I am not sure quite how to start this post.
It is a pretty awkward topic to be honest. I don’t habitually find myself wanting to discuss the weird and wonderfulness which is the female genitalia and the mind blowing, life changing, dignity destroying event which is childbirth but, I did promise and, as I have temporarily lost my blogging mojo I am scrapping the barrel of human decency to bring to you my tale… It seems that some of the information is out there anyway- I met my mum and her friend for a coffee the other day; first question… How is your undercarriage? I nearly fell off my chair laughing and, since the object of the game is to make people laugh, I don’t mind.
Deep breath- here goes
When I was pregnant first time around I was utterly deluded about what lay ahead of me and my very kind friends shielded me from their own experiences.
Mr L and I booked on to a Hypnobirthing course and into a birthing centre envisaging a candlelit water birth with the iPod knocking out various Norah Jones/Eva Cassidy type tracks.
I want to sound a massive claxon in the old me’s face.
What a dick.
I was the size of an actual whale (there is actually a life sized sculpture of me hanging from the ceiling in the Natural History Museum) my GP wasn’t happy with my measurements but the hospital refused to rescan me so, I rocked up at the birthing centre a few days prior to due date, the woman took one look at me and took me for a scan. Low and behold I was too big to deliver there so I was induced, in hospital, less than 48hrs later.
Friday- arrive in hospital to be induced at 5pm and genuinely think that by this time tomorrow I’ll be strolling out in skinny jeans, with a proud as punch husband and the worlds most gorgeous baby.
Picture the scene- whale music playing through my headphones whilst a soft American lilt reminds me that this is what my body was made for, labour does not need to be painful if you breathe and visualise a positive outcome.
On the bed to my right is a lady in the early stages of labour. She is alone and does not speak any English so the midwife is giving instructions to a relation on the lady’s mobile and then passing it over to the woman who can barely hold the phone to her ear. A surreal moment indeed and I quickly arrive at the conclusion that the yank on the cd is talking rubbish!
A sweep and pessary do nothing to bring on labour but happily do bring on further embarrassment as I swear in front of a lovely male doctor who is being so respectful, kind and apologetic for hurting me. 🙁
Saturday- booooooring. I am mostly bed bound as the doctor wants to monitor the baby’s heart.
My self created deadline comes and goes. I am bored, in pain and tearful. On the plus side I am waxed, manicured and fully made up. (This is almost definitely the last time this was the case!)
Sunday- more pessary, more internals and no freaking movement. Console myself with the idea that I must have made a very comfy cosy little home for our baba.
Just as I am getting into George Gently- my waters break. Sweet Jesus.
Had this happened outside the confines of the labour ward I am sure I would have spotted mice and other small mammals being swept away in a virtual tsunami using match boxes as rafts and clinging on to dandelions and daisies to escape the deluge.
A nurse has to mop the floor FFS. Unbelievable.
My bed sheets are changed 7 times.
This is made worse when I slip on my own bodily fluids and nearly break my head.
Once this bit is over I am left to my own devices and am bouncing in time with Eminem basically feeling like the first woman in the world to have ever done this and, like I am owning it to be perfectly honest.
I am snapped back to reality (to quote the above rapper) when the contractions seriously kick in and I am allowed to move into delivery and see my husband.
What follows is akin to a scene from The Exorcist. I accept every drug offered and Mr L barely recognises me, my eyes roll, my speech is slurred, I am an utter mess- worse than any end of term drink the bar dry.
The labour doesn’t progress and I need an emergency c sec. I have to put on a tie at the back gown and then add to the glamour by puking all over myself. Beastly. As we go into theatre I sniff the nurse who is giving me my meds.
Is that Poison?
No love, this is just some medicine to stop you being sick.
(I was actually referring to the perfume- I am not a total loon).
Baby A arrives safe and well at 13:50 and doesn’t even have a squashed up face as she came out the sunroof. She is utterly, utterly glorious.
Fast forward 16 months and seconds out, Round Two!
Arrive in a different hospital to be induced- again (size of whale, again) blah blah blah.
Hero through early labour having quite a nice time. It is a treat to have some time just me and the hubster! We play the logo game. GET THIS. It really helps to pass the time, we loved it.
Time wears on and, during one particularly breath taking episode I thrash around, my drip catches on the end of the bed and tears out. Blood spurts all over the place and I lose my serene inner self.
Accept all pain relief known to man which has no impact on the pain in my hips but does slow down the contractions. Aaarrrggghhh.
I am reduced to behaving like an utter dickhead, you know when you are drunk but are pretending not to be?…
Excuse me, I’d like a cesarean now please.
Qualified, experienced, sane midwife–
that’s not possible now, you’re nearly there (and other such guff you have no wish to hear at that moment).
HELLO- Why isn’t anyone listening to me? I’ve asked really nicely for a c section and you won’t do it. I NEED ONE. I CAN NOT DO THIS. I AM NOT DOING THIS ANYMORE.
Qualified, experienced, sane, endlessly patient midwife, (let’s call her Audrey)–
You can do it and you will because there is no other option (or words to that effect).
waaa waaa waaa.
And other sulky, tantrummy sounding noises (plus the noise you make when you are pushing out a really stubborn poo- or baby as it turns out).
And then, all of a sudden, there are quite a few people busying themselves down at the business end.
I have an episiotomy and Baba B is literally pulled out by the hair (the medical term is ventouse delivery) she is perfectly, beautifully, brilliant.
I on the other hand am in all sorts. There are people counting swabs in and out of the undercarriage and there is a woman sewing down there for longer than it took to complete the Bayeux Tapestry. It is a new low to be honest!
Needless to say I did not leave in skinnies and I haven’t ridden a bike in awhile.
Next time: A stitch in time!
PS- I can not get my head around the fact that in a month or so Kate Middleton will be in labour too. I am not sure how such demure, softly spoken women manage to get through the whole labour thing without peppering the process with expletives!
Flip- Wills, this is raaally not too comfortable you know, Harry get out you cad! I said no snaps of the Royal muff“. 😉
Bless her. XxxX