As I stood there not really being able to comprehend what I was seeing, I was snapped into reality when the midwife placed Orla on my wife to see if she would feed right away.
My wife was exhausted, was still losing blood and the Dr was working on trying to stitch her up.
She asked me to take Orla and sit on the chair with her so she could rest for a while.
How do you even hold a few minutes old baby!
The midwife passed her to me and I just did the best I could- which pretty much sums up fatherhood.
As is sat with Orla on my chest, I was just trying to take it all in whilst also hoping that she didn't kick off as I had no idea what I was supposed to do. After about 10 minutes or so, the midwife asked me if I had clothes, nappies, a hat etc for her.
Of course we did...we had been preparing for this moment for months. We had bags full of every sized vest and baby grow, copious amounts of snacks, blankets, formula. What a stupid question I thought!
"Where is it?"
Oh right...I had left it all in the car, in the car park, which was about 10 minute walk from where we were.
Upon coming into the hospital, I thought I would have loads of time to go grab the bags...no rush..I guess I got that wrong.
I broke the news to my wife that we didn't have any of her stuff and I had to go to the car to grab it. Orla was put into the little basket and I started the walk through the hospital back towards the car park.
This was about 6am on a cold September morning and I had been up for almost 24 hours at this point. As I saw other soon to be parents making their way into the hospital (with their bags), I couldn't help but feel a little smug that our labour was done and also felt a bit bad for the dads as I knew what they were about to experience.
When I got back, the midwife asked me if I could feed the baby as my wife was trying to rest.
She may as well have asked me to do a triple somersault in the pike position whilst humming a song in Chinese.
I literally had no idea how to feed Orla, how to hold her, how to burp her, how much to give her.
So I asked her to do it so I could watch. She begrudgingly agreed, and I watched intently as she made it look so easy. She manoeuvred Orla with ease and surprising robustness...I was terrified of dropping her or making her cry.
Next up was trying to put Orla's first ever outfit on. Trying to bend little tiny arms and legs into a baby grow when you have never done it before is like mental gymnastics. Really taxing on a brain which was already in overdrive.
But I did it, cause I didn't really have a choice but to do it. This is another key theme of fatherhood. No matter how difficult everything seems, you don't really have an option but to get on with it.
As the day progressed, various nurses and Drs came to check on Orla and my wife. Doing lots of different tests and checks to make sure everything was alright. I swear every time someone new came to run a different test, my heart stopped, hoping it was not bad news.
I guess that lack of feeling I had, started to subside. I really cared, I really hoped everything would work out.
My wife had lost so much blood that they were not sure if she needed a transfusion. We waited all day for the test results and eventually they confirmed no transfusion was needed but she had to stay in hospital overnight.
I could not stay with her. COVID was still a thing, visiting hours were strict...8pm....everyone had to clear out.
My wife was really upset, struggling with pain, anxious about having Orla overnight- and again, nothing I could do. I had to leave.
I felt terrible when they told me to go...I felt helpless that I couldn't do more to support her.
I also felt a massive sense of relief that I could go home, to my normal, to my bed, one last time.
As I left the hospital that night, having now being awake for something like 36 hours, I somehow drove home in a daze and managed to have the last good night sleep for the next 7 months.
Tomorrow, Orla comes home and the games really begin.