Man From Bath

I Woke Up, And Everything Changed

It’s a weird feeling waking up in the morning knowing this is the last morning you’re going to wake up just the two of you. Just me and Yasmin, well Tommy the dog as well. Just us in our new house that we’ve only been in for three months. Just me making a cup of coffee, shouting up to her before I head off to work, just Yasmin grunting a bye half asleep in bed still. Just us. 

But on Wednesday the 13th of August, that ‘just us’ changed.

All being well, and with a planned C-section booked in since 2 weeks prior, we were leaving the house that day as two, and coming back a couple of days later as three.

I set my alarm for 5:30am and went to bed about 10:30 the night before. It’s been a hot summer under blankets not duvets, but surprisingly I slept ok. Waking up, I didn’t actually feel nervous. Anxious, yeah. Emotional…..?…..Massively!! It felt like any second I could break open and let out a kind of tidal wave inside me, not a bad wave, just full.

When the alarm went off, I showered, changed, got Yas up and said: let’s go do this.

We’d packed the car the night before. Marks & Spencer’s picnic bits very fancy, the overnight bags ,Yasmin’s and mine. Although mine were a lot smaller. We’ll get to that. 

She showered, got dressed and off we went.

Like two kids on the first day of school

We drove from our new home in Corsham down into Bath. Just me and Yas in the little Corsa. Baby seat already strapped in. Boot full. A bit of music playing. I remember her looking at me and saying, we’re going to have a baby today, and me just going, I know, it’s fucking nuts.

We stopped at the Esso on the London road for some last-minute bits. There was a guy outside the shop who looked down on his luck, asked me for a Red Bull and a Mars bar on my way in, so I got them for him. I don’t know, maybe I thought putting a bit of good into the world would mean the day would go smoothly. It felt right.

Back in the car, the tension was building, i had a few short snaps at the traffic (sorry to whoever that poor driver was) but fuck me he was driving slow and anyways, Anticipation makes you short-tempered sometimes.

We pulled up at the RUH, walked in and were shown to our four-bed bay. Yas took her spot by the window and I sat next to her, eating strawberries and watermelon while she was nil by mouth. Always the gent.

There were a couple of other couples in there waiting for planned C-sections too. Staff started coming round, checking in, giving us the rundown. Then we were told we were third in line.

Go time

First couple went in. Fine. 

Second couple went in. Shit its getting closer. 

Then we were told to get changed. Scrubs on. It’s happening.

I sent that final message to the family chat:

“We’re going in. Speak to you on the other side.”

We both went for a nervous wee, and then walked down to the theatre room.

What hit me was how many people were in there. I’d naïvely assumed a doctor, a nurse, maybe a midwife. Instead, there were eight people in the room, all prepping, calm, clinical, professional. A proper unit.

As a man in that room, I won’t lie, you feel a bit useless.

Like, you’re trying not to be in the way. You want to ask questions, but don’t want to interrupt. You just kind of… hover about, at least I did. 

They got Yasmin prepped, laid her down, and I was sat just opposite her.

And right then, just like that, all the nerves turned into pure unfiltered focus.

The only thing I cared about in that moment wasn’t whether we’d have a girl or a boy, it was Yas. Was she okay? Was she safe? I just kept checking in on her, over and over. I felt so protective of her, she was out of my hands and into the doctors, and in some weird way I wanted her to know I was still there, that I hadn’t left and abandoned her. 

“You alright, Yas?”

“You okay?”

“We’re doing this, alright?”

“I’m still here, you all good?”

“Nah im not crying”

And then…

They got our playlist on.

1975. Beyoncé. Then Old Dirty Bastard and Mariah Carey – Fantasy. That one got a few smiles from the staff. We had come up with this playlist some time before and if im honest I thought the baby would be out long before Beyoncé finished playing. Didn’t really envision my baby being born to “old dirty bastard in the houseeeeeeeee” but hey ho.

Then came the words from the doc:

“Okay, we’re starting now.”

Time drags slowly, they’re focussed not talking, while a million questions go through my mind, while Mariah Carey hits a high note in the background, why aren’t they talking, what’s happening???

And suddenly it’s: “We can see a leg.”

Then: “There’s an elbow.”

Then: “A bum.”

And then the screen dropped.

And in that split second the screen drops, life changes before your very eyes, forever. 

And there she was.

This beautifully little baby girl that moments before I had never ever met.

I can’t even write it without welling up. It was overwhelming. Incredible. I just kept saying: “It’s a girl, Yas. It’s a girl.” And then I said: “She’s got so much hair!”

Neave was crying her newborn cry. Her eyes were open.

She looked like she was trying to understand everything all at once, eyes so big and aware.

And so were we.

Yasmin was crying. I was crying. I looked around and the staff were tearing up. The whole room felt like it had just witnessed something massive. At least that’s how it felt to me, even though i know they do this all the time. But it was something massive,

And it had happened. 

They passed Neave to Yasmin first. And she cuddled in. I dont know how much time passed but it was just amazing watching from my seat next to the bed, seeing Yasmin and our daughter connect. 

Time went by, And then I got this crazy urge.

Like this deep, primal need to hold my child.

Five minutes felt like five years.

But finally I got to hold her.

They wrapped her up in a little Winnie the Pooh hat and handed her to me.

And there it was.

This tiny human who didn’t exist in our world an hour ago.

Now in my arms. Looking up at me. Perfect. Whole. Real.

I’ve surfed waves in crystal clear oceans in Bali.

I’ve raved off my head in Ibiza.

I’ve seen the madness of war.

Done some amazing things, 

Felt amazing moments,

But there is no feeling, no place, no drug, no high, no nothing,

that touches the feeling of holding your daughter in your arms for the very first time.

I’d relive it again and again

No, I didn’t faint.

Yes, I cried.

And no matter how many baby books I skimmed (not many…guilty), Spotify playlists I made, or snacks I packed, nothing –absolutely nothing — could prepare me for the moment I met our daughter.

She came out eyes wide, lungs strong, hair like a 90s lead singer… and I was completely done for.

It’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me.

And I reckon I’ll be chasing the feeling for the rest of my life.

Funny thing is, I’d just finished reading Recursion (highly recommend) — a book all about memory, travelling back into past memories, and how the past can pull you back in. People reliving moments over and over again, trying to change the story or hold on to something they lost.

And it got me thinking… if that technology existed, the chance to relive a single moment, not to change it, but just to feel it again — I know exactly which one I’d pick.

Not the trips or the wins or the wild nights.

Not the big deals, the milestones, the madness.

Just this.

Me, Yasmin, and Neave.

In that quiet, electric moment where everything began.

Man from Bath