What woman doesn’t love a good birth story? In the interest of giving a truly honest account of motherhood I’ve decided to share my birth story with the world/anyone bored enough to read my blog. So if you’re a prude or are someone far more ladylike than myself, you’re probably not going to enjoy this one…
It all started on the evening of the 29th July. As I mentioned in my previous blog we were mid heatwave and I was ready to try just about anything to get this baby out of me. I say just about everything, I was far too fat and sweaty to try the one sure fire way (much to Danny’s dismay). So instead we decided to get an Indian. My brother came over, we all ate, watched a film, brother left then we went off soundly to sleep… until about midnight, when I woke up with something trickling down my leg. Now in the third trimester of pregnancy this wasn’t altogether uncommon, a sneeze, laughter, a cough could bring about said trickling. So I dashed to the toilet (I say dashed, I was the size of a whale…) and upon sitting down, the River Nile literally gushed out of me! I had drank a lot of squash though, so I wasn’t convinced. I went back to bed to inspect the sheets and there was a huge wet patch, so of course I woke up my darling husband and made him smell said wet patch to make definitely sure it was not wee! Poor Danny in his barely awake state didn’t really know what was going on but of course he obliged because he knew better than to cross a heavily pregnant woman.
After confirming that no it did not smell like wee and yes my waters probably had broken we both looked at each other, panic spreading across our faces- we’d done this before, we knew what to expect, we were going to have to do it again (I say we, I really mean me because, let’s face it, I was the one that was going to have to push this baby out of my fanny! Danny was just panicked because he was supposed to have a futsal match that morning and was now more than likely going to miss it).
So we rang the hospital and were told that providing I didn’t start contractions we could come in in the morning. Low and behold five minutes later contractions start (cue more panic from myself because I had forgotten that a contraction felt like you were being squeezed so hard your insides would fall out- like period pains my ass NHS website!!!) and the hospital wanted us to come in straight away (my labour with Georgia was rather rapid). Now of course 1) we have a sleeping toddler upstairs in bed and 2) there was no way I was doing labour without my Mumma there too. So poor old nanna and grandypops got a call at half 12 to come round asap!
Once they arrived and dad had been reassured that Georgia would be fine in the morning providing you stuck ‘Tinkerbell and the Lost Pirates’ on and gave her some hot milk, we were on our way!
After arriving at the hospital we were admitted into triage where there were 2 other beds with ladies being monitored and trying to catch a little bit of shuteye in the early hours of the morning. It was around this point I began to seriously regret having that Indian earlier on… To say I had a wind problem would be a vast understatement. Every time I had a contraction I literally erupted. I sounded like an old man after a Christmas dinner and I smelt even worse. These poor women trying to get a little rest in the ward, then there was me waking them up every 3 minutes with the worlds loudest farts and of course we were all in absolute hysterics about it.
Then came the time for the first examination, for those of you who don’t know, this is where a midwife sticks there fingers up you (but honestly it feels like a whole fist) and has a good root around to check how far dilated you are! I can’t even remember how far I was at this point, I was that terrified of farting in this poor midwifes face that I really wasn’t paying much attention! But finally we were sent to the birthing unit where we were given a room of our own and I could fart to my hearts/stomachs content! Bliss!
So with contractions now coming every few minutes so came the ‘pre labour empty out’ where your body literally gets rid of everything inside you in preparation for squeezing babba out! Another reason to regret the Indian… I was seriously starting to worry that I was going to have a curry poo during the birth.
A few hours later with contractions in full swing I was given another examination which pushed me to 5cm. At this point I was able to get into the pool for the water birth. Now I hadn’t had a water birth with Georgia and I had visions of a relaxing birth, feeling as light as air in the warm water, classical music maybe playing in the background- in reality I went to 10cm in two more contractions, I could barely climb in, it was far too hot in there, I was a sweaty mess and to top it all off I wasn’t tall enough to lean back on the headrest so Danny spent the rest of the labour holding my head up so I didn’t drown (I was pretty high on gas and air at this point).. Then, at that point, when there was no way I would be able to get out of that bath because I had the ‘I need a poo!!! I need to push!!!’ feeling going on down there, the midwife proceeds to tell me that, because I’m in the bath she can’t really help with the delivery and I’m pretty much going to have to go with my body and do everything myself! WHAT THE ACTUAL …?!? Should she not have explained this to me before I decided to get in the pool of doom I was now stuck in?!?
Fortunately I didn’t have much time to panic because by some miracle, my body did know what to do and I started pushing Neve out, this was all while the midwife was faffing around getting things ready and Danny was shouting at her that I was pushing! 2 pushes and I had that ‘I’ve got a bowling ball stuck between my legs’ feeling so I knew it was time to pant! So, armed with gas and air, I breathed Neve out. (Just Neve, no curry poo- go me!!) Once she was out she floated up to the surface and the midwife caught her and planted her on my chest. I cried. A lot. There was one scary moment (for Danny and my mum) where she had got her cord stuck round her neck in some sort of fancy gymnastic twist she did as she swam so elegantly up, but I was clueless to all this as one quick twist from the midwife and she was free.
Then came an excited shout from Danny…
‘I think I know what it is!!!’ Now I was confused, because for Danny to say that surely he must think Neve was a boy and he’d got a quick glimpse of a willy. But I had been fairly certain through the whole pregnancy that we would have another girl, I don’t know how I knew but I just knew that we had not had a boy. So I looked at Danny pretty gone out, before the midwife announced we had another girl. Then he looked at me really gone out. ‘But she’s got balls!!’ Danny spurted out… it turns out that my poor, innocent little girl just had a rather swollen mini moo mars (as Georgia likes to call it). I was delighted we had another girl, Danny was still fairly concerned our daughter had balls and my mum had a fourth granddaughter to spoil!
Now a couple of ‘cosmetic stitches’ ,an ibuprofen up the bum (childbirth is SO glamorous) and baths full of badidas later and everything is right as rain- if you don’t count the postpartum bleeding, the first (10) postlabour poos (like pooping glass) and the pain in the ass pelvic floor exercises… But it was all so worth it in the end!
So there you have it, my birth story, the good, bad and the just plain embarrassing. Moral of the story, do not eat spicy food in the hope of going into labour- if it does work you WILL regret it!!! And do not trust your husband in finding out the sex of your beautiful baby. They will more than likely get it wrong!
Please feel free to like/ comment/ share and if you feel like it share some of your own labour experiences. I love a good birth story!