The end is in sight.  Or so I'm told.  Although many places still cite 37+0 onwards as term, many specialists are now saying that needs redefining and that true term isn't until at least 39 weeks.

I've never spontaneously gone into labour, it's always followed a sweep.  My waters have never broken on their own, they've always been broken in labour by a Midwife.  The only time i've ever given birth before my due date was with The Preschooler at 39+4 after a sweep the day before due to BP and pain.

Yet despite all that, you start to feel like a ticking time bomb at this stage.

Rationally you know you have several weeks yet.  You know from your own history that the chances of anything happening a)early or b) spontaneously are minuscule.  Yet your mind still plays that dastardly game of 'what if's' because no matter how small the chance is it's still there.  You live in a spasm of hope and of fear that things will start.  You brick yourself at the thought it could happen then scowl in misery when another day goes by without so much as a twinge.

I want her to have as long as she needs.

But I've had enough.

I know all woman say that at this stage but I have genuinely had enough.

I spend most of my time at home on the birthing ball or in bed because of the pain.  I only really leave the house once a week.  It's been like this for months.  Pelvic pain.  Hip pain. Back pain. Sciatica.  Pain. Pain. Pain.  It hurts to sit, it hurts to stand, it hurts to walk.  Turning over in bed feels like my body is breaking into pieces.

It doesn't stop there.  Then there's the Insomnia, i'm averaging around 4 hours sleep a night.  Not good for anyone, especially for a pregnant woman.  Throw into the mix that the person also has M.E.

My emotions and thoughts are unpredictable and unreigned due to my depression and anxiety and lack of medication whilst pregnant.  I swing from harrowing black holes of moods to number grey and the occasional break in the clouds.

Then there's the headaches.  I have had headaches for the past 12 days.  Constant in the background headaches that dull with paracetamol yet never disappear.  Every few hours they'll flare and the right side of my head and behind my right eye will throb vehemently.  Having avoided analgesics for the other pains I'm having to take paracetamol every 4-6 hours daily and it still doesn't cure the headaches.  My GP said I could have codeine but we agreed it would be best not to as it can slow baby's movements and seeing as I have anxiety and panic issues and an anterior placenta this would probably tip me over the edge.

My blood pressure did rise, but then lowered again.  My GP doesn't think the headaches are pre-eclampsia yet does however think they'll unfortunately have permanent residence with me until I give birth.

I'm officially useless.  I can hardly do anything with the kids.  I'm miserable.  The Husband is having to do everything.  I'm missing out on the trips to the park, Thing One's first trip to Blackpool Pleasure Beach, The Preschooler's first trip bowling.

In 14 years I think The Husband has seen me cry a handful of times, if that.  Yet two of those have been in the past month or so.  I'm finding it incredibly difficult to cope; to exist.

I feel cheated out of cherishing this final pregnancy.  I can't enjoy it.  I know i'm lucky and blessed.  I do appreciate being pregnant.  I don't even possess the words to describe how much it means to me to be having a fourth baby after being told by The Husband that it would never be.  She had other ideas though.  our little surprise.  She obviously wouldn't take no for an answer.

I know the end is in sight,  but the thought of several more weeks of this is overwhelming.

I'm taking EPO as with my other pregnancies, I'm convinced this is what ensured the success of my previous sweeps.  My Midwife has agreed to attempt an early sweep at 39+5 and that was before the headaches.  I'm torn between breaking down into pieces and begging for one now but a) I know she'd say no b) as horrific as I feel, I wouldn't be comfortable trying to 'make' her come this early as if she was ready I'd be in labour, though technically, a sweep would only work if she was ready anyway.  (EPO and RLT prep you for labour but will not trigger it hence why despite popular misunderstood belief neither are natural induction techniques)

I have an inkling she's back to back just like The Preschooler was, nobody realised until he was sliding out.  Sure as hell explained the intensity of labour though,

Still have things to do, I still go to bed and wake up with The Preschooler next to me.  Not looking forwards to evicting him but I need the bedside cot as it provides extra room for co-sleeping.  I think it will be harder for me than for him.  He's terribly enamored with his Sonic The Hedgehog bedding for his big boy bed.

Tick.

Tock.

These final weeks are so precious.

I just wish I could cherish them.

I'll miss pregnancy when it's over.  It's impossible to describe the magic of it.  The feeling of being connected.  Feeling her grow and move.

Tick.

Tock.

36+3

You must forgive my recent lull in posting, I'm a sun hater at the very best of times yet this hatred reaches new heights when I'm pregnant.  Summer is not fun.  I'm a huge, mobility challenged (due to pain), angry pregzillah.

I've been virtually housebound for a few months now.  The SPD and spinal pain makes movement difficult and painful.  Thankfully it would appear that my blood pressure is behaving in this pregnancy, my last two pregnancies, by this point, I was having to make frequent trips to the hospital to be monitored for BP that would fluctuate up then back down again.  This means for the first time ever, I'm still en route to giving birth in the birthing centre and may actually, finally, get my water birth!  Usually my BP, BMI, blood disorders etc have ensured I've been consultant led yet this time, a consultant has seen no reason for me to be high risk.  I'm not holding my breath however, a lot can happen in the last few weeks.

I'll admit I'm a little worried that bump was at first measuring big and appears to be shrinking yet the Midwife has put it down to the first measurement being taken on a firm clinic bed and the next two on the sofa at home.  Her reasoning is plausible yet I can't help but worry.

The dreaded floaters have been around constantly for the past two months or so, and the past few days have been plagued with headaches.  Fun.

This pregnancy has been somewhat strange.  It hasn't quite felt real and as always it's lonely.  I've never had friends to excite over it with, to experience it with.  The Spawn are excited in bouts yet it's never really real for The Husband until the head is poking out.  In previous pregnancies I've been very active on birth boards and moderated them so gone through the experience as a member of a cyber pregnant army of hormones.  This time however, I've steered clear having neither the mental capacity nor energy to deal with all the inevitable fall outs and dramas that always accompany large groups of hormonal woman. On  the flip side though, it also removes the cyber sense of belonging and support.  As a result my pregnancy feels almost as insignificant as myself.  There's nobody to celebrate it with, to plan things with, to worry over things with to just experience it with.

Did I mention that i'm piling the weight on too seeing as I'm getting very little exercise other than virtually living on my birthing ball and seem incapable of not stuffing my face.

I'm torn between being over pregnancy already, I can barely do anything and my unmedicated moods are somewhat difficult and incredibly mercurial.  I can't go anywhere with The Spawn and even standing up feels like my back is going to snap.  Yet, I'm acutely aware that this is my last ever pregnancy.  I will never go through this magical process again.  Never again will I feel the movement and kicks and grow a bump.  Never.  I find this incredibly heart wrenching.  I feel i'm doing the pregnancy a disservice through not enjoying or celebrating it more.

I'm happy that despite having an anterior placenta again (like with Thing One & Thing Two) I do feel her movements, even now at 36+ they make me smile and giggle.  Yes, giggle.

The stubborn little madame had been a little quite the other day which meant an anxious insomniac me downing cold water in the middle of the night and poking my bump.  In the end I resorted to the doppler, something I rarely use.  Satisfied she was still in there, it pissed her off enough to make her move too.

I'm receiving ante-natal care at home again, due to the discomfort.  Surprisingly the MW has agreed to attempt a sweep at 39+ (probably 39+5).  I had an early sweep with The Preschooler due to naughty BP and pain, I was 39+3 and surprisingly 4-5cm.  It's not that I want to evict her, not at all.  I just want to walk more again and be able to stand up / roll over without being in agony.  A sweep is as far as I'll go though, unless medically essential, I'd not agree to an induction before my due date.  Once an induction is started, no matter how unready your body is you have to see it through.  A sweep has a 50% chance of success, if you're ready it will work and if you're not it won't .  Granted all three of my previous labours have been started with a sweep so my body seems to react well to them.

3.5 weeks till my due date.  How can that feel so near and yet also so untouchably far away?

Nappies and clothes are all washed yet there's still bits and bats I need.  My hospital bag is only 60% complete.

Perhaps the biggest change still to comes is that The Preschooler still co-sleeps with me.  He still has the bedside cot though he ends up on my mattress.  I can't imagine him not being next to me.  We rejigged the bedrooms some time ago, bought bunk beds for him and Thing Two yet it's never been the 'right' time.  I still need to buy some storage for his clothes, a nightlight and some bedding.  I'm terrified he'll feel he's being evicted due to the baby yet at the same time he is excited to be sharing a room with Thing Two and we have been speaking about it for many months.  I guess worse case scenario would be going into labour early and him still being in the bedside cot!  It's a good job I have no history whatsoever of going into labour a)  spontaneously b) early.

I'll admit i'm at times crippled with anxiety.  I'm scared it will be another sudden and quick labour like with The Preschooler that went from nothing to agony out of nowhere. I'm scared that The Inlaws won't get here in time to look after The Spawn (like us they're none drivers and they live about 20-30m away by taxi) and I'll have to go to the hospital alone.  What if they're not even home when I go into labour? What if it's the middle of the night? Another reason for an early sweep is because of the excruciating anxiety, at least this will give us a possible 48 hour window to have them on standby.  I'm scared of there being meconium again, with The Preschooler it was grade 3. My waters have never broken on their own, but with my last two as soon as the MW broke them my babies literally slipped out. The Preschooler as whisked away after a few minutes, what if she needs help? What if this happens before the ambulance gets here?  On the other hand what if labour goes the other way and it's long, my last two were intense and short, how will I cope?   I can't stop panicking over what if's.  I can't relax because I'm far too worried about The Spawn and how dependent we are on none driving relatives from a different county. It's the summer holidays so all The Spawn are at home. At least them being at school would have given them some leeway. I'm terrified of being alone.  I'm scared of The Spawns reactions they're massive worriers.  They'll worry if they see me in pain and they'll worry when I go to hospital.  If I have to stay in hospital afterwards like I have every other time, I know The Preschooler won't really sleep.

I'm also hyper aware of how shit the summer holidays are going to be for The Spawn.  We're absolutely skint.  We can't go anywhere or do anything as even a trip to a decent park is several miles on foot in this horrific heat with no shelter or else nearly £10 in bus fares, just to get to a park.  Obviously that would be going without me as I can't really walk far without being in agony.  We usually have a day out in Blackpool for their birthdays (both birthdays will be massively disrupted either by a nearly immobile mum or a newborn!) but that is impossible this year.  We can't even have a paddling pool as we have no outdoor tap and we've never managed to find an adapter to fit a hose to our awkward kitchen tap.  It takes forever to fill a tiny one with pans of water and with Three Spawn a tiny one wouldn't cut it anyway.  In the past Things One & Two spend a day a week each at My Parents with several sleepovers too but this year that too is impossible due to various parent related reasons.

The icing on the cake?  The one thing that entertains them in the garden is the trampoline, which has chosen now to need new springs.

So yes i'm currently feeling somewhat of a failure.  I fail at being pregnant.  I fail at motherhood whilst pregnant and thus have three irritable and bored spawn and I fail (even more than usual) at being a wife as the poor husband is quite literally doing everything other than the cooking.  Judging by the inside of my head I'm pretty much failing at existing too.  Did I forget the obvious?  I'm failing at blogging too judging by the lack of erm...well...blogging that I've been doing.

Happy days.

3.5 weeks.  Terrified? yes.  Excited?  Yes.  As soon as she's born time starts ticking, her firsts become our lasts.  I'm already so in love with her and I've not even met her yet.  My fourth and final baby.  The one that The Husband said we'd never have.

I've been taking ye olde raspberry leaf capsules for a while now, I know many dismiss them as hocus pocus but from my experience, my second stage of labours have been incredibly quick and efficient which I believe has been helped by taking them.  At 37 weeks i'll start the Evening Primrose Oil too as again, from previous experience, they've really helped to soften an efface my cervix which I attribute to the success of previous sweeps.

3.5 weeks.

Tick.

Tock.

Tick.

Tock.

Summer baby.

In the earlier days of Pregnancy when people clock you're knocked up they ask 'When's it due?' yet you know you're reaching the finishing line when the question changes to 'How long have you got left?'  That's about where i'm at.

This is usually accompanied by the loathsome 'Aww a Summer baby! How lovely!' Actually, no.  It's far from lovely.  It's miserable enough in this vile heat when you're not pregnant yet add being the size of a whale to it.  Not pretty.  Not fun.  Then there's having a newborn in the height of summer when you spend all day trying to keep them out of the direct glare of the sun and sweltering heat and all night petrified they're over heating.

Out of The Spawn, two of them were 'Summer Babies' so I'm speaking from experience.  I think it's pretty obvious that Moomin is a surprise.  No sane person would plan another summer birthday.

August and September will forever be known as the bankrupt months.

Still, I wouldn't change this for anything.  The baby I longed for yet never thought we'd have.

And the finishing line is indeed in sight.  32+6 today.  It's strange this pregnancy has both flown by and crawled, how is that even possible?  I do wish I had the luxury of indulging in this pregnancy yet with three children, anxiety, unmedicated depression and near constant hip, pelvic and back pain it's something that's obviously forever there yet in the background.  It's both bittersweet and terrifyingly sad that this will be my last ever pregnancy, that after Moomin is here ICountdown'll never again experience the bump and kicks.  Ever.  Obviously I can't wait to meet her yet I can't help the sadness that soon, pregnancy will just be another memory.  I could elongate this into a somewhat emo lament about the loneliness of this pregnancy but i'll save you the displeasure of reading that tripe.

Although tomorrow I'll 'only' be 33 weeks due to the length of the month, technically I'm having a baby next month.  Next Month. How has that happened?! Holy Shit!

All Apologies

The problem with being online when pregnant is that you're not allowed to be unhappy;  because of the precious gift you are carrying.

There's so many woman out there  desperate to have a baby. It doesn't matter if it's your first or tenth child nothing can eradicate that longing of wanting to be pregnant when you're not/can't be... That ache of not being pregnant be it a physical issue or a general life issue is excruciating.  It actually hurts.

So you're not allowed to struggle with life when you're pregnant because it's like you've personally slapped those that aren't yet long to be.  How dare you be struggling off meds.... at least you're pregnant.  How dare you complain about anything, at least you're pregnant.

But I can't and won't apologise for being pregnant.

I've suffered pregnancy loss too.  I've been there, howling and breaking into pieces as your heart literally shatters.

Although not for physical reasons I've been in that place when all you want is a baby yet you can't have one.  When it appears that everyone else is pregnant and you're not.  Everywhere you go you see people pregnant, ones that never tried, ones that don't even want to be.  You see  what's in your eyes 'questionable parenting' everywhere you go as your heart whispers 'they don't deserve that baby.  I do though.  I do'  You watch people who were pregnant when you were give birth, when you lost your pregnancy near the beginning and you think 'that should be me.'

Yes this will be by fourth. Yes I'm lucky.  I'm blessed.  Doesn't mean I'm not human though.  Doesn't mean I haven't been in a place of longing or grieving.

I never thought we'd have a fourth but she surprised us all.  I wouldn't swap this pregnancy for the entire universe.  But...

It doesn't mean life is easy.  It doesn't mean shit doesn't happen.  In another pregnancy a relative died, my mother got cancer and we nearly lost our home.  Of course I was elated to be pregnant but it doesn't make you immune to everything life throws at you, it doesn't eradicate everything else.

Pregnancy is magical, wonderful and amazing but it can also be miserable to some people, it doesn't mean they're not happy to be pregnant though.  Likewise, being pregnant doesn't remove your right to complain.  It can be harrowing if you have mental health issues and you cease your medication to protect your baby.  It can be debilitating if you suffer from SPD where it hurts to move and it hurts not to move, every day the pain intensifies and debilitates you further. It can also exacerbate existing conditions such as M.E.   Pregnancy gives you hope, it gives you a reason to carry on but it doesn't make life easier or magic away worries and problems.

You don't not mention a bad hair day because there's people out there without any.  You don't not mention a migraine because some people have brain tumors.

If I could make all these beautiful woman pregnant of course I would.  Who wouldn't?!

But I can't make you pregnant and I can't be sorry that I am pregnant.

Nor will I apologise for talking about it.

I'm sorry you're not pregnant, deeply whole heartedly sorry.  I'm not sorry that I am  pregnant though.

And when it seems I'm whining about life in spite of being blessed with pregnancy.  Stop.  Think.  Maybe this pregnancy and my kids are the only reason I'm still in this life able to complain.  Maybe they're the sole reason I carry on

You're only pregnant, not disabled. Right?

It would seem there is very little gray area in how pregnant woman are treated, the pregnancy is either totally ignored with no extra regard to how the woman is treated or else they're treated as if utterly fragile and incapable of ordinary life, both of which can be equally frustrating for the woman in question.  Sometimes you do need special consideration, like being offered a seat on the bus or having someone offer to carry something that's especially heavy for you or even just understanding, for the exhaustion or mayhaps the extreme nausea.  Other times, you just need people to back the fuck off with their misplaced 'Are you sure you should be doing that?' or '[so and so] can't do that, she's pregnant'

Granted, the majority of woman can cope with pregnancy pretty damn efficiently as can their bodies.  Sure they may get the nausea and the bum grapes but other than that you see them still whizzing round, wearing heels at 37+ weeks, successfully doing every day life with activity filled days with barely a laboured breath right up until the first contraction.

We're not all that lucky though.

You should never judge a pregnant woman based on your own experience or perceptions of how you assume pregnancy should be.

Just because a woman appears to be coping fine, still show some consideration.  If another woman appears to be significantly suffering, don't dismiss it.  Every woman and every pregnancy is different.

Some woman have nausea so severe, they're hospitalised.  They risk dehydration and their bodies become exhausted and weak to the point where they find it difficult to function.

Others suffer with the invisible, battles against mental health issues that they may decide to stop medication  due to pregnancy.  Mental health issues plus pregnancy can be a toxic and dark journey that many can find utterly harrowing, it can steal the journey that is pregnancy, it bleeds dry the joy and the wonder.  Mental health impacts on every part of your life and on those around you.

Then there's SPD (Symphisis Pubic Dysfunction).  This is a little understood term that is bandied about readily.  Most woman get pregnancy niggles, you know a bit of back ache or leg ache maybe even a achey foof.  Want to know what SPD feels like?  Imagine someone taking a baseball bat and smashing your pelvis with it, several times.  Imagine being dropped from a great height, onto a stone horse saddle, repeatedly.  It hurts to stand up, it hurts to sit down.  You spend ages working up to turning over in bed because it's that painful.  Getting dressed becomes agony as the action of lifting one leg at a time renders you in extreme pain, ditto to walking up or down stairs. Whichever position to sit or lay in, becomes uncomfortable and then painful after short periods of time. You walk like John Wayne and it still hurts.  You're walking home from Nursery holding your childs hand and every time they jump, swing or do a superhero move you audibly yelp as the slight tug of their body weight seems to radiate through your hand, up your arm and jolts your pelvis. Your pelvis hurts, your foof hurts, your lower back hurts, your hips hurt, the inside of your thighs hurt, hell, even your bum hurts.  All the time. A simple ten minute walk feels like a hike, as your legs protest at being made to separate, you wince and feel like crying. Every step feels like columns of pain from the ground are shooting up your legs to your pelvis whilst at the same time someone is trying to rip both your legs out of their sockets in opposing directions oh and don't forget the band of pain that's crunching your lower spine.  It gets worse.  Every day the pain intensifies.  Bending down to pick stuff up, getting dressed, sitting/standing become filled with pain.  The little things you take for granted like walking to the shops, or going out for te day with your family become near impossible.  Every day simple tasks hurt more and more.  The lucky ones just have to exist through the agony, the unlucky ones are unable to and have to rely on crutches or even a wheelchair.  It's debilitating.  But hey, you're only pregnant.... you're not disabled.  Right?

Wrong.  Perhaps disabled is the wrong word, I know as someone who suffers from chronic SPD pain that the thought of referring to myself as 'disabled' sounds ludicrous yet if we take the word and strip it down to it's basic definition:

disabled

dɪsˈeɪbld/

adjective

1. (of a person) having a physical or mental condition that limits their movements, senses, or activities.

Then yes, sometimes to some people pregnancy in all it's hope wonder and magic can actually be disabling.  

Sometimes it's not just pregnancy niggles and aches.

Sometimes pregnancy isn't a straight line journey, you can't assume every pregnant woman is walking the same nine month path.  Like everyone in life you have no idea of their journey.

Pregnancy can be wonderous, beautiful, amazing whilst at the same time being excruciating and miserable.

Why the last few weeks matter

Unless you've had a history of premature labour, the majority of woman wish to avoid going overdue like the plague.  Yes we're blessed, grateful and happy and on cloud fucking nine to be pregnant but generally by your magical mystical due date, and often before, you're fed up.  Beyond fed up.

Sometimes we get to 37 weeks and we hear the phrase bandied about that 'baby is fully cooked, you can come out now!' because pregnancy is 'term', yet your due date is a mere estimate, there's no exact science.  A healthy pregnancy can go up to 42 weeks (occasionally beyond)  Are we to believe that in those extra 3-5 weeks baby is just chilling out in there packing on the weight?  Surely that would be utterly churlish of us to presume these weeks are not important.   Your babies brain, lungs and liver are still developing at 37 weeks and will continue to do so.  They're not 'done'.

Did you know that a baby's brain at 35 weeks only weighs 2/3 of what it will at 39-40 weeks, that's quite a difference.

The problem with statistics is that we can manipulate them to fit to our own agenda.  Whilst  being petrified of a premature birth we placate ourselves with the rising statistics of survival rates yet there is a darker side to this, as the stats increase week by week many anxious and fed up mums convince themselves that the final weeks don't count.  That they're superfluous.  That just because babies can survive being born early, that it's okay to aim for that leading to alarming statistics such as that found by an American Watchdog who discovered that 75% of mothers believe 34-36 weeks is full term.

I know the inforgraphic below is American but it does a pretty good job of outlining exactly why you should, if possible, wait until at least 39 weeks gestation, because the last weeks matter.

Yes, generally and statistically speaking babies born after 37 weeks need minimal extra care and I'm sure the almighty internet forums will be full of positive anecdotal stories of positive outcomes, but, they're still developing.  Their lungs, liver, brains, sucking and swallowing reflexes etc are immature, they're more likely to have breathing difficulties, may struggle to maintain body temperature and have a higher risk of hearing and vision problems.  Unless medically necessary to give birth this early is it fair or even right to voluntarily evict babies this early from the womb?  To play roulette with their early days?  Many woman who've been through the harrowing experience of having an involuntary spontaneous premature birth would give an arm and a leg to have kept their babies in for as many weeks as possible.  Yet in America, up to 40% of deliveries are scheduled pre 39 weeks, for no medical reason with no accountability.

The American college of Obstetrics and Gynecology have redefined 'term' so that 37+0-38+6 is now considered 'early term' with 39+0-40+6 being considered 'term'. *

Granted, over here in the uk, it does seem more difficult to electively give birth without medical reason before your due date.  In some parts of the country you can't even receive a membrane sweep until 41+0.  It doesn't alter the mindset though ingrained in many pregnant womans minds that because 37weeks is considered 'term', it's okay or even optimal to choose to start the labour process then.  That by the magical 37weeks you don't 'need' to be pregnant any longer.

Don't get me wrong, I've been overdue.  Twice.  The first time by ten days and the second by 3 or 4 (Bad mummy moment, I can't even remember!) So I get it.  I absolutely get it.  I've been there fat, miserable and uncomfortable scoffing pineapples and curry whilst giving The Husband an early birthday present of offering to 'swallow' to encourage labour.  Yet i'd never request an induction before due date at bare minimum.  I'll admit with The Preschooler I had a successful sweep at around 39+3 however this was due to high BP and crippling pain from a trapped spinal muscle and SPD and as such was recommended by a consultant.

Sometimes, preterm delivery is unavoidable be it spontaneous labour or a managed medically necessary induction, this post however is about the unavoidable none necessary elective births before 39/40 weeks.

Forget the 37 weeks.  Banish it from your mind.  40 weeks is only an extra three weeks, even if you go to 42 it's only an extra five weeks.  In the grand scheme of things, it's just an extra month.  Your baby is worth it.  As ridiculous as it seems when you're nearing term and beyond fed up, one day you'll miss being pregnant.

So sure, try the none invasive old wive tales of natural induction.  Have some fun.  It really is true that in a healthy pregnancy, baby will only come when baby is ready anyway.  If it helps you pass the last few weeks, go for it.  Just remember, sometimes your baby simply needs that extra time, to not be rushed and to be 'ready'.


*http://newsmomsneed.marchofdimes.com/?tag=full-term

What's in a bump?

If you're pregnant now, have been in the past or really want to be you'll not have escaped the bump mafia. Once upon a time, pregnant woman took candid photos of themselves throughout their pregnancy purely for documentary purposes for their own memories and perhaps one day to show their children.

Now however, in the era of camera phones and a million and one apps, everyone is an 'artiste', it's getting competitive.  They're now statements.  Not only is the mum chic and cool, now her bump is too.  If you Google pregnant bellies or bumps you'll be assaulted with more images then you can ever process ranging from the edgy and arty to the quirky and kitsch.  Perfectly posed, thought out locations, painstakingly edited before these pseudo-professional pictures are presented to the internet.  To be judged.

Because that's what happens. That is the competition.

Their bump is better than yours.

As if woman don't torture themselves enough with their bodies and self worth, they no longer get a hiatus in pregnancy.

Is your bump small enough? big enough? round enough? perky enough? neat enough? cute enough?

Are you blooming?  Are you a hot pregnant 'mama'? a cute one? a quirky one? an elegant one?

It's almost like one of those vile rating sites where people brazenly submit their orange faced, duck lipped, bathroom posed pictures to be 'hot or not'.

I don't routinely post 'bump pictures' to the blog.  Mine aren't arty.  They're taken when I remember in the dirty mirror in my junk pile of a bedroom.  I'm not photogenic at the best of times, for every 100 pictures taken I'll share one or two.

Yet I do take bump pics.

For me.  To see my baby grow. To document and immortalise this; my last pregnancy. My previous pregnancies only had the odd bump shot now and then.

Yet as beautiful as this time is, I find it incredibly hard to share them.

I'm not cute, quirky or arty.

I'm fat.  Not pregnant fat, just fat.

That's the thing when you're 'fluffy', your flubber swallows your pregnancy.  You don't get this perfect neat little bump.  It takes ages to 'show' and even then the chances are only you know the bump from the flab.  You no longer have to breath in because if you walk around with your hand on your belly enough you're subliminally telling people, I'm not just fat, honest.  I'm pregnant too.  If you place your hand in the right place, you can try and emphasise your belly to make it appear more bump than flump, to create an illusion.

I'm not even one of those gorgeous, confident, sassy larger woman.  I'm just fat.  I have the frame of someone who should be many many many stones lighter and then a lot of flubber.  I don't qualify as fluffy or plus sized i'm just overweight and fat.

So it's hard, when you have such a loathing for your own body to put yourself out there.  It's hard to be so incredibly happy with your pregnancy yet too ashamed of your body to share it.  It's hard and it's quintessentially sad.

If I tell you i'm pregnant you'll probably assume I'm further on than I am.  It's not that my bump is large, it's that my belly is large yet as soon as the pregnant status is confirmed the eye tries to see a bump, the belly becomes the bump.

I always promised myself i'd lose enough weight so that i'd have at least one pregnancy when I looked normal so that my bump would be obvious and neat (like everyone elses) when I wouldn't have to be ashamed.  When I could show it off or perhaps show case it is more appropriate. When I didn't feel the need to telepathically communicate to everyone who saw me that I'm not just fat, I'm pregnant too. Well this is my last pregnancy and like the other pregnancies, I'm starting out overweight.

It doesn't help that pregnancy gives me a horrifically huge appetite.  I never get that 'weeks on end of sickness'.  I just eat. I overeat.

You tell yourself it doesn't matter.  You're already fat.  At least you can get fatter with the excuse 'I shouldn't really diet when pregnant' You try not to think about the weight you already had to lose pre-pregnancy and all the additional weight you're putting on throughout pregnancy.  Extra weight because y'know, you can't stop eating.  You're eating all the pies (and chocolate, cake, burgers).

So I'll never be a part of the bump mafia.

I never even entered the competition.

But this is my bump.  My journey.

And I'm trying, to feel beautiful.  To think beautiful

Because whilst I may not be, pregnancy is.  Beautiful.

My bump may not be pretty but it is beautiful, because it houses Moomin and that is beautiful.

This journey is amazing.  I want to be able to look back on it and see it's beauty.

If only for these nine precious months, I want to not be ashamed of my body.

Because it may not be pretty but, right now, it's growing another human and that, is pretty damn amazing.

One day I want to show her this journey; to show her that because of her, I was something beautiful.

That I refused to be ashamed.

Because of her.

24+0

So today marks the big 24+0 or as some pregnant woman dub it 'viability day'. Yet I loath the term 'viable' in reference to babies, especially one of mine. It's so dreadfully clinical and impersonal. It objectifies the baby into something rather than someone.

Yet it is a big milestone so it would be churlish to ignore it.

I rather hoped I'd be updating more frequently throughout this my last pregnancy yet to be frightfully Frank there's really not that much to say.

My last contact with the medical people was our scan at 19+5 and we aren't due to see a mw until around 28-29 weeks, kind of abandoned into free ranging it.. Although clothed I look a tad pregnant it's really just trickery as unclothed is still the flabby tummy of overweight doom.

Although on here she'll be remain as Moomin our baby girl has in fact been fully named since shortly after the scan which makes it all seem rather real. It's especially adorable hearing The Spawn refer to her by name and helps them connect to her as a person rather than merely a notion.

Other than two vests we've yet to buy anything for her.

I feel her randomly move, nothing too regular yet though. Just like Thing One she will kick the doppler and squirm away from it.

They say every pregnancy is different yet my previous pregnancies, symptom wise, were incredibly similar so I was a trifle surprised to be presented with two new symptoms this time. The first is mild acid reflux. It only deems to bother me at night and even then it's not every night. The other is much more annoying, jaw pain. Every few weeks I'll experience a week of the most awful jaw pain which had even effected how my jaw aligns and bites. A quick Google-Fu reveals it's often reported yet other than a pondered hypothesis of it related to relaxin there is no actual explanation. To say it's bothersome would be an understatement.

The old familiar SPD, back pain and sciatica are all having a party yet thankfully the pain is nothing compared to the crippling pain when pregnant with The Preschooler. Then again I am only 24 weeks.

On the one hand pregnancy is flying by yet with no markers to punctuate it or to slow it down. It's a tad monotonous at this stage you're still waiting for the large movements, a huge bump you can watch move on its own and the frequent appointments. On the other hand, her due date still seems to be at some distant point in the future far away from now with so many uncountable tomorrow's in between then and now.

I do love this time though, when we're part of each other, physically connected. There's a magical intensity to it.

I'm so in love with her and fall harder every day. The baby I thought we'd never have.

I'll leave you with a bump picture. I don't often post them here, mainly because I'm that overweight you can't tell flab from baby but the lighting was kind on this one. First rule of posting selfies, only post the ones that don't look like you ;-)

The Naming Game | How to Name, or not name your child.

Have you ever looked back to when you were a little girl?  When you knew exactly how your wedding would be and you'd already named all your kids?  Then you have a real wedding and real children and everything changes.

I love naming. I love names.  Even though I know I shouldn't, as soon as those two lines stare at me my mind is already making name lists.  Generally by the 20 week scan we have our names sorted and as soon as we find out the gender, baby is named.  Occasionally we'll change or rearrange a middle name yet for the most part, that is the name our child keeps.

However, once you've got past the first trimester you realise that it's not just up to you, oh no, him indoors has a say too.  This wouldn't be so bad if they actually contributed something other then 'No' to every possible name you suggest.

With each pregnancy, our short list of names have been entirely different.  As far as I can remember there has only been one first name that has appeared on the shortlist for two different babies and The Husband said absolutely no both times.  He's an arse like that.

His sole contributions have been 'Lucy' for a girl and 'Kurgen' for a boy.  Every time.  Everytime I say no to the first (lovely name yet my first dog was called Lucy) and no to the second because cool The Highlander connotations aside, it's ugly and crap.

Moomin already has her name.  Sorry but I won't be sharing it as the kids have a right to anonymity on here.

It's not like I don't give The Husband enough choice, seeing his own lack on input yet quickness to discount my suggestions.  Indeed when pregnant with The Preschooler I gave him a long and varied list.  He either straight out vetoed a name with no excuse nor reason given or else he would offer the most tremendously obscure reasons ever.  I'll share some with you but i'll omit the names the comments relate to, you know, because one of your kids probably has one of the names.

"Albatross"

"Sounds like a tropical disease"

"Too biblical"

"One of my cousins (that we never see) has an adopted daughter (that we never see) called that"

"It makes me think of Salmonella"

"It's a cat's name"

"It's a doll from playschool"

"It's a 'nothing' name"

"Too Welsh"

"Too celebrity"

"Too predictable"

"Sounds like a skin disorder"

"A dog's name"

"That was name name of Rocky's wife and she was a shit character"

"Too boring"

"Something to do with a serial killer"

"Too stuck up"

"Too royal"

"Too boring"

"Too much like a stone"

"Too much like a daft bint from X-Factor"

" *just laughter*"

"Too Hollywood"

"Too hilarious"

"Too normal"

"Sounds like a waiter"

"Too Scottish"

"Too poncy"

"Too Swedish"

"Reminds him of Cher"

"Sounds like it should have Fever after"

See what I was up against?

So what do you take into account when naming your child?  Below are some of the questions you should perhaps mull over in your mind when choosing names:

1. Do I know anyone with that name? Do I like that person?

2. Have I ever shagged anyone with that name?

3. Have I ever had a pet with that name?

4. Does it mean 'evil git' or 'Wanton Whore' in some ancient language?

5. Does it spell something gross backwards?

6. How easy is it for someone to butcher the spelling of it?

7. Will my child have to forever spell it out to people?

8. How easy is it for people to fuck up the pronunciation of it?

9. Is there a particular pronunciation of it that I despise?

10. Have I ever met someone I absolutely abhor with that name?

11. Does my partner have an ex with that name?

12. What is it most likely to be shortened too by annoying cretins who insist on shortening names?

13.  Is my child likely to be in a classroom when they're older with several peers with the same name?

14. Would it make a good name for a film star? Prime Minister? Nurse? Bin man? Check out assistant?  News reader? Scientist? etc.

15.  Does it sound porny?

16. If you have other kids, can they pronounce the name? 

17. Does it rhyme with anything negative?

18.  Do the initials spell out anything obvious like BJ, STD or SEX?

19. Can you imagine yourself shouting it across the park?

20. After all that, do you actually still like it?

There have always been some personal pet hates I've had with names:

1. When people purposefully fuck with the spelling to make it 'cool' (this doesn't include legitimate alternative spellings)  Stop bastardising the names, if you don't like it choose something different!  A 'unique' spelling doesn't say 'this child is cool' it says 'this child has illiterate fuckwits for parents'  Stop swapping I's for Y's etc.  You may as well give them 'Jezza Kyle Fodder' for a middle name.  Remember when trying to define your future child, your name choice can say more about you than them!

2.  Choosing a full name when you have no actual intention of ever calling them anything other than the shortened version of it.  Ever. If the shortened version is name enough to use, then have it as their given name!

3.  People who choose a name yet can't actually pronounce it.  I came across a story of a child called Siobhan.  Her teacher naturally called her Siobhan (sh-vaun) until the parents corrected her, apparently their daughter was called Siobhan as in 'Si-o-ban'

4. The name Nenvaeh.

So Moomin is my last baby yet I still have so many names I need to use, oh well...better start buying some more cats then!

Anomaly scan @ 19+5

So yesterday was Scan Day, the anomaly scan to be all technical with you.  I won't bore you with all the tedious details of my day.

However, I know we hardly know each other and this may seem terribly forward of me but, want to see my uterus?

Not the best picture in the world seeing as baby was determined to not look at us and all my extra padding (i.e cake) makes for somewhat distorted picture.

Oh and finally.....despite being far too comfortable to move for most of the scan baby finally complied and showed us that....

She's a girl!

Our final  baby will be a girl, that will make an even count of two boys and two girls.

one baby, two babies, three babies, more....

First Child

You're nearly bankrupt, you can't move in the nursery because it's so full of stuff.  Lots of stuff. Stuffy stuff. Important stuff.  Necessary stuff. Baby stuff.

You've read all the lists and you have every possible variation of everything your baby could ever need.

You buy an entire wardrobe in gender neutral, then you find out the gender at 20 weeks and suddenly you buy a whole new other wardrobe in pink or blue.

Your pram has better specifications than your car and your changing bag is so advanced it comes with an instruction manual.

Your birth plan is a work of literary art, pure exquisite fiction.

You have your hospital bag packed from 24 weeks.

Your pre-pregnancy clothes are still in your wardrobe.  You genuinely believe you'll be wearing them again soon. Ha!

You've already planned the first month of your life as a mum with a multitude of lunch dates etc.

You're not even overdue and you've already got lip burn from pineapples, ring sting from curries, your husband thinks it's his birthday and you're walking down the stairs sideways.

You spend the majority of your pregnancy planning and decorating the nursery, that they won't sleep in.

You remark how they'll never sleep in your bed.

You sterilise everything.  Every time they suck their own fingers you're tempted to sterilise them afterwards too.

You waste half your life devotingly pureeing organic vegetables and freezing them in ice cube trays.  They'll enjoy these for about oh, a month or two if you're lucky.

Your child will never eat crisps, chocolate or sweets until they're seven.

Weaning and potty training take over your life, the books say they should be doing it NOW so they will.  Even if you both end up in tantrums and tears.

You're panicking because baby isn't playing by the rules, they're not abiding by the schedules the books told you about.

Your baby eats dirt, you sterlise it's hands, mouth and tongue than contemplate ringing 999.

You painfully record every oz they drink, every nappy they wet, every poo they shoot out.

You can't understand why the HV, a health official, is giving you advice that goes against everything your head/heart is telling you.  But they must be right, right?  After all, they're mini gods.

Your child is silent, you have visions of ambulances.

Second Child

You panic.  How the fuckity fuck are you going to manage with two.

You worry that you simply won't have enough love for two of them.

Your first born is the centre of your universe and you can't fathom how this will change.

You find out that now this isn't your first pregnancy, your MW doesn't want to know you until much later.  She's keeping it casual.  Your wee and blood feel unwanted.

You have your hospital bag packed from 32 weeks.

You look at all the junk you thought you needed with your first and yet never did need at all.  You replace it with a whole new load of stuff you never got last time but you'll absolutely need this time.  Honest.

Your first still sneaks into your bed during the night.

You have a vague idea of where the nursery is, it's that room you dump all the unused baby stuff in.

You're so incredibly tired yet your child no longer naps.  You try and bribe them with sweets, crisps and chocolate oh and tv, to sleep just for a little while so you can close your eyes.

You realise baby will eat food when it's ready, sleep when it wants to and you don't have to call 999 if it doesn't shit for a few days.

Your baby won't eat the organic crap you've bought.  It's living on cheese spread butties and skips.  You figure at least it's eating.  Right?

Baby wears more baby grows than outfits because life is too short to put a newborn in tights and shoes and dresses.  Besides, they'll only puke on it later.  Or worse, shit through it.

Your baby eats dirt, you call the gp instantly and google for hours.

Your child is silent, you wonder which walls it's decorating this time

You discover, your love doesn't become divided, it multiplies.

Third Child

You're still wearing maternity clothes from last time, and nursing bras.  Whaa? They cover your jelly belly and they're comfortable.

You've forgotten what makeup is, you haven't pee'd alone in years.  You only manage a shower every other day if you're lucky and dry shampoo is your new best friend.

You're nearly 30 weeks and you haven't bought a thing.  You haven't the energy to wade through the loft yet either.  It's okay.  You have ages yet.

You're tempted to buy your own wee dip sticks as the thought of going to the antenatal clinic with two little ones in tow is excruciatingly torturous.

You realise the baby doesn't give a shit about colour schemes, besides they'll be sharing a room with a sibling anyway.

You're co-sleeping.

You remember at some point, before labour, that you really should pack your hospital bag.

Your birth plan is more along the lines of 'shit happens.  In case of emergency give drugs'

You realise you only really need clothes, nappies, somewhere for it to sleep and something to take it out in.

You don't care what gender it is, a vest is a vest albeit pink with flowers.  No need for new clothes.

You don't even contemplate a pram, you know you'll only get back half of what you paid and will only use it for six months before you admit that it's too big, too heavy and a bloody nuisance and get a stroller instead.

You don't even think about weaning until it's stealing half your lunch.

Potty training will happen at some point before they go to school, you'll wing it.

You're an expert in anything for a quiet life.

You don't even own a steriliser anymore.

Who cares if baby prefers the dogs chew toy to it's own.  It will build up a healthy immune system.

You catch your baby eating dirt and contemplate not bothering with lunch.

You regret not doing those Kegal exercises.

You realise bribery is a very important parenting tool.

Your child is silent, you put your feet up and figure it will yell if it needs you.  You'll send an earlier model to look for it, eventually.

You leave a 'gone fishing' note out for the HV because you're sick of anecdotal none research based 'advise' that is quite simply a big bag of dicks.

You parent by instinct.

Fourth Child

Oh Fuck.

It will be okay.

Honest.

Your birth plan is along the lines of 'will try and squeeze the birth in when I have time.  Please catch the baby'


You're excited at the prospect of labour drugs regardless of whether you need them and dream contemplate asking for Gin in your IV.

You request to stay in hospital for a few days as you need the holiday.

You sneeze and wonder if your waters have gone.  They haven't. Oh.

You have a list of days where you've banned labour from happening due to school assemblies, birthdays and the like.

The pregnancy flies by, you simply don't have the time to relish it.

You have tits, nappies and a sling and a whole lot of love,
that's about all you need for this one.  Right?

You remember to shove a nighty, knickers and some pillow pads of doom in a bag, whilst your first contraction hits.

You have no idea where you'll eventually put it, you're sure there's a spare drawer/corner/cupboard somewhere in the house....among all the shit children's stuff.  It's not like it will be out of your bed anytime soon.

You're winging it baby.

What's one more after all?

The Preschooler's Birth Story (2010) - [repost]

Ah i believe I promised you all an actual update, did I not? Well here you are my lovelies.

As you have probably correctly guessed we are now a family of five. Pregnancy was unfortunately the hardest yet with back pain and spd so severe I was near housebound for four months other then frequent trips to fat camp for naughty blood pressure. Oh the joys.

Oh and along the journey I also managed to 'sack' one awful midwife with a phonecall to her superior along the lines of 'do not let that vile woman darken my doorstep ever again' in an i'm a pregnant woman hear me roar moment aka 'fuck with me and i'll sit on you whilst subjecting you to my pregnant ninja hormones'

I suppose at this point a birth story may be in order....those with a penis and without vaginal secretions may want to look away.

A VERY long write up for a very short birth!

So just to recap, on Wednesday 14th I had a hospital antenatal appointment at 39+2 were the doctor agreed to give me an early sweep (I had a bishops score of 9 and was soft and 3-4 cm dilated) I was then sent for a BP profile (they take your BP every 20 mins over 100 mins so there's five readings to compare and so a pattern can be gained, they also put you on a fetal monitor for 20 mins to monitor baby's heart rate and movements and to detect any contractions. They also take PET bloods) as my Bp was once again on the up.

Bloods came back clear, BP sort of settled, it was still high for me but no longer hypertensive. Baby's trace was perfect.

A doctor came and said that due to my immense disability from the spd and spine and my naughty BP they'd have me back in on Friday for a repeat BP profile and another sweep. After that they'd admit me at 9am on Monday 19th (Harris' EDD) for induction (ARM and drip).

Once home I had a clary sage bump rub and as usual spent the evening on my birthing ball bouncing before having a clary sage bath. With my previous sweeps I’d gone into labour within hours so wasn't feeling too hopeful in the evening. As we'd been at hospital all day my mum and brother kindly bought us a takeaway curry (Not to start things off tho, i only had a korma lol) then i had a long soak in a clary sage bath and washed my hair. I'd not had a single cramp, twinge, tickle of even a braxton hicks (i never get braxton hicks in pregnancy). The only thing that happened was i was losing more and more mucus plug throughout the evening and the next morning (all plug, no bloody show)

Morning came and I’m feeling decidedly unlabour-ish and slightly peeved that the sweep hadn't worked.

At 10.40am I was in my Thing One's room with Thing Two putting away some washing (as it was clogging up the cot in my room lol) and I felt a pain, a painful and sudden pain out of nowhere. I discounted it but then a few mins later i got another. I came downstairs and sat on my ball and 'zoned' out trying to establish what i was feeling and more pains came. By 10:20am I’d had about 8-10 intense pains (full on contractions, no niggles or build up cramps) , my bump was going hard and they were coming every 2mins 40 seconds lasting around 50 seconds. At this point I’m in total denial chatting to me bezzy mate online whilst The Husband was mowing the lawn. Due to various ailments I have a warped reaction to pain. Small sudden pains I wibble over but real intense pains i almost step around and outside of if that makes any sense. I decided I’d have a bath and take two paracetamol so up stairs i go, bath running, dh is with the washing machine repair guy and I’m bent over the sink in tears. Yes tears. I couldn't deny it any longer these pains were hard, fast and crippling.

The Husband comes up the stairs takes one look at me, pulls the plug on the bath and gets my bags ready to call an ambulance, it's only about an hour after the very first pain and I’m near rigid with pain and unable to stop crying. I insisted we wait for my parents first as they were due to have Thing Two that day anyway and were on their way. I try to call the hospital but the 24 hour maternity phone number............had nobody answering it! Cue more panic. I tried calling about 5 times.

Once The Parents were here (obviously The Mother had to finish doing her hair first) I’m trying hard to block out the pain and remain composed, i don't 'do' company when I’m in pain, I have to seclude myself in my own space so it wasn't helping with my mum flitting around me, i know she just wanted to help but it was having the opposite effect.

The ambulance took about 20 mins to get here. I waited at the top of the road as i was insistent I’d not let them put me on one of those chairs they strap you in. Imagine my horror when about 20 mins after phoning for one....a rapid response car turns up?!?! ARGH! a car!  The bloke see's I’m clearly in labour (well duh, I did tell them) and looks a bit worried when told that even before labour I was 3-4 cm dilated...oops. My mum is stood there rubbing my back which is driving me up the wall and making me want to slap her but I sucked a breath in and blocked it out because she was trying to deal in her own way of seeing her daughter in pain and she thought she was helping. The Husband and I get in the ambulance and the paramedic starts asking questions. I'm quiet....just like with my other two people mistake the composure for lack of pain when in fact it's the opposite. The paramedic notices the tension in my face and the silent tears still streaming down my face and the lights and siren go on and he finally offers me entinox, yay!!!!! I'm hammering the entinox like there's no tomorrow because for that brief blissful minute when you're hammering it, everything goes furry round the edges and details fade and you can 'escape' especially as I close my eyes and just concentrate on breathing it in and breathing out. The contractions were on top of each other and I remember saying to The Husband 'I’m really sorry but please don't talk to me because you don't even exist to me right now'

It seemed to take forever to get to hospital and when the ambulance parks up I turn to The Husband  and apparently said 'f**k, I’m stoned!'. There were no wheelchairs but I insisted I’d walk whilst hubby carries the Entinox canister under his arm and I’m shown into the first delivery room.

Bliss Entinox on tap...it comes straight out the wall! I ask for diamorphine.... the mw chuckles and thinks’ I’m joking. The paramedic said to the mw ‘do you have some entinox I have to take this back to the ambulance’ to which the mw replied something along the lines of ‘er..yeah we have some, what with us being a labour ward’ and then pulled a tube out of the wall where it was ‘on tap’ . Genius!

My BP is high, an internal shows I’m 7cm and baby is 'very low' ..... this time i get my diamorphine when i re-ask! ...'if you get me diamorphine i will marry you' ... 'are you sure you want some?' .. 'YES'.. That’s why I blooming asked...twice. duh.

Upon finding out I’d not eaten since the night before the mw sends The Husband on a mission to get me a non-fizzy energy drink, he comes back with raspberry sport lucozade, a giant cookie and a large bakewell tart.... thoughtful? Very,  but I’m in agony, my world revolves around the blissful furry blackness of entinox, the last thing in the world I want is food! Fools!

Everytime a contraction ends and I’m coming down off the G&A my voice croaks and I get the compulsion to talk...a lot....and I feel like jack Dee on stage.

My BP should be settling however it's not...it's increasing and when diastolic was 113 they seek a dr who tells them to medicate me to try and bring it down. However, baby's trace is perfect, he's apparently very happy and kicks me a few times to prove it, I didn't expect him to kick in labour so was surreally amused!

The Husband was wearing a bandana/cap head thing and I allegedly turned to him and said in an acerbic tone 'do you think you're some kind of effin' surgeon with that stupid thing on your head or what?'

They need to test my pee ( have already stolen my blood) and I’m desperate for a pee but know there is no way in hell I could walk to the loo, the pain is too fast and intense so shame of shame...she gets a bedpan, I feel like a geriatric.... she puts it on the chair but i can't physically get off the bed so she puts it under and I can't effin' pee! He was resting that low so she had to use a catheter (nooooooo! i don't want it!) I was later told there was very significant amounts of protein in my wee .

As my BP is not behaving (i'm hooked up to a cuff throughout and it takes readings automatically on a timer) a dr tells the mw to break my waters....she examines me and I’m already 10cm, probably had been for ages hence why i couldn't move/wee/think. She breaks the waters and suddenly she's calling out for more people in the room with phrases like 'thick as gravy' being thrown around (I later learned this was grade III meconium, the worst kind) Whilst this is happening I get a contraction and i hear a voice...that's apparently mine whimpering this confused and pained 'oh? oooh?' not understanding as I feel my body working without my consensus, without any effort or action by me I  could feel him sliding down, the midwife literally blinked, turned back and shouted 'heads coming!' I was already 'panting' on the G&A as she's saying ...'yes...control it...short breaths' i felt like shouting 'I’m not doing anything! I’m not pushing! I don't even know why I’m panting before being told to' no sooner as she'd said heads coming, it was out and his body followed straight after. There was no bearing down or conscious effort...it was like the waters were the only thing stopping him falling out and once they went he slid out....I just felt this weird descending feeling followed by a ‘flop’ as he sped out.

I'm was shaking...absolute 'shock' shaking, I couldn't genuinely comprehend how in 5 short mins I was declared 10cm, waters were broken and baby is screaming and slithering on my tummy covered in slime, blood, vernix and LOTs of thick brown glooopy mucus meconimum...I’m petrified by my own confusion.... I didn't even try and push...how is he here?! " huh? how did that happen?' i meeped to the mw's....they were too busy to reply!

APGAR @ 1 min was 9
@ 5 mins it was 6.....

One min i'm getting my head round the fact my baby is here and the next they're taking him away from me........Not just away from me but out of the room.

According to the notes whilst away he had: Tracheal suction, vocal chords visualised, mask and valve ventilation and tactile stimulation.

Whilst he was away the mw found i had a 1cm 1st degree tear and put three stitches in whilst i puffed on G&A (she said to use a local anaesthetic it would just be even more needles for me to feel lol) I was still shaking with this bemused and blank expression on my face (I have a pic to illustrate this but no, i aint posting it lol) , my teeth were clattering with shivers and shakes against the mouthpiece of the G&A, i don’t think i’ve ever been that close to being in actual ‘shock’ before. Oh and just to add to it tey found a 'lump' down there and had to call a doc in but she thinks it's just a cyst.

Once he was back with me they let us have ages of time alone. It was like this with my first but with my second i was shunted into a bath and up to a room on the ward before i could do/say anything getting virtually no skin to skin. Eventually I felt ready to have a shower after demolishing the giant cookie and falling utterly in love with my beautiful boy and came back from the shower to a pile of toast, i couldn't stop eating and tbh am still eating like a pig three days later!

I got my own room on the ward (free too for medical grounds ...i.e mental health )which was a massive worry off of my mind....i get freaked out in social situations. However, it had it's own shower, bidet and sink but...........no toilet!? I had to trundle down the corridor every time i wanted a wee lol. Food was teeeeeeeeeeny portions so dh kept me in stash of yummies lol.

I didn’t sleep the first night or various reasons...too high on adrenaline? Couldn’t figure out how to turn the light off, noisy bints on the ward next door, the door bell of the ward constantly going off and woman constantly pressing their buzzers.....all night long. The headboard thing was too stiff to move, the pillows were horrid and i knew if i laid down i’d bleed heavier and it was a long walk to the loo’s to c lean up if that happened!

The ‘Patient line’ tv/phone/internet thing was a waste of money. The internet wouldn’t open babycentre and wouldn’t load facebook! I wanted to watch greys anatomy but it didn’t have living channel on it. So waste of a fiver really!

My parents brought my ds and dd to visit the evening after he was born, they are besotted with him J

My BP was monitored closely on the ward as were Harris' obs. He has plasters on both feet and on his hand as they had to take blood from him four times :( At first he had my rhesus antibodies in his blood, then he didn't, then they thought he had ABO incompatibility (I’m O- he's A+) an his bilibrum (sp?) levels were checked a fair few times too. He wasn't at all interested in feeding and all he wanted to do was sleep and spit up mucus (just like my other two) I was panicking that the lack of feeding and the blood stuff would keep us in hospital longer (this happened with dd) but the mw's were fab and agreed that he was probably too full of mucus, tired from the birth and doped up from my diamorphine to feed, that he would when he was ready and that as I’ve bf before they agreed i know what i was doing and they'd leave me to it :)

He filled about 3-4 nasty nappies in hospital (has done about 8 meconium filled nappies in three days...grim) but doesn't seem to be a big wee'er yet. Was getting worried about his feeding (or lack of) the next day but mid afternoon he started feeding and is now a pro :) He generally wants feeding every 60-90 mins tho atm, a theory is that as he's such a good weight for gestation (8lb 9.5 oz at 39+3) he's trying to make my milk come in quicker by feeding more often. My poor boobs lol.....blistered nipples...owie! The first night home he screamed like a banshee all night....not fun at all but last night he seemed to wake every 60-90 mins for a feed (feeding for about 10-20 mins a time) then he'd settle back down for another 60-90 mins so at least it was a bit predictable

He's so gorgeous :) He's beautiful and cuddly and adorable. His siblings adore him :) He seems to spend all his time feeding and sleeping.....such a hard life *L*

Al l in all from first pain to birth was 3hr 45 mins with no build up or pre-labour warning.

The Preschooler was born at 1.25pm on the 15^{th April 2010.} He was registered the next day by The Husband as there is a small regisery office in the hospital. We usually do it together but it would have meant leaving him on his on in a busy ward.

He's now 3yrs 11 months and he's finally in the process of weaning from the breast.

Thing Two's Birth Story (2006)

In Short

Thing Two was born on Thursday 7th September at 23:30 weighing 8lb 15oz after 3 pushes and a 4.5 hour labour start to finish.


The Long Story
In the weeks leading up to the birth I was a familiar site at the day ward at the hospital, once for suspected waters leaking (turned out they were in tact), once for spotting and then in the very final weeks I had high bp and had to spend three gruelling days travelling up to the hospital to have BP profiles done that seemed to take all day and as you can imagine were terrifically boring. They wanted to admit me as an inpatient, the night before Thing One's second birthday. I listened to them, weighed up my options and making an informed albeit 'against medical advice' decision, I discharged myself and went home. The protein was only a trace, the BP was high for me but not fatally so nor high enough to warrant any medication and everything else was fine.  The anxiety caused through staying in hospital alone, never mind missing Thing One's birthday would have been far more detrimental to my health. Plus,  after Thing One's poor first birthday (he was very poorly) there was no way I was missing his second even if i did have to spent the first half of the day back at hospital (The compromise we came to with the Consultant)

I was 40+4 and thoroughly once again fed up, i'd tried -every- natural induction thing going (apart from castor oil because that's just fucking dangerous) and i hadn't even had so much as an itch never mind a twinge!  My tiongue was spasoming from excess pineapples, my lips sore from curry and my pelvis in agony from walking.  OUr bathroom stank like a hippies brothel from an explosion of Clary Sage. I had my 'overdue' appointment at the hospital and was more then prepared to be told my cervix would be posterior thick tight and closed (like at 41w with Thing One)  Optimistic I was not. From self examination I did suspect I might be 2cm.....so imagine my surprise when the doctor told me I was 3-4cm dilated pre-sweep! she did a sweep and told me she thoroughly expected me to be delivering that night or the night after but if not to go back the following Wednesday to have my waters broken. She found it hard to believe that I was that far dilated without even a cramp.  Like my first pregnancy, I never experienced so much as a BH.

I was convinced the sweep wouldn't work, they rarely do and I'd already had my allocated success with Thing One. (with Thing One I had one at 41+4, when i was 2cm, at 8pm, had cramps immediately afterwards and loads of show. Labour started at 11pm and he was born after 10am next day), I had no show this time and no cramps. Bugger. We got home and went for a 2-3 mile walk into Farnworth, then had a clary sage bump rub and went for a nap. Still no cramps, no even a stitch!  In fact the only pain was from my poor decrepit pelvis which was rather miffed at the walk.

At about 6.50pm i noticed I was getting totally painless tightenings, about 10 mins apart. By 7.15pm they seemed to get stronger so we decided to bath Thing One and get him to bed.  I was most insistant that he was safely and happily tucked up in bed before I'd even entertain the idea of labour. By 7.30 i was in tears, clutching onto door frames in absolute agony unable to move/talk whilst The Husband was in a mad panic trying to bath/dress Thing One and put him to bed, knowing that his wife, who never cries, was in tears of agony.  I Called The Mother and told her to get a round quickly.  I'd pre-warned her after my sweep to share the news that it was highly likely I'd be in labour that night, they knowingly embarked upon a normal evening of wine rendering The Father unable to drive. Stupid Bastards.  I'd warned them.  They knew.  It's okay, she'd rely in a taxi. I called hospital and they said to dial 999. Bloke on the 999 line timed my contractions and said they were a minute apart. Twatwaffles. Ambulance showed up and as I insisted on going to Hope hospital, where Thing One was born and not Bolton Hospital (which was only 10-15 minutes away) they put the flashies on and bombed it down the road to the hospital on the proviso I kept my legs firmly crossed. I was having about 4-5 contractions in a space of five minutes on top of each other. There are quite simply no words to possibly explain the intensity and agony of this. They offered me gas and air but I hated it when I had Thing One, only had three puffs and said 'gas and air is the only thing that tastes worse then my breath right now so no thanks!'

When we got to the delivery ward we were shown into a room (not a patch on the room we had with e Thing One which had it's own bathroom!, this was more akin to a medical cell) I was told I was 6cm and asked what pain relief I wanted....I said diamorphine (like i had with Thing One). I was fucking petrified everything had happened so fast and with no warning.  No labour to full on labour, no cramps or tingles just pain and panic.  Understandably It shook me up, the absolute loss of control and the lack of warm up was simply petrifying.  Whilst waiting for her to finish writing up my notes my eyes were drawn towards the gas and air and I thought 'fuck it, gimmie some'  What a difference from last time, the act of having to physically stimulate the admission of it gave me something to focus on, something for my breathing to focus on. What can I say? wow. I loved it....bloody fabulous stuff.  I can liking the feeling only to being stoned. Next came the Diamorphine.  I was as close to Zen as could be expected.  Mellow, trippy and calm.  Naturally, The Husband was terribly envious.  Then came the talking and wholly hell did I talk, I talked The Husband's ears off and all the mw's ears too....I even got the giggles. It was 8pm when i arrived at the hospital or there abouts.

At around 11pm, I really needed to pee so hauled myself up and with the help of dean waddled to the bathroom across the corridor, who's genius idea was it to not have a bathroom in the room? It was in the bathroom that I  found out I was bleeding.

The MW started a trace on baby who was fine, but said she was worried as the bleeding signified that the placenta was starting to come away, if that had happened baby would have no oxygen. Fuck.  What a way to bring someone on an immediate and terrifying come down.

She did another internal (I can't even remember her name, how frightfully sluttish) to check my waters hadn't gone, and said I had no cervix left, it was just bulging waters.  Not even I took a moment to imagine that, just well...no.  Once again it would appear that my waters have not read the script and seem incapable of bursting themselves, so, she burst them.  Although old, the waters still had meconium within it so combined with the pleading she instantly told me to start pushing.er.  I never felt this at all with Thing One and none surprisingly neither did I feel it this time.  They say it's like the urge to take a shit, I only ever felt an urge to piss.  Just bear down and push! she urged.  Righty-o.  Three pushes later and more than my fair share of prehistoric vocalisations, at volume, she was born.  Just like that. 

Thing Two was absolutely furious when she was born.....and screamed for ages.  Even when quiet. whenever her eyes open she looked absurdly grumpy and terrifically pissed off.  I still joke that she came out screaming and didn't stop for months for that is exactly what it felt like.

She wasn't tremendously enamored with the entire feeding issue yet showed considerable more willingness to try than Thing One ever did.  I'm convinced this was merely the effects of the pain relief I had in labour.

I had a few stitches, don't know where exactly and can't say finding out was top of my priority list of things to do. What I do  remember was The Husband,  in tears, and me kissing the top of Thing Two's head repeatedly, as if some physical mantra that couldn't be broken yet necessitated the repetitive behaviour. She was simply perfect. She had some hair which was a marvel as Thing One hardly had any at all until he turned a year old, she was also delightfully pink compared to the dayglo whiteness, then again, it's not surprising, that anger is bound to make her pink.


I was convinced she'd weigh about 7lbs.......how wrong was I! 8lb 15oz!

Thankfully they had a single room available albeit at a cost of £30 ( though they never did invoice me for this) although they only allowed The Husband to stay one more hour before cruelly kicking him out into the cold.

She lost interest in feeding and as I have ridiculously large knockers and massive nips (which mw  said are fab for bf'ing?! Oh such a flirt) she had trouble latching on.  

We were all set to leave the next morning, started discharge papers and then we were told............we had to stay another night. Despite me having two anti-d jabs in pregnancy, they found rh- antibodies in her rh+ blood (if you've never had an anti-d this can lead to a very nasty, often fatal, disease in newborns) and they wanted to keep her under obs, if she went yellow they would have to do liver tests etc. They took some blood from her heal to test liver functions....she howled and howled....especially as he kept squeezing it to fill a lil vile.  Bastard sadist.  I dream of having a six hour discharge, I'm destined to be kept prisoner.

Thankfully she didn't go yellow and by the late afternoon on the Saturday we were allowed home.

Thing One visited on the Friday and it nearly broke my heart. I left my baby boy at home on Thursday and on Friday this small child came into my room. He hadn't misses me at all and he seemed to have aged so much, he seemed massive, and different and I felt like I'd missed months not mere days of his life and development.

On the Friday night I was so close to bottle feeding, yet in the end we breastfed, without a single bottle, for two years and ten months.

For those that are worried, your love doesn't split when you have another baby, it multiplies.

Don't worry, only one more birth story to go then no more until later this year when Moomin will join us.