Where were you when....the Duchess of Cambridge was delivered of a son, 8lbs, 6ounces, at 4:24pm (UK time) on Monday, July 22, 2013?
Yes, there are many who don’t believe in, or agree with, the monarchy. But royalty in every country has been around for centuries, and I suspect always will be. And really, with ALL the negative stuff in the news lately, waiting for the ‘royal baby’ was a HAPPY, welcome change. We needed to be excited about something for a day or two. And, whether we agree with it all or not, we watched history in the making.
I couldn’t help but get swept away by the excitement. And of course, I couldn’t help but write about it.
And let’s face it, who doesn’t love a fairy tale with likeable folks? Throw in a baby, and the story just gets better. And at the end of the day, they’re just people, so why not celebrate along with them? Yes, I do respect their privacy, despite being yet ANOTHER person to watch then write about them. But when all was said and done, I went about my business; I didn’t stalk the hospital or their residence or anything.
When the internet was abuzz that Kate was in the hospital, I immediately started having contractions of my own. Sympathy, phantom – whatever you want to call them – I was in full, hard labour. I couldn’t do much else, so incapacitated I was by excitement and anticipation. But part of me felt sorry for the girl – can’t a woman be in labour without all the world knowing? But at least – at least – the photographers who happened to see her enter the hospital while in labour didn’t snap a million dollar photo. Kudos to them.
So I paced, and paced, and paced some more. I was reliving my own child-birthing days. I rubbed my back (age will do that to you), practiced my breathing (handy for dealing with annoying co-workers), and sought ice chips (um, a Slurpee from the infamous store down the street worked for me).
The world waited, and paced, and waited, and paced. Talk about pressure – poor Kate!
Then came the town crier! Oh, the cheers! Then came the golden easel! More cheers! Cameras flashed, more people cheered, a 21-gun salute burst eardrums, and the water in the fountain at Trafalgar Square was tinted blue (watch out for yellow water!). Oh joy, it’s a boy!
But the next day led to more waiting; more door-staring. The world waited for the wee prince to make his first appearance. One hour turned to two, and I squirmed in my seat. The washroom was calling me. But I couldn’t leave my computer with its live-stream of the door – I would miss the big moment! If only I could bring it into the washroom, but I guess that’s what fancy cell-phones are for (ew, gross!). And so we waited for the trio to appear on the steps of Lindo Wing.
But as I watched the door, I felt sorry for Kate. We all knew she would emerge looking fabulous, but I, her soul-sister in motherhood, knew she likely felt like crap. Elation and excitement might be masking it all, but no stylist or hairdresser can get rid of that ‘I just feel like I’ve been hit by a truck’ feeling, post birth. For the average woman, when she has a baby, there’s a bit of fan fare, a few visitors (some annoying), then she goes home. But for Kate...well, she’s in the spotlight from the get-go. Many will say this is the life she/they chose, so she should just grin and bear it, but really...I kinda felt sorry for her.
But then off they raced, back in the hospital for the car seat and bags. Then back out they came, like every other new couple, buckling everyone into the car. Kate and baby sat in the back with Will at the helm – where any proud papa should be.
And then...that was it. Over. Resume lives and carry on.
But...it wasn’t quite over yet – we had a name to wait for. But luckily we didn’t to wait for too long; ‘George Alexander Louis’ might be king one day.
I had sympathy night-time-feeding memories for Kate and Will; been there/done that, twice. The exhaustion, the fear, the newness of it all – having a new baby is overwhelming for anyone. I know many royals have nannies, etc, but I think Kate and Will very much intend on doing it all themselves. Bad ‘nappies,’ crying all night (baby AND mother), baby spit-up – the works. Good for them!
In the end, people are people, no matter where they come from. Babies are born and they eat, sleep and poop – no matter who they are. Nappies will always need to be changed. And at the end of the day, we’re all the same - we’re all looking for a bit of happiness.