I was was busy celebrating at the bar, when the most unlikely gate-crasher derailed my plans... By Anneli Risberg, 48
Gazing into my date’s beautiful blue eyes, I smiled. Mats was funny and charming, and everything I looked for in a man.
But at 44, I already had a 15-year-old son and a 10-year-old daughter and didn’t want any more.
I knew I needed to broach the subject of kids, as I didn’t want to waste either of our time.
So, taking a deep breath, I bit the bullet and told him about my baby ban.
He chuckled.
‘I feel exactly the same, my two kids are enough for me.’
‘Phew!’ I exclaimed.
Our relationship went from strength to strength, and before I knew it, we had been together for three years.
As our children weren’t babies any more and could be left with other family, we decided to book a holiday with Mats’ brother Per, his wife Veronica, and our two other friends, Anette and Bengt.
We settled on an all-inclusive package in Majorca and were excited for sangria, sun and some alone time.
On our first evening, while enjoying sunset drinks on the balcony, Mats’ brother said he was off to the beach.
‘Great idea,’ I chimed, but Mats scrunched his nose up.
‘Let’s stay here, I’m tired,’ he said.
After waving them off, I turned to face Mats and spotted a small box in his hand.
When he flipped it open, I gasped.
‘Will you marry me, Anneli?’
‘Of course!’ I cried.
The ring was simple but beautiful, and it slid on my finger with ease.
Next day, I slipped into a bikini and made my way to the pool to celebrate.
It was a scorching day, and after cooling off in the water, we made a beeline for the bar.
‘A sex on the beach please,’ I told the bartender.
He shook cranberry juice with a generous shot of vodka, while I admired my ring twinkling in the Spanish sunshine.
But as I leant over to take the drink, I felt a strange sensation down below.
It felt like I’d wet myself, but I reasoned that I was standing in a damp bikini and thought nothing more of it.
I took a few steps before doubling over in pain.
‘Anneli, are you OK?’ Mats asked.
‘I think I should lie down for a bit, maybe I’ve got sunstroke,’ I replied.
I went to our room and changed out of my swimwear.
After a while, the pain subsided, so I went back down to join the others for some more drinks.
But a couple of hours later, the pain returned with a vengeance.
I went back to the room with Anette in tow.
‘Here, this will take your mind off the pain,’ she said, offering me a cigarette.
I puffed away and even put away a couple more cocktails in an attempt to dull the pain.
As I lay on the bed clutching my stomach, Anette giggled.
‘You’re not pregnant, are you?’
‘Don’t be silly,’ I laughed.
But then Anette let out a gasp, pointing at the bed, where I was lying.
The sheet was stained with blood.
She ran to the balcony and shouted down to Mats who was still lounging by the pool.
‘You need to come NOW! Anneli is having a baby!’ she hollered.
Mats soon appeared in the room.
He took one look at me and sprinted down to reception to call an ambulance.
I tried to make sense of what was happening.
I was on the contraceptive injection, which meant I didn’t have a regular cycle.
In my previous pregnancies, I’d experienced weight gain and morning sickness, but I’d experienced nothing like that over the past nine months.
I was baffled. Only, instead of feeling panicked, all I could do was giggle.
I might have been giving birth — but I was tipsy from all the drinks I’d downed!
'You're not pregnant, are you?'
Paramedics soon arrived and an ambulance whisked me away, with Mats following in a taxi.
As the paramedic examined me, he frowned and muttered something to his colleague.
‘What is it?’ I gulped.
The paramedics only spoke Spanish and I couldn’t understand a word, but after much gesturing, I got the gist.
I was having the baby now, there was no time to get to the hospital.
There was no time for pain relief, the ambulance pulled over and I pushed and panted until I felt the baby come.
As the paramedics placed a baby boy in my arms, I felt overwhelmed.
Suddenly, now feeling very sober, the reality of what had happened dawned on me.
This can’t be my baby, I thought.
Mats was waiting for me at the hospital and when he clocked the baby in my arms, his face was a picture.
A doctor explained that I’d given birth at around 36 weeks.
‘The airplane journey probably induced labour,’ he said.
‘At least you didn’t give birth on the plane!’ Mats joked.
I worried that my vacation antics might have affected the baby’s health, but scans and tests showed he was perfectly healthy.
Once the initial shock had subsided, we went about telling family and friends.
But each phone call was met with the same response.
‘You’re drunk!’ my sister laughed and hung up the phone.
‘How are we going to get them to believe us?’ I said.
We sent a selfie of us in the hospital but that still didn’t convince anyone.
It’s been photoshopped! our friend replied.
‘Let’s video call them,’ Mats suggested.
Eventually, we managed to convince people we weren’t playing a prank.
‘Are you going to give him a Spanish name?’ my sister asked.
‘No, we’re naming him William,’ I smiled.
I realised we only had a few days of our trip left, and we wouldn’t be ready to fly.
Luckily, I had a friend who worked in property nearby, so I gave him a call.
‘I promise I’m telling the truth!’ I told him after he failed to believe me,
‘OK then, what hospital are you at?’ he asked, hoping to catch us out.
The line went silent as I responded.
‘I’m so sorry!’ he exclaimed. ‘Leave it with me, I’ll find you a place.’
As William was a little premature, he stayed in the hospital for a week longer than me, which gave us some time to sort the logistics for bringing him home.
But it wasn’t as simple as buying an extra plane ticket.
William needed a passport.
After lots of phone calls and trips to the consulate we were given a one-time-use passport for William.
‘That will be 4,000 euros,’ the diplomat told us.
‘4,000?’ I screeched.
Luckily, my sister was able to lend us the money.
Our family’s generosity didn’t stop there.
Everyone at home banded together to buy everything we needed for William.
Knowing we were coming home to a fully stocked nursery was a massive weight off our shoulders.
When it was time to leave Majorca, Mats and I made a pact to bring William back when he was older.
I worried the flight home might unsettle him, but he was as good as gold and didn’t cry once.
My mum and sister met us at the airport.
They burst into tears as soon as they clocked William.
‘He’s so beautiful!’ they cried.
William’s brothers and sisters had been begging to meet him and from the moment we walked through the door he was the centre of attention.
Now, William is thriving at pre-school and loves playing football with his siblings.
We haven’t told him about his unusual birth story just yet, but we’re planning a holiday to Majorca this year to show him where he was born.
As for Mats and I, we haven’t managed to make it down the aisle just yet, but we’re planning to do it in Majorca.
I’m just hoping for no more surprises!