Boob Pencil

Idle Queries Explored Further

2008-08-07T13:38:00.004+01:00

(read this first)

Oh my God.

I clicked the "read more" button and ended up staring at this:

And now I'm thinking, not only can it be used as a dildo, but also some kind of home-operatable speculum?

Or what, are you supposed to squeeze and release, using that spring to create resistance? What if bits get trapped?

Thanks, but no thanks.

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Idle Queries

2008-08-07T13:29:00.002+01:00

Idle Query Number One:

Why don't pedestrian crossings make noises any more? All the crossings in Manchester seem to have been replaced over the last few years, and most of the new ones are silent. Apart from sone, which are still noisy, which just makes the whole thing extra confusing.

I can't seem to get the hang of looking to see whether the green man has arrived. I press the button, I stand and wait, my attention wanders. I read advertising hoardings, watch birds, wonder vaguely whether the woman walking towards me has a shaved head or just all her hair scraped back, check the pram to see if my baby is still asleep... am I really supposed to stare at a not-yet-green man non-stop? The window of green man opportunity is surprisingly small (only a few seconds), and horribly easy to miss if it doesn't go beep-beep-beep to remind you.

And what are blind people supposed to do? As far as I can see nothing vibrates, and even if it did, what if the blind person couldn't get to the vibratey bit cos other people were in the way?

It's rubbish. I can think of no good explanation, particularly seeing that not all of them are silent, only some. Bring back the noisy ones, I say.

Idle Query Number Two:

Does this work in the way I think it does? Is it, in fact, just a glorified dildo? Maybe a convenient excuse for people who really want to buy dildos but feel more comfortable claiming to have a weak pelvic floor? And is anyone seriously going to use it in the way intended?

Better than a carrot, I suppose...

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Everything's Gone Great

2008-08-04T15:30:00.001+01:00

P.S. thanks to everyone who commented on Felix's blog. He was very excited by all his messages, and is still checking daily to see if there any more.

P.P.S. I didn't win the anagram competition. But I did come third. Woohoo!

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Quietude

2008-08-04T15:23:00.002+01:00

Ah look, it's that summer thing again. When everyone disappears to do summery stuff. For some this means exotic locations and cocktails sipped by the sea... and for others it means that most euphemistic of euphemisms... the school summer "holidays", when the kids get to have a lovely long break from having-to-do-stuff, and the parents... not necessarily.

Nah, I'm being curmudgeonly. We have fun too, or we can if we try really hard to avoid the alternative, which is lots of stress and general knackeredness.

Well, anyway. It's a busy time and what with one thing or another I'll probably be relatively quiet for a few weeks. I may even be silent, except of course that as soon as I say that I always end up writing squillions of blog posts. So, who knows.

Oscar is small but also big, quiet but also noisy, demanding but also not, and generally rather lovely. His brother is equally lovely, small/big, quiet/noisy, easy/demanding, and the two of them are very different. Sometimes between them they tear me in two, and I'd love to write more but I have to go do more mummy stuff.

The next few weeks are pretty jam-packed with summer-stuff and family-stuff, so in case I'm not back, have a good summer everyone and I'll see you in September.

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More Comparisons

2008-07-31T13:26:00.000+01:00

I keep comparing the two having-a-new-baby experiences, as well. And deciding it's harder this time round. Like, Oscar feeds more and sleeps less. And it hurt more to do the actual pushing bit (during the birth) with Oscar than Felix. And day-to-day looking-after-Oscar is harder than looking-after-Felix was, because with Felix I just sat around feeding and cuddling him all day and didn't have to think about anything else. My employment future was secure cos I was on maternity leave from a well-paid job. I wasn't published and wasn't writing anything other than one half-written novel, which I didn't think would end up in print anyway. I didn't have another child with wholly different needs and on school summer hols to boot, to think about.

Supposedly.

But actually, I think it's just that I keep forgetting about adjustment periods. The pushing stage with Oscar was fine once I got used to it. The job thing is fine cos I have plans and know what I'm doing, and have got used to reduced finances and adjusted lifestyle accordingly. The writing thing is fine now too, as I'm getting used to a different life rhythm. The feeding/sleeping thing is settling down now, and I suspect was no easier with Felix at first, I just acclimatized quite fast and then forgot about the difficult early days. As for the looking-after-two-children thing, that too has got easier now that the whole family has got its head around it, and Felix has a place at a playscheme.

So, anyway. The last couple of days, things have finally felt like they're slotting into place. I still don't have much spare time, but I'm accepting it, adjusting, yadda yadda. And Oscar is sleeping more. And Ally is doing feeds (with expressed breast milk in a bottle) at bedtime every night, giving me a lot more sleep. And my body is adjusting to the sleeping-in-short-bursts thing.

And Oscar and Felix are both lovely, and we all had tons of fun in the paddling pool yesterday. With pirate ships, and lego cannons, and raspberry-blowing contests, and strange-wriggly-black-things-that-probably-aren't-tadpoles-but-what-the-hell-are-they in the flooded sandpit-without-a-lid. And strawberries and cream.

Hungry again now. Must find food.

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Baby Comparisons

2008-07-31T13:11:00.001+01:00

I think this wil be a baby blog for a while. Sorry about that.

I spent a while last night comparing baby photos of Oscar and Felix and marvelling at how amazingly similar they are.

Sadly I can't be bothered to create pairs of photos for you to do direct comparisons, so you'll have to do it for yourself.

Baby pics of Oscar here.
http://www.boobpencil.co.uk/2008/07/pics-pics-pics.html

Baby pics of Felix here, here and here.

Oh, all right then. Here's one example.

Felix:

Oscar:

But there are loads more.

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Limeral Fun

2008-07-31T13:08:00.003+01:00

I've been having lots of fun writing limericks for Lucy Diamond's competition.

You should play too.

As long as yours aren't better than mine.

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Pics pics pics

2008-07-27T19:03:00.002+01:00

It's something about babies... they're like camera magnets.

Sadly, Son Number One has suddenly become camera shy, so there are no pictures of him. But just so that he doesn't get left out, he now has his very own website, which you all have to visit and leave messages on. Everything's Gone Great.

Oscar with his nan:

Oscar competing with Abbey The Cat and a Very Good Book for his mum's attention.

Oscar with his Dad...

...and again...

...and again, but this time it's the outift we're interested in. Cos it's cute. Even if it is Disney. So ner.

For fuck's sake, it's at least twice as big as his head. Which is why I got Ally to take the photo. But now I think it looks a bit freakish...

...so here's another one in which I look slightly more normal. I think. Then again, maybe not. Cool though huh, to have a giant soft cuddly cushion full of yummy stuff, just for you?

Ooh, look! Stuff!

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Birth, Accounted

2008-07-24T16:22:00.017+01:00

I started live-blogging my son's entry into the world here, but it was always going to disintegrate at some point... and of course it did, as soon as I had to start focusing on labour to the exclusion of all else.

But after Oscar's birth I made copious notes, and I've finally got round to writing them up. So here is the rest of the story - this time in chronological order. Sorry it's so longwinded - I'm using this as a place to put everything I can remember, and time is in short supply at the mo so I don't have time to edit properly.

For pics, see here and here.

And here is a description of my first son's birth, so you can compare and contrast. If you want to. You don't have to. I'm not going to be setting essay questions or anything like that.

Sun 13th July, Sun 13th July, 1.05am
[about 24 hours aftercontractions started in earnest - see here for the story up to this point]
I had a bath. I found it helpful to lie on my tummy during contractions, immersing myself completely in the bath. It was nice. Relaxing. Rachael sat on the loo and talked to me, which triggered a few nostalgic memories of when we used to do the same thing 15 years ago, under the influence of various ridiculous substances.
Then we all went to bed.
I couldn't stop shaking, and thinking about all the things that might go wrong. And worrying about how I was going to get to hospital, or what would happen if things suddenly sped up and I didn't have any extra pain relief.
The contractions were weaker and less frequent.
Ally tried to help me calm down but I couldn't manage it whilst in bed, so we got up again and sat on the bedroom floor.
I tried yoga, food, playing Connect 4, but couldn't settle or relax.

Sun 13th July, 3am-ish
I flopped on the bed, exhausted, and suddenly we were both asleep.
I woke up again half an hour later and kept waking at half-hourly intervals to have contractions. Ally was out for the count.

Sun 13th July, 5am
I woke up, the contractions were faster and stronger again. But I kept an eye on the clock, and they still weren't regular. On Saturday I'd tried to convince myself they were regular when the distance between each contraction was within a couple of minutes of the average, but the midwives weren't interested unless they were genuinely coming at identical intervals.
For the next two hours they came approximately every ten minutes. I managed some brief dozing between, but not much. I had to get on all fours in the bed every time they came, and I couldn't stop a loud moaning and groaning. I kept pulling the duvet off Ally by accident. I couldn't believe he slept through the whole thing, but he seemed to, and I didn't want to deprive him of any more sleep than necessary: I'd need his energy later.
I decided to wait until 7am before contacting the midwives again. I knew Joyce - who delivered my first son - was due back on at 7am.
Every time I went to the loo I was having more shows (gunky mucus-y stuff from neck of womb).

Sun 13th July, 7.30am
I rang the midwives and spoke to Pam. I was close to tears and told her all the things I'd been worried about. I wanted to go straight into hospital, so I could stop worrying about how to get there, about things speeding up, about getting hold of extra pain relief etc. She said I could go straight in or wait for Joyce to come out and look at me first. I decided to wait for Joyce.
Ally woke up while I was on the phone. I tried to explain my fears, and burst into tears. I had a good hug and a sob, and felt better for it. We both got up.

Sun 13th July, 8am
Joyce turned up. I cried again. She was reassuring, said that anxiety was probably slowing things down (I knew from past history that I'd been having a prolonged and low-level anxiety attack all night), that all the horror stories I'd been hearing about big babies probably weren't helping.
Despite the fact that I was still only 2.5cm dilated, Joyce arranged a room in the delivery suite. One big advantage of the "Domino" birth scheme: you get hand-held and accompanied by community midwives throughout, and they decide when you go into hospital, rather than the labour ward's official triage system.
She suggested I go straight into hospital and have some pethadine and gas and air, which would allow me to sleep for a couple of hours, calm down, get some rest.

Sun 13th July, 9am
We arrived at hospital. It took us a while to get ourselves organised and out of the house, but Ally got us there in three minutes flat (without speeding - we only live a few miles away and it was Sunday morning, no traffic) and the journey was sandwiched exactly between two contractions - one leaning on the bonnet of the car outside our house, one leaning on the fence at the entrance to the maternity unit.
We waited in the lobby while Ally parked the car, and there was a copy of a free newspaper with a headline about someone being killed by half a paracetamol. I became quite distracted by this, kept asking about it and made Rachael bring a copy with her so she could read it and explain it to me. It turned out someone had overdosed by taking half a pill over the recommended dose. None of us believed it though, and they all got rather impatient with me for being so insistent on an explanation.
We were met in room 11 by a community midwife called Sarah, who stayed there with us until almost the end. Another advantage of Domino - your very own midwife who stays with you in hospital throughout, and you don't have to share them. Also it means you have a community midwife in hospital rather than a hospital midwife. The former tend to be less obsessed with medical procedures, more amenable to active childbirth and less inclined to tie you to a bed with a monitor.
Sarah was lovely. A perfect match for us. We were all impressed. Friendly but unobtrusive, helpful but non-patronising, very down-to-earth and no-nonsense, but eminently approachable.
I had a few contractions on the floor, leaning over my trusty bright orange spacehopper ("Lulworth Lil"), which we had brought with us.

9.30am
Sarah examined me. 3cm dilated. She noted it the official start of established labour.

Sun 13th July, 9.45am
I was injected with Pethadine, which made me sleepy and very relaxed. All the contractions were now happening while I was lying on my side and breathing gas and air. The TENS machine was strapped to my back, and I felt very little pain and didn't need to move around during contractions.
Technically I should probably have had a monitor strapped to me whilst on pethadine, but Sarah was as anti excessive monitoring as me, and monitored me and the baby every 15 mins with various hand-held devices instead.
I dozed for the next three hours or so. Sarah, Rachael and Ally read the paper and occasionally chatted very quietly, me occasionally joining in - more so as the pethadine wore off, but never needing to move or get up off the bed. It was lovely! The best bit of the labour. Very peaceful. All my earlier worries were dissipated by being in hospital and by Sarah and Joyce having reassured me and calmed me down. I was glad to be there.

Sun 13th July, 12.30pm
Sarah did another internal exam. Still 3cm dilated (I think - not far off, anyway). Time to get up and start getting things moving, Sarah announced. She sent the three of us off on a tour of the delivery unit corridors, Rachael wheeling the gas and air for when I had contractions, during which I would lean on the guard rail which lined all the corridors.
We'd already heard two or three babies being born while I was lying down in room 11. And then I had a contraction outside a room in which another baby was born. We heard the baby cry whilst its body was still waiting to be delivered (the head comes out first), with the mother being encouraged to push, and a male voice - presumably the father - screaming in pain. Sympathy? Mother's nails dug into him? Who knows.
We examined lots of pictures on hospital walls, and some framed museum-y artefacts - ancient embroidered christening gowns, that kind of thing.
Suddenly I was hungry, so we went back to room 11. I had a contraction on the floor with the spacehopper, with people placing cups of tea and peanut butter and jam sandwiches on the floor within reach. Two bites of sandwich, one suck of gas and air... Sarah said she saw it coming. Bleurgh. My first vomit. Quite copious, and we were all impressed by how quickly Sarah produced an appropriate receptacle.
Joyce had been predicting all along that we'd know when things were really getting going, cos I'd start vomiting. Ally reckoned she was quite amazed by my capacity for vomit during my first son's birth.
But that was the only time I vomited this time.
Phew.
Not hungry any more though.

Over the next few hours I did some more walking, and a lot of standing / leaning against a pillow on the raised bed for contractions. For a while I knelt on the bed against the raised head of the bed, but I didn't like that as much as I did when in labour with my first son. I also tried being on the bed with the spacehopper, but mostly preferred to stand by the bed and lean against it.
The contractions got stronger and I asked if I could have more pethadine, but Sarah talked me out of it (would slow things down and make baby sleepy, and anyway she convinced me that things would speed up soon and I could do this all naturally, which I was beginning to doubt). She said let's wait for the next exam at 4pm, which seemed like an age away but we got there in the end.

Sun 13th July, 4pm
Next examination. 5cm dilated.
I was lying on ny side for examinations, and finding it surprisingly relaxing, partially cos it slowed contractions. This is why it's bad for women to labour on their backs. It means gravity can't help, also means baby is pressing down against the small of the back, and it's much harder for the baby to manoeuvre into the proper position for birth. It tends to slow things down. It's nice to do for a rest though. Occasionally I got on the bed spontaneously and lay down for five minutes or so, with everyone surprised at how agile I was in my ability to jump on and off the bed.
As before, an exam and a chat with Sarah reassured me and therefore sped things up again. It was nice to know I was finally 5cm dilated.
I was semi-naked now, as I'd got too hot and stripped down to my undies. This meant I couldn't go back and walk through the corridors (which I'd done at least one more time since the first) without getting dressed again, which seemed like too much faff, particularly as it was awkward to get clothes on over the wires of the TENS machine. So I was weeing regularly in a bedpan (important to keep pressure off womb during contractions) and doing little mini-walks around the room instead.
Every now and then I'd get accidental electric shocks, caused by someone plugging the TENS machine in again after it got undone, or by it getting knocked by the blood pressure cuff.

Over the next three hours I was finding it gradually harder again, annoyed that things didn't seem to be progressing, looking forward to the next planned exam at 7pm, which again seemed a long time away. Sarah was talking about manually breaking my waters at 7pm, depending on the result of the exam and anything else happening in the meantime.
And then someone mentioned the birthing pool, just incidentally in conversation I think, and I suddenly thought ooh yes, that'd be nice. There's only one pool at St Mary's and I assumed it would be taken, but it wasn't. Sarah went away to check and came back voicing some worries (I'm guessing on someone else's advice) about what would happen if they couldn't persuade me to get out again and I gave birth in the pool and then encountered any of the potential big-baby difficulties - for instance shoulder dystocia. But I was obviously keen and she thought it would help to move things along, so we decided to go for it, depending on the 7pm exam.
I suspect, again, that this would have been vetoed by a hospital midwife. Sarah told me a couple of days after Oscar was born that community midwives are known as "the rebels".
Ally reckons Sarah had decided that I was doing so well and was obviously strong enough / determined enough that I wasn't going to need a Caesarian, therefore the pool would be fine. I don't know if this is cos she actually said as much. I was a bit out of it at times...

Sun 13th July, 7pm
Internal exam. 7cm dilated. We decided to go for the birthing pool. I was filled with a sudden surge of energy and clear thinking. They dithered over how to cover me up, but I told them exactly where to find a perfectly-sized dressing gown and how to put it on so that the TENS wires caused minimum trouble.
This happened a few times during the labour - one minute I'd be off in my own little world and apparently oblivious to all that was happening around me, then suddenly I'd be intervening in discussions and making complicated suggestions, before disappearing back into my head again.
I went charging off down the corridor at a rate of knots, the rest of them struggling to keep up with me and laughing at my sudden energy reserves.
Sarah had been thinking of breaking my waters at 7pm, but I got in the pool instead. I got straight in the pool as soon as I was in the room. I was supposed to wait until Sarah arrived, but I was making the most of my energy spurt, and anyway it looked so enticing.

The pool was lovely at first - a big "Aaaaaaaaah" moment. But then I had a contraction, and it was hard to get comfy. We had a pool at home for my first son's birth, and it had padded sides - good for leaning against during contractions - as well as a seat / shelf for sitting on. The one in the hospital had hard fibre glass sides, and no seat. We tried putting a birth ball in the pool for me to lean on, but it floated too much.
Also they wouldn't let me do as I'd done in the bath earlier, lying on my tummy and completely immersing myself, cos they said I was getting too hot - my temp was going up. So in the end I got out of the pool after not long, cos I couldn't get comfy and was worried about my temperature.
But anyway, it did the trick (that and the super-fast walk down the corridor) and the contractions were now coming v. fast and strong. I was standing up again, leaning against the bed for contractions. Gas and air was no longer having much impact, and there was lots of "No no no I can't, make it stop" etc.
I tried kneeling on the bed again - I think Sarah was worried about my legs getting tired - but my legs were fine and I didn't like being on the bed so I jumped back down again, once more with surprising agility.
I was now doing a comedy policeman's knee-bend during contractions - a kind of brief mini-squat. It just felt right. Occasionally I was doing a strange pointy-leg thing, stretching one leg out behind me or to the side. I was counting my breaths; I'd worked out that the peak of the contraction came on the third breath, so if I could only get past three breaths each time, all would be fine. This helped me to relax, which in turn made the contractions more bearable. It was hard to stop myself tensing in anticipation of those peaks, though. I didn't always manage it.
Sometimes I forgot to suck on the gas and air, or I managed breathing in but the out part somehow dissipated and got lost / forgotten.

Sunday 13th July, 9pm
Another internal, which again I was looking forward to. I wanted to be told things were prgressing. But no, still 7cm dilated.
Sarah suggested breaking my waters again, and this time we decided to do it.
I hadn't been too keen on having my waters broken, which ran the risk of not working but of intensifying the contractions and removing the baby's cushioning, therefore causing distress to the baby. But up to this point the baby was v. healthy, all signs were good, and Sarah kept saying what a happy baby it was (this remained true throughout). And anyway I wanted to make things move on.
I think it was around this point that Sarah finally announced the head had properly engaged (i.e. pushed right down into the pelvis); it certainly happened late in the labour. With first babies this can happen weeks before the birth, but for subsequent babies it's not unusual for it to happen at some point during labour.
It felt very weird when she broke my waters, but I mostly managed to relax, and coped with a few contractions in the middle of it all. She not only had to make a little hole with the special crochet-hook thing (I felt the water pour out), but then she had to widen the hole with her hands, and stretch the membrane back behind my cervix, so that there was no danger of a small hole just moving round away from the womb opening and essentially plugging itself up again. Lots of firking about. Most odd.

The contractions were now very strong indeed, very hard to bear, we still weren't at the second stage (the bit where you start pushing and the baby moves down the birth canal), I was doing lots of moaning and crying out and "No no no, I want to go home, I can't do it any more" etc.

Sunday 13th July, 9.45pm
I was getting irritable now. Still not pushing, and getting fed up of Sarah asking me if I wanted to push, which she'd been asking for the last couple of hours. Ally and Rachael had been taking it in turns to massage my back during contractions since early that morning (which must have been exhausting but they never gave up on it, and it was really helpful), and suddenly I started criticising them and telling them they were doing it wrong, and trying to bat their hands into different positions.
(It was funny, the massage thing. Because they were always behind me and I was mostly distracted during contractions, I often had no idea who was massaging me. I thought I could tell the difference between them, but often got it wrong.)
I was finally getting vague hints of something a bit like an urge to push.
This grumpy almost-there bit is known as 'transition'.
A new midwife (Pam, who had visited me at home on Saturday evening) arrived, as Sarah's shift had ended an hour ago. I could hear them doing the handover and discussing what other women were also labouring on their shift, but I was only dimly aware of it.

Sunday 13th July, 10pm
Sarah left, and Pam took over. The first thing Pam did was ask me if I wanted more pain relief. She suggested pethadine, and I shouted out, "Pethadine! Yes! Pethadine!" I instantly thought of Sarah and how she probably wouldn't approve. I said, what about it slowing things down or making the baby sleepy? Pam said I was too far gone now to be slowed down, and it would all be fine. OK then, I said, feeling slightly guilty.

Sunday 13th July, 10.05pm
Pam nipped out of the room, presumably to fetch my pethadine.
"I think I want to push," I said suddenly, to Rachel and Ally's consternation. I was doing a sort of half-push, and I could feel the baby's head moving into the birth canal (I could also feel some faeces coming out - the body expels anything that might get in the way - but luckily I knew about this in advance and don't have any hang-ups about that kind of thing).
Rachael and Ally seemed to think I should wait until Pam got back, but I thought, sod that, they've been wanting me to push for the last two hours, if I feel the urge to push I'm going to bloody well push.
"Get her back here and tell her I'm pushing," I said, when the next contraction confirmed that I was doing exactly that.
So they rang the bell, and Pam came back.
It felt really difficult. I couldn't believe I was capable of pushing the baby out. I could feel the head in my vagina and it felt stuck. It also hurt more than I'd expected. My main memory of the second stage during my first son's birth was that the pain became irrelevant, because I was so focused on / distracted by pushing.
Pam suggested I get on the bed, in case they had to do any manipulations (shoulder dystocia again - this is where the head is born but the shoulders get stuck. It happens more often with big babies, and if it did happen they would have had to do all sorts of odd things such as bend my legs behind my head, or something similar).
There was a big discussion between Pam, Rachael and Ally about exactly what position I would end up in and whether I would be able to get in a squat, which I was really keen to do as soon as the head crowned. It's the best position for childbirth - creates the largest space in the pelvis and gives gravity the maximum opportunity to assist. The medicalisation of labour has meant it's got a bit lost in the history of Western childbirth, but in other societies it's still commonly used, and is making a come-back in the West, too.
Ally was calling it "crouch" instead of squat, and I was worried Pam wouldn't understand him, but I was also getting impatient with all the dithering. "JUST TELL ME WHERE TO GO," I said. They told me to get on the bed. As with previous occasions, there was a move towards some faffery as they started to hydraulically lower the bed and prepare to help me up, but Ally just said, "Can you get your knee up here?" which of course I could, and duly climbed on the bed.
The head end was raised and I knelt up and leant against it, which is the position my first son was born in. I'm not sure if Pam was entirely happy with me being in this position, but that's where I wanted to be and that's where I went.
But then Pam said she could feel the head, and then she could see it, which surprised me, as it happened so fast and I didn't feel like I was getting anywhere. She said the baby had loads of hair - and it was doing that thing of playing hide and seek; appearing with each push and then disappearing again. But this was the moment I'd prepared for, and I spontaneously got myself into the squatting position. With no help, which I was rather proud of (and surprised about, to be honest). I'd been practising squats twice a day for weeks...
I was on my toes at first though, and I'm not sure that I ever managed to get my feet flat on the bad, not that it mattered. I leant forward slightly and reached up to hold onto the head of the bed for support.
It felt really difficult. I didn't think I could do it. It hurt. It felt like the breaks between contractions were too long, and I was always waiting impatiently for the next urge to push, and never sure if I was feeling it or pre-empting it. I was crying out, "Aaargh!" on each push - several pushes per contraction.
I was forgetting to use the gas and air again, and somehow getting confused about the order of things - breathe in, suck gas, push, breathe out... but the push kept coming first.
Pam suggested I try not to cry out so much - direct the pushes into my bottom instead of into my throat. I wasn't convinced; it felt to me like the crying out was helpful. Anyway I didn't seem able to stop.
But she did keep saying I should push into my bottom, and I assumed she meant anus, rather than just using bottom as a polite word for everything down below. So I started muttering to myself, "Pretend you're doing a poo. Do a poo, do a poo."
I know. My language was almos impeccable throughout. I said bloody hell a couple of times and that was it. Go figure. I'm not normally so polite.
The pain was less noticable now that I was so focused on pushing, and I wonder now if it was the same last time too - it wasn't until I got well into the pushing rhythm that I stopped noticing the pain.
Suddenly his head was on its way out. I could feel myself pulled tight around it, but instead of popping back between contractions, as had happened with my first son, it bloody well stayed there, with me all stretched ("ring of fire" they call it, apparently) and feeling very sore indeed. It took a couple of contractions to get past that, and I really thought he was stuck.
But Pam kept telling me I was doing brilliantly, which helped a lot, and then his head was out.
And then that contraction was over, and I had to wait like that until the next one.
I was glad he didn't cry. I'd never liked the idea of the baby halfway out and crying already. Apparently Ally was a little worried at this point, as there were no signs of life, but he watched the midwife's face carefully and she didn't appear bothered.
They told me to sit up, and they meant lift myself more upright (apparently I was in danger of sitting on his head, poor thing), but I misunderstood and moved back, at which point they all pushed me forward again, until I understood.
Apparently they kept having to push me forwards while I was in the squatting position, as I seemed permanently in danger of sitting on the baby's head.
But this was the moment I'd been worried about throughout the whole birth and for weeks in advance. Were the shoulders stuck?
The midwife said something worried-sounding, I couldn't hear what, and put her hands inside and started firking around again. Oh no. I was convinced his shoulders were stuck. But she told me to keep pushing, so I did. It felt impossible - the shoulders + rest of body are not solid and definite like the head, and it felt like there was nothing to push against. Until suddenly...
That string-of-sausages feeling again, just like with Felix.
There did seem to be an awful lot of this one, but finally he was out.

Sunday 13th July, 10.14pm
I couldn't believe it. I turned round, lifted my leg over, and there he was, all bloody and crying on the bed in front of me.
And as with my first son I didn't feel a rush of joy, and was very matter of fact about it all, but I did feel a massive swell of triumph. I did it! On my own! Without forceps or Caesarian or shoulder dystocia or episiotomy! And I managed to get in a squat! All on my own!
I kept saying, "I did it! I can't believe it! I actually did it! It's a baby, it really is! I did it!"
I was naked at this point - I hadn't got dressed again after getting out of the pool, and for obvious reasons swimming costumes are a bad idea when you're about to have a baby - so it was easy to do the recommended skin-to-skin contact and lift him straight to me, and hold him there.

Oscar. Hello.

The first thing we noticed was that he looked just like Felix did when he was born. Big hands, big feet, long arms, legs, fingers and toes, but most of all, the same face. And he was of course perfect, and after a while I thought to check that he was indeed, as had been expected, a boy. We'd seen a very clear penis on the 20-week scan, and the radiologist had been in no doubt.
One of his ears was folded in half, and had obviously got itself a little squashed in the thick of it all (it was straight again within 48 hours).
His hands and feet were purple, but the rest of him was pink, rather than the - I think - more common blue. His fingernails were a deep orangey-red colour, and he looked as though he had nail varnish on. His skin was flaking in places, and he was - is - covered in a lovely fine blonde down.
His hair was strawberry blonde, prompting more speculation about eventual hair colour. His dad has ginger hair and thinks it is a curse, but personally I've always loved red hair. Mine's mouse with a hint of auburn, but was blonde as a child, just as his brother's is - so chances are the reddish stuff will fall out and be replaced by blonde, like his brother - but I like it the way it is.
And he wasn't fat. I confess I'd been worried about that.

I tried to get him feeding but he was too busy crying at first. I got a bit annoyed with him after a few minutes - why was he still crying, why wasn't I enough to comfort him? - but soon he was calm, although still not bothered about feeding yet.
I was really uncomfortable, as the placenta was still in there, and as long as it was there I just felt kind of wrong. I pressed down on my abdomen and it felt lumpy and full, as though there was still another baby in there, but the midwife assured me there wasn't.
Technically the next thing to happen would be to wait until the placenta came out naturally, but I was feeling sore and apparently I couldn't have painkillers until the placenta was out and I was feeling impatient for it all to be over, so as soon as the cord stopped pulsing I asked for syntometrine to speed things up (I'd previously vetoed it, but I couldn't remember why and still can't, to be honest).
I cut the cord. It was weird. Like cutting flesh with scissors. Not very pleasant, to be honest.
The syntometrine worked quickly. I couldn't work out which position to be in to push it out - I was trying to get more upright despite still having Oscar in my arms, but Pam said I didn't even need to push, and sure enough when it came it was more pulled by her than pushed by me. It felt odd, but I was glad when it was out, and that it happened very quickly (it hurt). And I was still sore afterwards. It was just the same with Felix, and they took bloody ages to give me painkillers, which were disappointing cos in tablet form (co-codamol), although I did still have the gas and air to hand.

I was amazed when Pam said she wanted to examine me to see if there was any damage. I hadn't felt a thing, but it turned out there'd been a small second-degree tear, which she started to stitch up.
Oscar was held by his dad (T-shirt off, more skin-to-skin - helps bonding) and by Rachael while I was stitched up. The first thing he did when I passed him to his dad was reach up and grab hold of his beard. He still hadn't fed, and I still felt quite neutral about him; not too bothered about where he was or who was holding him, even forgetting about him briefly a couple of times.

Pam took ages to do the stitching, and I got quite impatient. I could feel that she was being very neat and thorough though. She'd given me a local anaesthetic, but I could feel the tugging of it all. It was kind of satisfying, like being zipped up.
My stomach was moving and pulsing, just as it had when I was still pregnant. Presumably these were contractions, caused by the syntometrine. It felt very weird.
When I stood up to go for a shower, the contractions were so strong and painful (even after the placenta comes out, your womb contracts - and continues to do so for days and weeks, although the intensity wears off - this is how it returns to its pre-pregnancy size, shape and position) I had to sit down again. I kept reminding myself the gas and air was still there by my side and I could still use it, but it was a very different thing when not in labour. Eventually I think it just made me feel very spaced out indeed.

Rachael came with me to the shower, for which I was grateful. I remember how abandoned I felt when they sent me off for a shower after Felix was born. On bnoth occasions I was exhausted and still in pain (although it was worse with Felix), and covered in dried blood and baby faeces, and the whole business of washing oneself in a small space whilst standing up was very difficult. In the end I just sat down on the floor of the cubicle and did the best I could.
I felt something missing while I was in that shower - I realised it was Oscar.
They brought me tea, toast and kit-kat (which would have been nice if it weren't for the fact that the roof of my mouth was suddenly tender, just as it used to get after I'd been up all night partying in my yoof), and then there was the whole business of dressing me and Oscar, packing everything up, being wheeled away in a wheelchair (thank God - even the short walk to the shower room had been surprisingly difficult), through which all three of us stumbled like zombies, collectively inept. I felt like I was in a very remote dream. Nothing seemed real at all.

We were given the option of going straight home (another feature of Domino births), and though the process of getting myself there seemed quite difficult (although much easier once the wheelchair was produced), the idea of being there was enticing enough that we went for it. I spent the car journey sending birth-announcement texts. Sorry about that, everyone. I was dimly aware that people might not be too happy about being woken in the middle of a Sunday night, but I wanted to spread the news and thought I might be forgiven.
I noticed that my tummy was still enormous. During the pregnancy I'd tried and failed to remember what your abdomen feels like in the days following birth, but the memories were now flooding back. It was still large, but also soft and floppy; like an empty bag made of fat.

As I sat in the wheelchair waiting for the lift, I remarked on how much like a grumpy old man he looked. Uncle Albert, sitting in an armchair and complaining about the lack of a cup of tea. And then I felt I had to explain that I did also think he was beautiful. Which of course he is.
Pam followed us home, and we sat on the sofa drinking Cava (apart from Pam, who was still on duty), me breastfeeding with a little help from Pam (for the second time - he'd fed once in hospital too, somewhere in the midst of all the zombification, and amazingly with no help).
It was about 2am, and had that just-got-home-from-a-nightclub feel.
We talked a bit about the labour, and Pam remarked on how little I'd sworn, and how I hadn't screamed when the head was out (but the body not) between two contractions. Most women do, apparently. I was surprised. I thought I had done a fair amount of screaming.
She also explained what she'd been doing with her hands when the head was out but the shoulders not - it was just that normally at this point the baby turns its head and twists itself to get in the correct position for the body to come out. Oscar didn't do this for himself so she had to do it for him. But this is pretty common and doesn't count as shoulder dystocia. She would also have been checking to make sure the cord wasn't wrapped around the baby's neck - another common practice.

We all slept, and there was only one wake for feeding + nappy change that night. The next day I was still spaced out and thankfully not as sore as I had been after Felix was born, bearing out the theory that a tear is better than a cut.
Felix had stayed the night at the next door neighbours, and as soon as he woke he came home in his dressing gown and a borrowed pair of slippers, and gave his new brother a big hug (see pics).
"I'm glad he didn't die like the other one," said Felix. "So are we," I said, and I was. Until I had him in my arms I'd never quite allowed myself to believe he would survive.
Felix asked if he could have the day off school. Ally and I had been hoping for a lie-in, so we compromised: Ally took him in for the morning and we both went back to bed, but we picked him up after lunch and gave him the afternoon off, in honour of this Special Day. He spent the afternoon helping his dad give Oscar a bath, and giving Oscar lots of cuddles.
Ally took Oscar into school when he picked Felix up, and apparently the pram was quickly surrounded by lots of intrigued classmates, all prodding and tickling, until their teacher told them all to give the baby some air and leave him alone... at which point he came bustling up and did a little prodding and tickling himself, much to Felix and Ally's amusement.

Sarah, our wonderful midwife who had stayed with us for 13 hours in hospital and for a full hour after the end of her shift before regretfully having to leave because she had an early start in the morning... only to have me shoot suddenly into a short second stage and give birth 10 minutes after her departure... Sarah came to visit us the following day. She said lots of lovely things, using words like "stamina" and "privilege" and asking whether she could use me as a case study. Ha! Anyone who knew me well would have no need to ask such a question. Give me the opportunity to talk to people and show off in vaguely authoritative fashion? Too bloody right.

She saw I was already faffing about organising things, doing little bits of housework etc, and reminded me to take it easy, maybe have a nap that afternoon... I think she might have guessed from what she'd seen of me during the labour that I might need extra encouragement to just sit back and let go for a while. I'm glad she suggested it. I did sleep that afternoon and might not have done otherwise.
The midwives had been unsure throughout the labour about exactly what position the baby was in, and Sarah said that with hindsight she wondered whether he'd been spine-to-spine most of the time, which was why it had taken so long before we reached the second stage: He'd had to spin round before he could come out. It would also explain why during the last hour or so, the contractions had been particularly painful in my lower back.
She also confirmed what I already knew: That it was a good thing I'd managed a natural labour, and without being induced. When labour is induced the contractions are forced, the labour doesn't move at the body's own natural pace and tends to be too fast / too intense, and you're more likely to encounter complications / need medical interventions of one sort and another, as a result.

So, there you go. A baby, live and kicking and in my arms.

Hooray.

Post-script: I can't recommend yoga highly enough as a thing you can do to prepare yourself for labour. Also squats, as a thing to practise during labour and a position to aim for at the very end of the second stage, when the head is crowning. Also relaxation. I got several second winds throughout the labour, and they always happened when I was reassured (most often by a midwife) and therefore managed to relax again.
One of my bug bears is the way Western women fill each other's heads with horror stories about childbirth. Pain is one of the human conditions most susceptible to the placebo effect and therefore positive or negative mental attitude. The more fearful a woman is, the more likely childbirth will be too painful to bear, which will ensure various medical interventions which decrease pain but make complications more likely. The more relaxed and positive you are, the more able you are to take control and make it into a positive experience with a positive outcome.
The other big factor is to be as physically active during the labour as possible, and to remain in "upright, forward and open" positions, which - with the aid of gravity - help the baby to move in the right direction and into the right positions, at a pace which suits your body and your baby.
I'd strongly recommend the Domino birth system. It stands for "Domiciliary-In-Out" and is a cross between a home birth and a hospital birth. You do the majority at home, then a community midwife accompanies you into hospital, stays with you there until the birth, and then accompanies you immediately back home again. The big advantages are:
- You know you won't be turned away from hospital (for instance because you're not far enough progressed yet). The midwife assesses you at home, and her/his word goes.
- You get the individual attention of one midwife throughout whilst in hospital, and you don't share them with anyone else.
- Chances are the midwife who delivers your baby will be someone you've already met.
- You go straight home afterwards.
- Your baby is delivered by a community midwife rather than a hospital midwife. They tend to be better versed in natural labour techniques, more confident in their own abilities, and less likely to resort automatically to intrusive medical interventions - they'll save these until they're really needed.

So, anyway. Childbirth isn't easy, but it doesn't have to be something to be scared of.

So there.

___

Post Explanatory

2008-07-18T16:02:00.001+01:00

Just a quick random point-by-point catch-up post...

First of all, I want to say a huge THANK YOU for all the comments over the last week. Don't think I'm not reading and massively appreciating them, cos I am, but I don't have time to answer them I'm afraid.

We're out of hospital (got home an hour or so ago) and Oscar is fine. Probably all a false alarm, but anyway nothing to worry about. He's still feeding constantly but I'm expressing a lot of milk so that sometimes I can have a rest while other people feed him, and hopefully at some point we'll settle into some kind of rhythm.

There's been news from the German publishers after a long silence, I have a new editor, things are looking good there.

I'm reading Mystic something-or-other (I know, I'm hopeless) by Dennis Lahene, who I had previously never heard of, and it's brilliant. Looks like a crap airport thriller from the cover, but it's so much more than that. Wonderful characters and description. Inspirational. Comparable (IMHO) to Steinbeck and Carver. I keep jotting down notes.

I love my new son. He's so gorgeous. It's not his fault if he's hungry all the time. I bridled when the nurses described him as greedy, although they meant it affectionately. I saw plenty of other new-borns while in there though, and they're all so tiny. Oscar was nearly three times the size (and weight) of one little girl I saw. He's also got incredibly smooth skin, is really alert, ludicrously strong (can already lift his head using his own neck muscles) and looks so much older than he is. We got many amazed reactions.

The nurses were all lovely by the way, and they certainly didn't stop me from breastfeeding, just didn't want me to do it in the parents' room. Supposedly because the parents' room is intended as a child-free oasis, but I still think it's a bit off / odd. They generally did their best to support me, and last night one of them took Oscar off me for a few hours and bottle-fed him (using my own expressed breast milk) while I got some sleep. It's just that they're so compartmentalised. It's a paediatrics ward, not a maternity ward, so despite the fact they get a significant number of just-given-birth mothers passing through their doors, they're not geared towards supporting them, and the support they do offer mostly has to be asked for, rather than offered up front.

Ally's been brilliant too. I worrried you'd think he wasn't being, when I said nobody was looking after me. I meant nobody professional. The community midwives have done their bit, too.

Felix is fine. His rash was almost gone by morning, and the doctor said nothing to worry about. His school was, by rather bad timing, on strike the two days I was in hospital, which made everything extra-difficult, but friends rallied round and I think he's been OK. Must be all rather disorientating for him, poor thing, and Oscar is so demanding I suspect I've got a bit of a summer ahead - Ally's paternity leave will end just as Felix's summer holidays are starting...

I think that was everything I wanted to say. Thanks again. It's nice to be home.

xxx

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To Avoid Dissapointments

2008-07-17T12:32:00.005+01:00

Oscar is almost certainly fine.

It all started on Tuesday night, when Felix woke in the middle of the night complaining of a painful swelling. He also had a rash, and was in a lot of distress.

I'd just fallen asleep and woke in the midst of a dream, in which I'd played a stupid trick on Felix and made him cry.

We rang NHS Direct, who said to see a doctor in the morning. I fell asleep again.

Then it was Oscar's turn, waking and apparently choking, possibly having a brief fit.

We had a routine neonatal check in the morning, so we mentioned it. They also noted that the remains of his umbilical cord were red, swollen and smelly. And his eyes were very gummy. And we couldn't confirm if he'd urinated since birth.

His temperature was fine, as were other vitals and he was feeding well. But at only three days old he was vulnerable to infection, so the hospital went for the cautious approach.

I've been in hospital with Oscar for the last 24 hours, but I'm home now. I was up all night feeding Oscar, I've been in tears all morning. Then I milked myself so that Ally could come into hospital and take over Oscar-feeding with a bottle, and I could make an appointment with the GP to see about my complaint: an apparent gum infection.

But Ally rang me at the hospital to say the car key had snapped off in the lock outside the shops, and he would have to abandon the car and get a taxi. I called the surgery to say I'd be late.

Ally finally arrrived, I got in a taxi, I started crying again.

And then I was standing at the receptionists' counter, tears silently on cheeks, unable to stop.

The staff were all on the phone. I waited, a pathetic puddle.

Someone put the phone down. Told me I was too late, the locum had gone home.

I disintegrated.

Loud noisy sobs. No words passing through.

I wanted to say,

but I gave birth four days ago and my son is in hospital and I have an infection and I haven't slept and I have to go back to the ward and everything is too hard and nobody will look after me and I don't know what to do

but all I could do was sob

and read a sign on the wall

but not the whole sign because I couldn't get past the beginning

To avoid dissapointments

but they've spelt it wrong

and the receptionists are doing stuff and saying stuff

but I have disintegrated and I am embarrassed and I can't look at them and my crying is too loud and

To avoid dissapointments

but they've spelt it wrong

and they say it's OK, someone will see me, I should sit over there in the waiting room

so I shumble over in my disintegrating state and fall apart some more

on a chair

hyperventilating noisily

and I want to hold my sons

and I want a cup of tea

and I haven't said barely a word

not nearly at all

since I arrived

and everyone is ignoring me politely

and I get my pad out

and write

Instead.

___

Or...

2008-07-17T12:18:00.003+01:00

I can't stop crying.

Maybe this is the baby blues.

Or maybe it's just that four days ago, I stayed up all weekend and gave birth.

Or that three days ago, I stayed up all night and fed a baby with eight consecutive hours' worth of unquenchable thirst.

Or that four days ago I gave birth, and now I have a painful gum infection. And a tender abdomen. And a sore, stitched perineum.

Or that my baby likes to feed for hours on end, and my nipples are hurt and bleeding.

Or that yesterday the doctors identified a potential maybe infection in my baby, and I have spent the last 19 hours alone with him in a tiny hispital room, unable to leave without him crying for me, struggling to go to the toilet or make a brew or change the constantly-filling sanitary towles (I gave birth four days ago...)

I have a suspected gum infection. The paediatrician said I should get it checked out and treated in case I infect my son. My son is in hospital with a suspected infection. I may be putting him at risk. So I asked for an examination, and maybe some medicine. They said no. This is a paediatric ward. This is not a maternity ward. The staff here are not qualified to treat adults.

Maybe I'm crying because they wouldn't let me breastfeed or hold my three-day-old son in the TV room, because it's for adults only. "Not appropriate," they said.

But they did bring me a portable TV. But I can't reach it to change channel, not without disturbing my son and making him cry again.

It might be because they put him on IV antibiotics for half an hour this morning, and when the drugs were finished the machine beeped a loud alarm for two hours, and nobody would come and make it stop. So I did it myself, and then they told me off.

Apparently we have to stay here for another 24 hours. I was tired when they told me that. I'd been up all night, feeding again. I wanted to sleep.

That's when I started to cry.

___

More Oscar Pics

2008-07-15T16:52:00.003+01:00

___

The Odd Couple

2008-07-15T14:01:00.004+01:00

We never even noticed the connection!

Walter Matthau and Jack Lemmon... not a bad pair. And I do love the idea of Felix and Oscar growing up to be such grumpy old men together...

Anyway, here's a pic of them, moments after they first met:

And here is the moment we discovered how (actually not quite so) big Oscar was... I know 10lb 2oz seems large, but not as large as the "well over 11lb" that was predicted...

And here he is being held by my friend Rachael...

We have better ones than that (he's actually much prettier!), but they haven't been uploaded yet. Bear with me...

___

And the child that was born on the sabbath day...

2008-07-15T13:41:00.002+01:00

...was very hungry. Indeed.

He fed for about eight hours last niht, so I am feeling everso-slightly discombobulated, and not up to anything very useful, but I am quite impressed with managing this, which is my attempt to fix the fact that all your Haloscan comments disappeared on the previous post!

It's cos I edited the title.

this might fix it, and will mean that the old comments all reappear, but on this one instead of the other one.

I've made copious notes on the birth, trying to remember every last detail, and will write up asap. Which could mean anything at all...

But I'm very proud of myself; the birth went very well, everyone is full of praise, words like "strong", "determined", "amazing", "stamina" being bandied about... and midwife wants to use me as a case study!

And now I have to do the parenting thing. Ah. Feeding, all night long. That kind of stuff. Hmmm. Didn't really think that far ahead...

No, I kind of did. Cleared my diary for 6 months, expected the unexpected...

___

And the child that is born on the sabbath day...

2008-07-14T02:53:00.004+01:00

...is bonny and blithe and good and gay.

Our second Sunday baby.

Oscar Eric Sudbery was born on Sunday 13th July at 10:14pm and weighed 10 lb 2 oz (4.62 kg).

And I did it all by myself. Natural birth, one small tear, lots of yoga, second stage only 9 minutes long, no shoulder dystocia or other horror stories.

Mind you, it took a while.

Still off my face on gas and air.

Apologies for abandoning the live-blog of the birth - it became impossible to maintain. Am hoping to complete the blow-by-blow account tomorrow, circumstances allowing.

Sorry, am barely coherent. Going to bed now.

Night night.

xxx

___

Progress?

2008-07-11T19:40:00.015+01:00

[most recent entries at top, so you might have to scroll down a bit to catch up]

[This only described the early part of kabour, until I stopped being up to the job of typing. The rest of the account was written up after the event]

Sun 13th July, 1.05am
Oh, arsicles.
New midwife came - not Diane but Pam, and very nice - because I was convinced I was about to plunge into second stage, was getting jittery and anxious and worried about pain relief. She examined me, and not only am I still not at all dilated, but my bloody (hah bloody hah) cervix is still long and hasn't flattened out ("effaced") yet. So I'm nowhere bloody near.
The news was frustrating but did at least calm me down again, and she was very reassuring and helped to quell the sudden surge of angst about how the hell Ginormous Baby was going to find its way out.
So, contractions have now slowed and weakened again, I've had a bath, and we are all going to bed.
I predict fitful slumbers and several unintentional giant electric shocks.

Sat 12th July, 9.10pm
I did an extended yoga session and it felt lovely, but it either stopped the contractions or masked them.
We ate a yummy healthy lentil-and-brown-rice-and-squash thing cooked by Rachael.
Joyce rang and said no rush to visit again as it sounds like things happening v slowly. Turns out she's not on all night. Next midwife will probably be someone called Diane. I can have gas and air at home if I need it (I don't, not yet).
I gave myself a few comedy electric shocks with the TENS machine.
The contractions have just had a spurt of stronger and closer together, not sure if that's continuing though.
We're playing Scrabble. Ally's winning. Pah.
Joyce says if I'm still here tomorrow morning they might worry a bit, but everything's fine for now. She reiterated that it's important I be in hospital for second stage, cos of Big Baby Dangers. She said if I'm not throwing up (I'm not) maybe I'm just not in labour yet (she remembers last time in amazing detail). She was joking. I think.
We're still on old vinyl. I've been on an 80s/90s nostalgia trip. We've listened to Suzanne Vega, Bob Marley, Sinead O'Connor, Stereo MCs, Ozric Tentacles, Tracy Chapman.
Katy's back from Birmingham and may be coming round in a bit.
I have this feeling things may suddenly accelerate. Then again they may not. I'm getting a bit sleepy. I've probably got a long way to go.

Sat 12th July, 4.50pm
P.S. Shout out for the birth partners (Ally and Rachael). We're sitting around chatting, doing the crossword, listening to music, laughing. They done good. Everyone should do birth like this.

Sat 12th July, 4.45pm
We kept forgetting about the TENS machine, but I've got it on now. It's transmitting electrical impulses to the small of my back. Feels kind of odd, but does seem to be helping with contractions. I've also had a shower and eaten some soup. The contractions are a little bit more frequent and a little more intense (or were, before I switched the TENS on), but still not regular. I had a couple that were only 5 mins apart! Ooh!
The midwife rang for a progress report while I was in the shower. She didn't seem to think whatever she was told warranted a further visit. She said she'd pass it on to the midwife on the night shift, who is... Joyce! Joyce delivered Felix. What goes around comes around. I didn't expect to get Joyce this time, cos she actually covers a different patch, and I've changed surgeries since F was born. But I think they all pool together where dominoes and home births are concerned.
The other midwife said earlier that the big-babyness may be slowing things down - my body is being a bit tentative about lining this ginormous bowling ball up for the attempt at a strike. Or maybe it's the pins that are enormous. Hmmm, analogy failure.
I don't even like bowling.
People keep saying it's exciting. That's cos they're focused on the end product. Me, I'm barely thinking about babies. All my attention is on the process. I remember last time I got annoyed when people got excited at the beginning of the second stage. It's not about the baby, it's about ME!
Ahem.
OK. Maybe a little bit about babies too.
I s'pose.

Sat 12th July, 2.45pm
The midwife came, hung around and chatted for a bit while I had some contractions, then examined me and my bleedin' cervix (tee hee, pun not intended) is not only not dilated, it's only semi-effaced. Which means it's still long, and hasn't flattened out yet. But the head is engaged, and I am officially in labour.
We're currently eating home-made chocolate birthday cake. My friend Rachael has arrived, and we've just come back from a walk in the park. We had to stop a couple of times for me to stop, lean on something, rotate my hips and breathe, during contractions. One time I leaned on a fence. Another time it was the boot of my own car. I'd wanted to stop about twenty seconds earlier, but the only leaning points were other people's cars, and I was worried someone might object...

Sat 12th July, 11.45am
No nausea yet this time. This is either good news (means I've escaped it this time) or bad news (means my body still hasn't really got going).

Sat 12th July, 11.30am
Finally something concrete happened: I had a show, which means the mucus plug stoppering the entrance to my womb fell out. Still doesn't mean anything is imminent, but I've finally left a message for the midwife, who will ring me back.
Contractions variable. Some stronger than others. Every 10-20 mins.
Have eaten a boiled egg.

Sat 12th July, 10.45am
Still getting comtractions, but they seem to have slowed down and weakened a bit. Boo.
Am on an old vinyl tip: Listened to Suzanne Vega, the one with Small Blue Thing and The Queen and the Soldier. I really like that album and haven't listened to it for ages. Fitted the mood perfectly.
Have sorted Felix out for both today and tomorrow, and my birth partner Rachael is coming over in a bit. The other one, Katy, is in Birmingham for the day, but she'll be back this evening and at the current rate that might not be too late at all.
And now I'm fixing / botching the phone, which has stopped working. Complicated rigs involving extensions and extra ringers, but I'm not really sure why I'm bothering: the only thing broken is the ringer on incoming calls, and do I really want to be answering the phone? Hmm.

Sat 12th July, 9.40am
Yes, thoughts. Er, I forgot. No, it was about dentists. And interviews, and exams. How I never think about them until I'm right there and it's happening. Not even in the waiting room. How I refuse to think about the final part of this birth, when it might get sticky cos of baby-bigness. I'm fine for now, and that's enough.
Am listening to Exodus (Bob Marley) on vinyl. Much better than "Eek, extreme weather!"
Haha, just realised significance of lyrics. Exodus. Movement of Jah people. Move baby, move!
Someone told me to open all the doors and windows. It's symbolic, you see. Letting stuff out.
Felix just rang. He wants to go see Kung Fu Panda. Not sure anyone will be available to take him. Will have to try sort it out.

Sat 12th July, 9.30am
We've been here before so take everything I say with a large pinch of cynicism, but I think it's finally happening.
Had bath (couple of mild contractions), came downstairs, got breakfast.
The (heavy metal) bin lid had been removed, as had the chicken carcass previously inside. Cats nowhere to be seen, very little evidence of chicken. Wondered if cats had been eaten by fox. Fetched keys, called cats from garden. They hadn't been eaten by a fox.
Put some kind of "Ooh, look! Wind and rain and fire and big burly firemen!" thing on telly, watched a few mins, started having a really strong contraction, couldn't cope with telly, had to turn it off.
Since then three contractions, strongest so far, exactly every ten mins. Strong enough that I have no choice to get up off spacehopper cos it hurts too much to stay still. Instead I stand and lean against old oak table, doing the "noisy breaths" my yoga teacher taught me. And hurrah, they work.
Thoiughts in head:
Oh hsng on, here comes anothger one.

Sat 12th July, 8.15am
No news.
Last night, the contractions stayed mild and irregular. I had a brief manic spurt of housework, ate some fresh pineapple, had a massage with clary sage oil, watched more telly, took advantage of a suddenly-increased libido, went to sleep.
Woke up abbout 5.30am and every half hour thereafter with mild contractions, then had two or three stronger ones in the last half hour. It's weird how much like period pain it is.
I'm having a bath now.
If things carry on like this and I keep live-blogging it, it's going to get very dull indeed...

Fri 11th July, 9.30pm
Sitting on my adult-sized spacehopper in front of the telly, watching Big Brother. Spacehopper is good for doing hip circles, and is generally comfy during contractions, but contractions themselves are now less intense and not at all regular.
Spending most of the time prodding my abdomen and trying to decide whether it's hard or not, and trying to remember what happened last time.
All very vague and confusing. Didcomfort comes and goes, belly-hardness (belly hardens during contractions) comes and goes, all with no apparent rhyme, reason or synchronisation.
I feel the discomfort more when I'm not sitting on spacehopper, but I'm now bored of standing up and walking around as a means of determining whether I'm having a contraction or not.
Certainly nothing dramatic is happening.
The words "red" and "herring" come to mind.
And I can't decide whether to post new entries at the top or bottom of this post.

Fri 11th July, 7.40pm
I had several strong contractions in a row and it was nearly bedtime, so Felix has been dispatched to a friend's house for the night. He was excited about the sleepover, but looked worried and upset, too.
Of course, now the contractions have calmed down again.
We haven't called anyone else, not yet.
I have a horrible feeling it's all a false alarm.

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Stuff 'n' stuff

2008-07-11T17:33:00.003+01:00

Two different women stopped me today.

Men with beer bellies have the same rolling gait as pregnant women.

They asked the same question: Is it twins?

You can tell if a woman is pregnant from behind, by the way she walks.

I walked round the park three times, and had contractions.

The man next door isn't having a flood, and neither are we.

The contractions are strong today.

I walked up and down the four floors of the house, listening at walls for the sound of gushing water.

I dreamt the baby's head was crowning. I could feel it with my hands.

The man next door had left a tap on.

It was happening too fast, so I pushed it back in. It was bald, and slippery.

The contractions were strong last night.

I dreamt we had a flood. From a pipe, high up.

I thought I was having a baby last night. I fell asleep instead.

I couldn't stop the flood in the dream. I was worried about Felix.

Friday night is baby night. That's when Felix started.

Felix is unsettled.

Whenever I stand, I am having a contraction.

I want to write another book.

During contractions, stand up and lean forwards. It feels good.

Since I was a young child I have caught myself saying "Will you marry me?" at the bottom of my head. I don't know who I'm talking to.

Sometimes I say "ow" behind my thoughts, and it's not until it filters through to my upper mind that I think yes, I suppose it hurts.

Fences, walls, gates and pavements have an effect on me. Old ones, mossy ones, twisted ones. It's something nice, and sometimes it tastes of fudge.

But I don't know what it is.

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Impatience

2008-07-11T16:33:00.002+01:00

Flumpets and gorewinkles, I am fed up of waiting.

That is all.

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The Mist

2008-07-10T16:42:00.005+01:00

I knew I was in trouble when one of the main characters was a young boy, not only Felix's age but looking like Felix...

I had to wait until everyone had left at the end, cos I was embarrassed by the strength of my reaction. I can't say any more though. Spoilers.

Suffice to say it's a good film, and the ending is strong and makes no concessions.

And of course the scaring-the-baby-out theory was rather spoiled by the fact that adrenaline tends to halt labour: Evolution's way of giving primitive mothers-to-be a chance to escape danger... and also a reason why fear is the last thing you need during childbirth, and you should do everything in your power to ensure labouring mothers remain relaxed...

Still, I've had lots of contractions today (but not during the film - like I said, adrenaline). So. Fingers crossed.

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Lords of Bastard

2008-07-10T12:48:00.002+01:00

The Other 'Alf is a loacal radio DJ and erstwhile music journalist, so we regularly get freebie CDs dropping through the door. They're always accompanied by press releases, most of which follow the usual format and are rather dull, so it's always fun when something more creative slips through the net:

"lords of bastard

www.lordsofbastard.com
www.myspace.com/lordsofbastard

BEEEEEP! Tshhhh, tssssh, burr ba burrrr ba burrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr!

- This is the musical masterstroke that kicks off Lords of Bastard's self titled debut album, Lords of Bastard.

Following tthe planetary success of their single, Off With Their Heads / Kingsize Karma, this release offers more of the same journey through sludge, doom, punk and stoner rock, but this time there are seven more whole songs. As lead singer Mike puts it, "This is an album".

So if you like albums, then this might be for you.

Having played with many excellent touring bands across Scotland, over the past few years, LoB's sound has really developed. There are quieter bits and louder bits, and some bits that seem faster than others but might not be, when drummer Rik was intrerviewed about this recently he said "yes".

As the sleeve would suggest, LoB like their vintage amps turned up to "Big"; this could be what it would sound like if the 1970s were angry at you.

Recorded in Edinburgh by no-one famous, and not featuring Mary J Blige, this heady mix of space weed, dungeons and purple promises to be a trest for fans and a dreadful risk to others.

Available from 8th Sept 2008, in exchange for money, on CD and download."

Sadly I didn't like the music much (not my thing - lots of thrashy bass guitars and people screaming "Aaaaaargh!" a lot), but there you go: You can't have everything.

Today is my birthday and I'm off to the cinema to see The Mist (see if I can frighten the baby out of me), then going swimming. I made a yummy chocolate cake last night. I shall also be eating that.

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Happy Birthday to Me

2008-07-10T12:26:00.003+01:00

Felix banished me from the room the other day so he could make this, all by himself.

The first attempt at a picture of me, which as you can see went a bit "rog", has been clearly labelled as such.

Aww.

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Baby Update

2008-07-08T14:54:00.002+01:00

No news as yet.

We saw the consultant yesterday (because the baby is one day overdue) and she did a membrane sweep, which is the sticking-your-finger-in-the-womb thing. I concentrated on relaxing and it didn't hurt, and she said in advance that she wouldn't do it if the cervix wasn't already soft - indeed, she wouldn't be able to. So the good news is that my cervix is soft.

I've been having mild and irregular contractions for the last week, and I think they may have got a little stronger since the sweep this morning, but that could be wishful thinking.

If we're still here next week, I have an appointment next Tue for another sweep. So no induction on mny birthday, hurrah! I saw two doctors today and they both agreed that although going overdue is particularly bad with big baby cos it will continue to get slightly bigger (luckily the growth slows down after the due date) and the bones will start to harden, making it less squishy and therefore harder to squeeze out, the best outcome is likely to happen via natural vaginal birth, and any intervention will increase the risk of complications. So they're happy to wait with me for now.

Meanwhile I'm still doing exercises, walking, sex, clary sage oil, raspberry leaf tea, rest and relaxation and anything else I can think of.

I feel very floaty this afternoon. Dunno if that's connected. In general I'm absolutely fine. Indeed, the physical niggles - tiredness and indigestion being the main ones - have tailed off. I'm managing the tiredness by taking it easy and constantly topping up my energy supplies (i.e. eating every couple of hours). The indigestion is eased by the baby moving down and away from my stomach. My ankles aren't swollen (which the midwife keeps being amazed by), my blood pressure is fine, all signs are good. If it weren't for the big-baby thing I wouldn't be in any rush to give birth, but as it is I'm getting a little impatient.

I'm reading, um, can't remember what it's called. By Somebody Hyland, published by Canongate, was shortlisted for the Booker a few years ago. It's good.

This was a very boring and factual post, wasn't it? Not feeling very creative, I guess. But anyway. There you go. That's the update. Fingers crossed that my body will start being a bit more dramatic some time soon.

Who knows, I may even live-blog the whole thing.

Then again, I may not.

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Girls' Fun - Part Thirty-Seven (Final Part)

2008-07-06T23:35:00.004+01:00

[I'm transcribing edited highlights of a diary I kept when I was 15 / 16 years old, in 1985. Index here.]

[For previous instalment, see here]

Mon 28th Oct, 1985 (Young Clare is 16 years old)

I’ve been going out with Paul three months and two weeks this Friday.

Tue 29th Oct, 1985

There’s something wrong with Lucy (she’s been back at home now for 3 weeks or so). I walked into the kitchen and she was crying with Dad’s arm round her, so I walked out again. I hope she’s OK. Hope she’s not pregnant or anything. She’s got this boyfriend called Dan. He came round tonight. They seem ever so awkward and polite with each other, and they’ve been going out with each other about three months! Maybe that’s why she’s upset.

Wed 30th Oct, 1985

Lucy still seems ever so quiet and subdued and depressed. Hope she’s OK.
There’s something wrong with the area around my vagina. It’s been itchy since Saturday and really uncomfortable and now it’s REALLY sore and the sticky discharge has become all yellow and blotchy and flaky. I’ve made a doctor’s appointment for Fri*.

Thurs 31st Oct, 1985

Mum’s told me Lucy’s packed Dan. She did it on Tuesday night. But now she regrets it. That must be why she is and was upset.

Fri 1st Nov, 1985

HELLO! Long time no see! Got rather besotted with Paul and very laid down with homework (masses of it!) and was either out every night with Paul or doing homework and after a few weeks of not writing this diary I got into the way of it and just couldn’t face the chore of writing it.
But I’ve filled it in for half term and a few bits before that. Me and Paul are still going strong and we really do love each other. It’s horrible when we’re apart. He went back to Uni on Monday but he’s coming back on Fri and staying all weekend and he’s been ringing every night but we really miss each other.
School’s not too bad. French and Maths are interesting but we’ve got this awful new German teacher who we call “DINGBAT” who’s really slow and boring and I’ve been getting loads of homework and everyone seems really young and childish and annoying, especially after undiluted Paul’s company all summer.

----------------------------

That’s it, that’s yer lot. I didn’t write any more in that diary, and this is 38-yr-old Clare talking now.
The relationship with Paul lasted until Christmas, but we never did manage to pierce my imaginary hymen. I suspect that our sexual failures, along with the awkwardness that must surely have been caused by trying to live the double-life of a student in Sheffield vs a 16-yr-old’s boyfriend in York, never mind the problems of the age gap in the first place, killed the relationship. He stopped returning my calls just before Christmas, and then I bumped into him with his ex girlfriend on his arm, in a local pub. I was devastated. I cried for a fortnight. He was my first (requited) love.
I didn’t write any more diary entries about it all, but I do have a few scraps of paper, including some angst-ridden letters I never sent him, after we split up (of the why-oh-why variety).
Halfway through the following year, after having the same sexual problems with a subsequent boyfriend, I decided to become a lesbian instead. It was a great idea. I had lots of fun. And when I came out to Philip… he returned the favour.
He’d been gay all along.
Doh.

* Don’t worry, it was just Thrush. Which incidentally became another reason for me to give up on men altogether for a few years.

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Still Growing

2008-07-05T21:19:00.002+01:00

It's quite a rare event for Him Indoors, aka Ally, to comment on my blog.

And look what happens when he does.

Bastard.

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