Tuesday 12th February: Lebu is 3 days late and I am wondering if we will get a Valentine’s Day baby. I told a colleague that I’d seriously consider calling him Romeo if we did. She replied, “what, like the rapper from So Solid Crew?!” Clearly I needed to reconsider.
9.30pm: I am feeling a few twinges while bouncing on my exercise ball in the living room as we watch Manchester United lose to PSG at home in the Champions League. Hubby is too upset by this to take much notice of me. My friend messages asking to meet tomorrow. Remembering the epic 46 hour labour with Mishty I figure I still have plenty of time and agree.
11.30pm: I go to bed annoyed at myself for not going earlier and missing out on sleep.
Wednesday 13th February 3am: I wake up from a contraction that is definitely more than a twinge. I am entering the Pain Zone.
3.30am: My squirming and muffled groans wake Hubby up. I download an app to record the contractions and make plans to drop off Mishty early to the breakfast club before going to the hospital.
4am: The contractions are now strong enough to warrant reconsidering my plans so we call Hubby’s sister to come over to drop Mishty to the breakfast club instead.
5.45am: Mishty wakes up and wonders why his aunt is here so early and excitedly asks me if the baby is coming. I am doubled over, groaning like a whale. Oblivious to my pain he continues to badger me with questions. I text my friend to raincheck our meet up.
6am: I have a bloody show* and call the hospital again. My contractions are strong but irregular. I pass the phone to Hubby as I can’t speak. The midwife advises taking some paracetamol and to go in.
7am: We arrive at the hospital. I hobble along the short corridor that takes an eternity to cross, knees buckling with each contraction. A concerned passerby asks if I’m ok. I resist the urge to tell her to fuck off and politely explain through gritted teeth that I just need to make it another 10 feet to the door of the ward.
7.30am: I ask the midwife examining me when I can get an epidural. She informs me that I am 8cm dilated and too far along to have one. My jaw drops while my brain screams “WTF?! NOOOOOOOOO!” She tells me she is transferring me to the birthing centre where they don’t do anything stronger than gas and air. My heart sinks.
7.35am: I am being wheeled into the birthing centre where I am given a massive room with large windows, a sofa and a birthing pool which only marginally cheers me up. The midwife asks me if I’d like to try the birthing pool. I grumpily say yes- with no other pain relief I might as well take all the help I can get.
7.45am: The pool is amazing. The heat feels very soothing and it’s deep enough to sit and float about. To protect my modesty I am wearing a swim top. It doesn’t do a very good job as it doesn’t stretch over my bump and my fanny is on display for all to see (thankfully I’ve had my bikini line waxed just for this occasion). Hubby is on gas and air duty beside me and I inhale like a turbo charged hoover.
9am: I am not enjoying this. Make it stop please.
10am: The midwives encouragingly tell me that I’m doing really well as if I am a slow five year old learning to spell. I wearily ask how much longer and they estimate another half hour.
10.15am: They wonder if my full bladder might be blocking the baby and decide to put a catheter in. I have to get out of the pool and resemble an elephant trying to climb a tree as I try to hoist myself back onto the bed. After some rather uncomfortable prodding they tell me they are unable to do it because the baby’s head is in the way and I gratefully (but not gracefully) flop back into the pool.
10.30am: The baby is still not here. I am wrinkly like a prune and desperate to get out. Questionable bits float past me which I try to ignore by closing my eyes. I am moaning for them to cut me open or pull the baby out themselves. I just want it to be over. They just smile and repeat that I’m doing really well. After each strong contraction the midwife fumbles around my belly to check the baby’s heartbeat is ok, making me change positions which takes too much effort. I grumpily swat her away and return to my squatting position.
10.45am-ish: The contractions change from being crazy painful to being this unearthly pressure down below that makes me just throw my head back and emit a howl like a depraved animal. I fling off the gas and air mask and channel the pain up and out through my bellowing gob.
The midwives move up a gear as this is what they’ve been waiting for. I am whimpering like a wounded animal who needs to be put down, vowing never to have another child again. There is the urge to push and I can feel the baby crown. The urge goes and I can feel something like a giant turd half hanging out of me and it stings like a motherf***er. I have to wait for the next strong contraction to push again.
11.09am: Lebu arrives after two or three more pushes. I feel him slide out like when you have a tummy ache for half the night and then finally get the runs. The water turns red and I see something float up. Thankfully I make out the face and realise it’s my baby and not a turd. I scoop him up in a daze and hold him close. He is super fair with a mop of black hair and a fat little nose. Happiness floods through me, I did it, and I am so relieved that it’s all over.
Grossed out by the gunk in the pool, I try to get out as quickly as possible, not easy when you have an umbilical cord hanging out of you.
But it’s not over. The midwife is giving me gas and air again and I have no idea why. She reminds me that I still have to push my placenta out- the fun just keeps on going. She asks me if I want to have an injection that speeds it up or do it naturally. I’m trying to remember what I am supposed to do from the NCT classes I took 5 years ago and come up with a blank. At this point I couldn’t give a flying fuck so I tell her to do whatever she wants.
11-something am: Hubby squeamishly refuses to cut the umbilical cord which has now stopped pulsing and accidentally sees more than he wants to of my placenta. I am a bloody mess, and am still being checked, prodded and stitched up down there. It’s like I’ve just flown 8 hours through a thunderstorm, survived a bumpy landing and then told I can’t get off the sodding plane for another hour because they have to do some checks to make sure the plane still works even though the passengers never want to fly again. This is why I hate travelling.
They finish up and after much skin to skin time with the baby, my parents call to say they are coming to visit. My first thought is that I should really put some clothes on. A much needed shower later and the bathroom looks like a murder scene from CSI with blood everywhere and I’m glad I don’t have to clean it up. I put on some fresh clothes and feel ready to face the world. I am exhausted but calm and high on endorphins. Lovely little Lebu, my labour of love, is finally here to complete our family.
*Look it up, it’s too gross to explain.
Mishty in my belly 