Shock Surprise Baby Blues

Being a mom is a shared experience.
Gaggles of the preggers lot converge with the current maternal overlords of experience - mothers of 0-6 year olds - and share tips, tales and stories of pregnancy, sickness, pains and labor.
I’ve spent nearly 7 years desperately avoiding these familiar themes, feeling conspicuous as a fraud, struggling without a tale to share or an anecdote to bond over.  You see my little boy, my bundle of joy, was a surprise baby.
In essence (and without all the medical hoohaa) he was one of those kids who plays a 9 month long game of hide-and-seek with any doctor I saw until the very last moment.  At that point he made his 5 hour journey into the light.
Having a concealed pregnancy (one when your body hides away all those important signs that let you know you are carrying a little life inside) is quite a traumatic event.  You are fortunate enough that there is a precious child as the outcome but it is really difficult to field all the questions that go with it, even after all the NHS advice and the personal research.
You get sick of stupid questions and statements (which are understandable but depressing nonetheless).  
“How did you not know?”“Did you not feel him move?”“As if that can actually happen...”
I figure if the doctors and nurses I saw for six months with the supposed polycystic ovary syndrome didn’t realize it was Patrick in there, why should I?
Then there are the people who judge you.  The family member who likes to think of you as the whore of Babylon for 4 years, then apologises in one swift phone call under duress and you are meant to be ok with that.  There are the people who talk to you like you are a bit daft and the ones who say “are you really sure you weren’t just keeping it a secret?”  
I wish I had the amazing pregnancy story to tell.  I hate sitting with the “mummy chums” and not being able to join in the reminiscing.  That was never a choice I’d have taken, to not be able to enjoy and prepare in the 9 months leading up to the birth of my special little boy.  I hate the fact that instead of being able to tell Patrick a sweet, warm tale about the day he was born, he will be told a tale of panic and frenetic activity.
That’s what gets me blue, sometimes.L x