With the news today announcing the birth of Kate & Prince Williams’ baby boy, I began to wonder how different the birth was to that of my own little Womb Raider.
The main question in my mind is: does money or status really play that much of a part in the birth of a baby once you get down to the nitty gritty of it all? Even if though the newest of the Windsor House was delivered via a Royal V Jay Jay, we ladies are all pretty much the same on the inside. Right? Kate Middleton’s vagina surely isn’t lined with silk or diamonds, and I am sure her uterus looks quite similar to the next person’s. So how did it compare?
Pre Labour. In the days leading up to the birth I imagine the Duchess was holed up at Kensington Palace, causally flicking through the Topshop website looking for a nighty to give birth in. She would of course have been looking thin, beautiful and glowing with good health. Kate might have decided to visit a high-end beautician for a spot of Vajazzling – and perhaps even using some gems handed down from her Royal In-Laws. Once back at Will’s side, I would suppose they took a long bath in a giant, hand-carved tub and then curled up in an enormous beautiful bed to watch Downton Abbey until things progressed.
Labour. Kate started having contractions at around 5am on July 21st – which is co-incidently William’s birthday. The Royal Mucous Plug would have made a sticky appearance inside Kate’s delicate knickers, without so much as a ‘by-your-leave, madam’. I imagine this would have created some awkward discussions with the staff at Kensington Palace, who would then have quickly delivered another pair of undies on a golden tray. Not long after that the Royal Waters must have broken, probably all over a 500 year-old rug, sending a small army of staff running for a bucket and mop. The renowned Lindo wing in St Mary’s Hospital Paddington must have been buzzing with excitement when the call came in that Kate would soon be arriving. In my mind, the room had been festooned with creepy looking paintings of Corgis and Royal Mothers from a bygone era – courtesy of her Grandmother-In-Law, Liz. Other than the creepy paintings, it couldn’t have been dissimilar to the room I was in. Except for the smell. I imagine the Royal Disinfectant having a bouquet like gardenias, not industrial floor cleaner.
At this point, I can only assume Kate & William were ushered into an unassuming white mini van and taken out through a secret underground tunnel toward the hospital. This is, of course, to fool the paparazzi and the press, who have been camped outside the hospital for weeks. The Royal waters would have continued to gush out with every contraction and the Royal entourage would have experienced a great deal of Royal Wetness. Kate’s court shoes must have copped a bit of a showering too and would have been squelching as she was ushered inside the hospital. Despite her reputation for being sporty, Kate’s far too tiny and fragile and perfect and posh and, of course, Royal to cope with the increasingly painful contractions. So, an epidural was surely administered by some extremely well-paid, yet utterly nervous, medical staff. Via a golden needle, no less. Soft music was piped into the suite and Wills gave Kate (now dressed in her Topshop nighty), a nice massage. They would have smiled at each other and chatted about how-on-earth the commoners manage birthing for less than £6000.00 a night.
The Birth. The Royal Obstetrician, Marcus Setchell, would have, ever so politely, asked Kate to start pushing. She would have elegantly vomited into a bag being held by an anonymous and strangely silent midwife – no doubt sworn to secrecy. I doubt there was much yelling, but quite a lot of huffing and sweating as Kate tried her best to aid the exit of what turned out to be a right Royal whopper of a boy. All efforts would have been made to preserve her modesty, but remember, when push came to shove (sorry, had to go there) the Royal Vag was on full display. Thankfully, Kate would have been too busy to worry about her lady bits ending up on TMZ. Or to worry about pooing on the bed. Or her Royal V Jay Jay burning and stretching as the boy got closer to the exit. I’m sure that, as the baby’s head started crowning, William would have made a badly-timed joke about Royal Coronation. And promptly fainted. By this stage, the head would finally have been out, followed shortly by a grey, slimy little body which is expertly caught by the Royal Obstetrician.
As the baby was handed to Kate, I’m guessing a team of beauticians were gathered around, working to return her instantly to her photo-ready state. All the while, another sworn-to-secrecy staffer would have got to work downstairs with some golden needle and thread.
Knowing the Royal couple and their passion for privacy, I doubt we will ever know the full details of the little guys entrance into the world. But I bet it wasn’t too far off what I thought. I’ve still got a few lingering questions for Kate, like what brand of maternity pads she favours, if she is sitting on an arse-donut to ease the swelling, and if she plans on keeping her placenta. But I’ll have to settle for knowing that even if you are rich and Royal, your baby comes out pretty much the same way as the Womb Raider did. And that is quite satisfying.