The Birth of My Second Son

After a close call a couple of days ago, I’m pleased to say that on Thursday 19th May 2011, James Keith Kitney was born. He weighed 6.4lbs and was absolutely gorgeous. He arrived just over two weeks early, but thankfully we were ready — and even more thankful to finally meet him.

Without sharing anything Candy wouldn’t want online, here’s how it all unfolded. Writing it down saves me repeating the story a dozen times.

I got home late on Wednesday evening after the 18–30s cell group (which was great), and I was finishing the last bits of a talk I’d been asked to give. By the time I finally got into bed it was around 1am. I was shattered, but like most nights at that point, my mind wouldn’t switch off. I even posted on Facebook about not being able to sleep, hoping the act of typing would knock me out.

The next thing I knew, Candy was calling me from the bathroom. I checked my phone — 3:45am. She shouted that it was time. After the false alarm the previous Sunday, I made sure we had five regular contractions before declaring, “Right. It’s now.”

I phoned the midwife delivery suite, then called Candy’s sister, Carissa, who was going to be her birthing partner. By 4:30am they both arrived. Candy was in a warm bath, breathing through the contractions. It didn’t take long for the second midwife and her student to arrive and set up. With three midwives in the room, Candy moved to the bed.

She was incredible. She barely used the gas and air and did everything the midwives asked — except walking around, which she flat‑out refused. Gravity was not on the agenda.

Under the influence of gas and air, Candy was unintentionally hilarious. At one point she shouted, “No, it’s Megmeg! She’s in labour! And Poppy is watching!” Our two Persian cats had apparently joined the birthing experience in her mind. Later she explained she’d heard the midwives mention the cats walking in and out and was trying to reassure them that it was fine because Meg had recently had kittens. But in the moment, it was brilliant.

Candy kept pushing, with Carissa supporting her the whole time. After two hours, the midwives were a little concerned only because they thought Candy might be getting tired. One midwife put her gloves on to check — and POP. James arrived in one swift movement. At 7:05am he was lying on his mum.

The midwives were fantastic. They supported Candy beautifully and made the whole experience calm and reassuring. For anyone with a healthy pregnancy, we’d absolutely recommend a home birth. Candy felt relaxed, comfortable, and in control. She had her own TV, her own food, and the whole thing felt like a family moment rather than a clinical procedure.

William was brilliant. He slept through everything and woke at half six, perfectly happy with his breakfast and TV. When he met James, he gave him a kiss and cuddle — but was far more excited about the wooden train set James had “bought” him. (I still don’t know how James managed a trip to Toys ‘R’ Us, but good thinking, little man.)

[Image 2. Will meeting James for the very first time — curious, gentle, and completely unfazed by the chaos of the night before.]

The only downside — and this was on me, not home birth — was that I should have been stricter about visitors. Hospitals have rules for a reason. At one point that evening, there were ten people in our bedroom wanting a cuddle with James. I know they were excited and meant well, but it was overwhelming. A few days later, I’d learned my lesson: visitors could come, have a cuddle, and then sit downstairs with a cup of tea while Candy rested.

[Image 3. My dad meeting James — three generations in one quiet moment.]

Even Meg wanted to see him!

[Image 4. Candy resting with James, with Meg the cat popping in to say hello — our little family all in one frame.]

Anyway — here are a few photos from those early moments.

[Image 5. James, only minutes old — tiny, warm, and still adjusting to the world.]

[Image 6. James in his first little white outfit — clean, cosy, and impossibly small.]

[Image 7. Me with James — exhausted, relieved, and completely in love.]

2026 Reflection

Looking back at this post in April 2026 feels very different from reading the one just before it. That earlier entry captured panic, uncertainty, and the sense of being on the edge of something. This one — James’ birth — captures a version of me I barely recognise now.

In these photos and paragraphs, I see a young man who let the whole world into his home. A man who didn’t know how to say no, who thought being a good host and a good dad meant opening every door and letting everyone pile in. Ten people in the bedroom on the night of a home birth? I can’t imagine that now. Not because it was wrong, but because I’m not that person anymore.

I’m more private these days. I gatekeep my space. Protect my time. I’ve grown into someone who understands boundaries — not out of bitterness, but out of experience, age, and the simple reality of a busier life. Hannah and I love our friends deeply, but we also love our quiet. Our home is our sanctuary. Fourteen years ago, I didn’t even know what that meant.

Sometimes I wonder whether I became this way because of everything that happened after this post — the separation, the rebuilding, the years of co‑parenting, the changes in co-parenting, the need to carve out a life that felt safe and stable. Or maybe it’s just age. Maybe it’s the natural shift from your twenties to your late thirties and forties. Maybe it’s the difference between the chaos of early parenthood and the rhythm of raising teenagers.

Or maybe it’s none of that. Maybe I’ve simply grown.

What I do know is that the man in this post — exhausted, excited, overwhelmed, and trying to please everyone — feels like a distant relative of the man writing this now. I don’t judge him, but I do cringe at him a little. I just see someone who hadn’t yet learned the value of space, boundaries, or saying “not tonight.”

Yet, he’s also the man who held James at 7:05am and felt the world tilt into place. The man who started writing because he wanted to show up for his children. The man who, without realising it, was laying the foundations for the stories that would eventually fill this blog.

This post isn’t just a birth story. It’s a snapshot of who I was before I understood myself. Reading it now, with James turning fourteen, I can appreciate it for what it is: the beginning of a journey that shaped every version of me that came after.