainly took your time! Your dad and I were so eager to meet you. After 41 weeks and two days of carrying you, on January 4, 2016, at 11:16 PM, you finally came into the world. That date will be forever etched in my memory. The very last prediction of a batch of 64! You'll probably hear about it your whole life from your Grandpa, because he was the one who correctly guessed both your birth date and your gender! Your Grandpa is a real Monsieur Minou—he earned that title!

So, January 4, 2016… It was a mild night, not too cold for a Sunday in January. The sky was clear and full of stars. At this point, you were taking up a lot of space in my belly—I had gained almost 40 pounds! There wasn’t a single old wives’ tale I hadn’t tried to get you to come out sooner! Eating pineapple, spicy food, walking miles and miles with Soda (your fluffy big sister), taking baths, pumping milk… My friend Sarah had even emailed me a yoga video and suggested I try it. I told her I no longer believed in any tricks, that you would come when you were ready. But I promised I would try it anyway—and if it worked, I owed her a dinner at a nice restaurant!

That evening, around 8:00 PM, I did the yoga session. Not without struggle! I felt like a beluga, but I made it through to the end. Then, I took a warm bath while listening to soothing Native American chants, and I spoke to you, my little Grenouille. I told you how much I was looking forward to holding you in my arms, to seeing your face, to feeling your skin. I told you I was ready to welcome you, that your daddy was just as eager to meet you. I told you that even though it scared me a little, we were going to be an amazing team during labor. I tried to express how much I already loved you, but I hope you simply felt it—because there are no words strong enough.

I went to bed, calm and serene. I barely had time to close my eyes. Just a few minutes later, at 11:00 PM, my water broke. Well, partially—because I kept losing large amounts of fluid for hours afterward. My first thought was of Sarah—I had to take her to a really nice restaurant! I ran downstairs and shouted to your dad, "My water broke!" He rushed to my side and immediately started preparing for our departure to the birthing center. He made me laugh—so nervous, yet still in control. He even made us fruit cocktails to celebrate while we waited for the contractions to start, and we put on a movie. We never finished it, because before long, things got serious, and we headed out.

We left the house with huge smiles, telling each other that when we came back, we’d be three. We arrived at the Boisé Birthing Center in Blainville around 3:30 AM. The painful contractions didn’t really kick in until 9:00 AM. Until then, it was manageable. But from that point on, I started wondering how I was going to make it through labor.

You see, by choosing to give birth at a birthing center, I didn’t have access to an epidural for pain relief. All my friends with kids thought I was crazy. At that moment, I finally understood why—and I regretted not listening to them! My midwife massaged me, helped me breathe, but as time passed, the contractions became closer together, longer, and more painful.

By 3:00 PM, realizing I was still only 3 cm dilated, I surrendered and asked to be transferred to the hospital for an epidural. Your dad was incredible. He drove us to St-Jérôme Hospital, wheeled me up to the maternity ward while I felt like I was dying from the pain. An hour later, around 4:30 PM, I finally got the magical shot. I became myself again—laughing, making jokes. I was so thirsty, incredibly thirsty. Your dad held a straw to my lips every thirty seconds so I could sip water.

Everything was going fine until I started running a fever. A fever that kept rising and made me feel so cold—freezing, despite the thick blankets covering me. Your little heart started struggling with each contraction. Even with Pitocin, I wasn’t dilating fast enough.

By 10:00 PM, I was still only at 6 cm and burning up with fever. My entire body was violently shaking despite the warmth wrapped around me. That’s when, due to the risk of infection, the doctors told us I needed an emergency C-section. At 10:30 PM, I was lying on a stretcher, shivering uncontrollably as they wheeled me to the operating room.

Your dad had to change into surgical scrubs—he looked like a doctor, and I think he kind of enjoyed it! He stayed by my side throughout the procedure. I was still trembling. They gave me local anesthesia and explained that I would feel the surgeons working, but there would be no pain.

But… I didn’t numb properly. I felt everything. Every single thing—from the first incision to the moment they pulled you from my belly. I screamed like an animal for the entire five minutes it took. Your dad held my hand—I swear I nearly crushed his fingers from gripping so tightly.

Then, we heard the doctor announce that you were out.

Your dad’s eyes locked onto mine, and the moment you let out your first cry, both of our eyes filled with tears of joy. They brought you over to us, and I met your gaze for just a fraction of a second before they took you away for tests, to ensure you were healthy despite the complications. Your dad never left your side. Meanwhile, they placed a mask over my face and put me to sleep to finish the surgery.

I woke up two hours later in the recovery room. The first thing I asked was to see you. They told me I couldn’t be taken to my room until I could move my toes. Never in my life had I worked so hard to move my damn toes!

After half an hour, I asked them to call my room for an update. The nurse had a short conversation with someone, then turned to me with a huge smile and said, "He’s perfectly healthy. Your husband is doing skin-to-skin with him right now."

My heart instantly felt lighter.

I had to wait another half-hour, nibbling on ice chips, before my toes finally responded. Then, they wheeled me to my room.

The first thing I saw—what melted my heart like ice under the sun—was your dad’s face, filled with love and relief as his eyes met mine. The second thing was the light radiating from him as he held you close to his skin. If I had been standing, my knees would have buckled under the sheer weight of happiness.

Then, your dad placed you in my arms. And in that moment, everything changed.

Everything became brighter, more colorful, more alive.

My three-hour-old son, you had just taught me the meaning of life.

Nothing less.

Henry alias Grenouille, 5 jours