My Chins, My Family and Me

Update: Apols for previous broken link. Did it in a hurry before going away for weekend. Should work now...




___

Being Sensible

The "Party Like it's 1999" series is temporarily suspended, pending approval. I had a bit of a Sensible Moment. Which is all very well, but now the blog is contentless. I get so little computer time these days, I've taken to having marathon blog-writing sessions and then splitting the results into parts and scheduling them to be posted in advance.

So, um. what do I have to report? Oscar is lovely. Teething at the moment, but even that isn't phasing him much. It just means he wants to chew everything, but hasn't got the manual dexterity to put things in his mouth without dropping them or jabbing himself in the gums, which makes him annoyed. But even that only means minor whingeing from time to time. This evening he wouldn't go to sleep and kept chuckling at everything. Which may have something to do with the pub lunch I had this afternoon, which involved the chocolatiest chocolate pudding ever, and two pots of super-strong tea, culminating in far more caffeine than I/he am/is used to.

He's four months old now, does a lot of smiling and a fair bit of laughing, also cooiung, gurgling, squeaking and squealing with delight. He can't roll over yet. That's the next thing, then sitting up, reaching out for things, crawling, reaching out to be picked up. I'm getting bored now, want him to learn something else. He's a lovely easy baby though, in that he doesn't cry much and sleeps well at night, although quite demanding during the day, hence all my jobs getting done at stupid a.m.

Last night I drank two pints!! of beer and listened to a lot of glam rock after watching some documentary or other about it on the telly. The first pop music I was ever aware of / into was glam rock. It was the mid 70s, I was five or six. There are a whole load of singles from that time that send me into ecstasies of nostalgia and always have. By people such as Slade, Mud, Sweet, T. Rex, Suzi Quatro, Status Quo. I particularly liked Tiger Feet (I used to imagine people with tigers' feet, it was a nice image) and Girls Grab the Boys (made me think of kiss chase).

When I was six, I had this massive surge of nostalgia for my fifth summer (1974). I think that's when I first experienced nostalgia. It was incredibly strong. It was like it had been the best summer in the whole world ever, and there would never be one like it again. I think it may have been about this time that I developed all these nostalgic attachments to all those glam rock songs, but there was one track above all others that from that point until, well, now, had this powerful effect on me whenever I heard it. It was / is the epitome of cosy warm home-coming nostalgia. I played it to Ally last night and he didn;t get it at all, said it was just bog-standard 70s rock. It's Davy's on the Road Again, by (I think) Manfred Mann. I just think it's gorgeous. It wasn't even very famous, I have no idea why it has such a strong effect. Maybe it was playing during some significant event in my life, but if so I don't know what.

I also don't know how I heard all these tracks, as I'm pretty sure I didn't have control over any radios at that age, and my dad was a Radio 3 / modern jazz / Beatles and The Who man. We did watch Top of the Pops as a family though, so maybe that was the sole source of my exposure to the pop music of the time. Well anyway, last night I had fun playing all the old tracks. And drinking two cans of beer.

A small thing I noticed in the midts of it all: Our cats do enjoy jumping from surface to surface in the kitchen. Sideboard, kitchen table, work surfaces, they're all pretty much the same height, and good vantage points for keeping an eye out for mice and dogs. I guess if they were lions in the wild, they'd be perching on rocks. And then I thought how much lions would appreciate it if you scattered kitchen units around the African savannahs. Perfect for perching on. Not sure anyone else owuld appreciate it, though. And maybe they'd need to be proportionately outsized, to account for the size difference between domestic cats and lions.

I leave you with that thought. Good night.


___

Hat Eclipse

Ooh, look! Babies! Cuteness!

Fuzzy I know, but awww. Father-son bonding.


Mr. Laid-Back Boy.


I didn't do it on purpose. It slipped.


And look, see, I folded it back after that. Aww.



___

Bulimia by Proxy

Ah yes, I was going to talk to you about bulimia.

You see, the thing is, every time I get pregnant I put more weight on. And don't get me wrong, breastfeeding is wonderful and essential and you should just bloody do it anyway because it's lovely and is so very good for your child... but take that stuff they say about weight loss with a pinch of salt. Or rather, several spoons of sugar. OK, so not everyone has a sweet tooth like me, but boy, does breastfeeding make me crave sugar. So yeah, maybe Oscar is a stupendously hungry baby, and maybe breast milk is full of calories, and maybe it's made out of my body fat, but what does that matter if I shovel chocolate down my gob and make great handfuls of new fat every few hours?

I keep thinking, I should make the most of this. My body is taking my fat and turning it into milk. If only I could eat less chocolate, that would be a Very Useful Thing.

But then I think... hang on a minute...

You see, I express milk every day. I squeeze it out of my currently-GIGANTIC boobs and put it into bottles, which are then given to my son. And there it is, in the fridge. Little containers full of my excess fat. A kind of home-made liposuction, if you will. And what if I didn't give it to my son? What if I threw it away? It would be like a kind of sanitised bulimia. Binge on chocolate and bad stuff, then express milk and throw it away!

It all came about because I went out - my second proper night out since Oscar was born (I'll write about the first time later). I expressed tons of milk in advance, so I could stay out as long as I liked and not have to worry about getting home to feed the baby. Whilst out, I got drunk. And ate loads of chocolate. And came home, with boobs full-to-bursting with milk. So full it was painful. I had been planning to wait until the following morning before expressing, so the alcohol would be out of my system. But then I thought, hang on. My breasts have been filling gradually all evening, while I was drinking. So the milk there now will already have alcohol in it, and it won't matter how long I wait before expressing it. So I expressed as soon as I got home, and thought, this is tainted milk. It'll have to be thrown away... oooh, so all that chocolate I just ate, I am now throwing it away again! Yippee!

And then a week or so later, I did an experiment and deduced that all the strong coffee I'd started drinking to help keep me awake... was probably causing Oscar to projectile vomit all over the place. But I was very very sleepy and it was really hard to resist drinking the coffee. Which tasted so nice... and then I thought, aha! I can binge on chocolate AND coffee, and then Oscar will be sick, thus the milk will be wasted, thus the calories are thrown away... bulimia by proxy!

Sadly I am a slightly better mother than that, and have now given up coffee.

And although I'm tempted to eat tons of chocolate and then throw breast milk away... arrrggh. I was brought up by war babies. Waste not want not, and all that. And, you know, it's breast milk. It's magical precious stuff with super healing properties, and I can't bring myself to throw it away.

Bugger.


___

the writerly-motherly life

[written with baby in arms. hmm, let's see how long this lasats / how typo-riddden twill be]

So, Frankfurt Book Fair is next week. A major event in the publishing calendar, when agents and publishers rush about madly selling / buying books, and authors stay at home, pretending they're not waiting for the phone to ring with the news that they are 'the talk of the fair' (hardly anyone ever is, apart from Marie (lucky cow) (it is a good book though)). In fact, publishers generally just take mss home with them to read, and most of the deals happen in the weeks or months after the fair is over. But anyway. DYWTPS is still out there and looking for publishers, and what an odd life this authorly thing is.

And weirdly, although I am in fact on maternity leave and won't be working full time again until January (when Oscar starts nursery), and although I officially started being a full time writer last June when I was made redundant... sitting here now with my 2nd book being looked at by publishers all over the world and my 3rd book sitting there in all its first-draft newness and waiting for me to polish it when I start writing again in January... well, I finally feel like a writer.

What with looking after Oscar taking up so much time, what little is left still has to have my other son, and boring shit like housework and eating food, squeezed into it. So this blog, and emails, and the internet in general, will just get slotted in whenever I can persuade Ally to do yet more baby-holding. So, I know I've said this before, but... don't hold your breath.

It's a good time right now though, with me and Oscar laughing and smiling together, and doing things like post-natal yoga (look away now if you have a cuteness aversion) (post-natal yoga is so cute: a room full of women and babies, and the babies become part of the yoga, with stuff like bending forward to kiss them on their bellies) and baby massage class, and days out to the cinema and stuff (he's so much easier to handle when we're out and about - he loves being in the pushchair). And watching Teletubbies. I couldn't believe it, I turned on CBeebies with the sound down the other day in a desperate attempt to distract him while I listened to Out Of a Clear Sky on Listen Again (it was R4's Book at Bedtime) (you're too late now though), and he loved it. Laughed and smiled, and everything. I thought it was a fluke, but then I dug out Felix's old Tinky-Winky doll and he laughed and smiled at that, too. He's only 12 weeks old. Weird.

But I'm not cut out for permanent full-time motherhood. I can't pretend I'm not looking forward to January, and being able to sit at my desk and write again, without half an ear cocked for baby cries. I'll finish the third book and start a fourth, and write as much as I bloody can before my meagre savings run out and I have to get a job again. Or the world plunges into economic crisis and the government cancels child tax credits and I have to get a job again. Unless I sell my book to dozens of publishers and make money that way. Ha. Well, we can all dream. You do know there's absolutely no fucking money at all in writing novels for a living, right? No? Ah. Well in that case, I have something to tell you: There's absolutely no fucking money at all in writing novels for a living.

But I did it. I got here. I had a baby, and it was hard cos pregnancy made me super-mega-very fucking ill, and then it was hard cos I had a job too, and Having It All is no fun at all, and you have to get up really early in the mornings and work really hard and it's very very tiring, and then I decided I wanted another baby, but I had to wait a bit cos I couldn't cope with being super-mega-very fucking ill and looking after a small child at the same time, so I had to wait until he was a slightly bigger child. And then I had to wait cos I wanted to write another book, to at least create the possibilty of being a writerly-motherly person, instead of a full-time-job-and-motherly person. And then I had to wait while we had an attic conversion, cos we needed space for extra babies and writing novels, and we had to pull half the house apart, and builders and super-mega-very fucking ill pregnancies don't mix, and builders and babies don't exactly go together either. And then I had to wait because we got pregnant but it didn't work out and we had to try again. And then I had to do the super-mega-very fucking ill pregnant thing again (although luckily this time it was only super-very fucking ill), and then there was the Big Baby And Childbirth thing, and then suddenly I was here. Arrived. Out the other side, no more pregnancies ever again, not only a second book being published but a third book in the pipeline, my very own little L-shaped writing room in the attic, and pheweeeeeeee.

I did it.


___

Higgledy Piggledy

My life is all higgledy pigggledy, and likely to stay that for at least another three months, if not another sixteen (eighteen? twenty? sixty?) years...

Incidentally and tangentially, I was thinking yesterday about how it will feel to be the mother of fifty-something and sixty-somethings, which would make me ninety-something and approaching a hundred... not impossible at all. Indeed my own grandparents, 94 and 98, just celebrated their 70th wedding anniversary. I can't actually remember why I was thinking about that though... oh yes. Because Oscar seems like a carbon copy of Felix, and I was wondering whether he'll carry on looking like F as he grwos up. Which, I was thinking, could lead to me mixing them up. Except that it couldn't, cos of the six-year age gap, which will mean that I'll always know which one F is, cos he'll be the older one. But then I thought, eventually they'll be close enough in age to be mix-uppable. Like when they're in their 50s/60s. But then I'll be in my 90s, and might be confusing them for other reasons.

But anyway. The last couple of weeks, I've been doing another edit of my second book (currently called Dance Your Way to Psychic Sex) for Random House Germany (the Manahttan TB imprint), who are publishing it next July. I couldn't resist having another go at it before it went to the translator, and I'm glad I did. I think I've managed to improve a ocuple of the characters, and the ending is also much better. It's a good book!

It hasn't been easy though. I've managed on average an hour's work per day. Generally my days have looked like this:

Baby cries.
Feed baby.
Stare into space while baby snoozes on lap.
Try moving.
Baby wakes up.
Baby cries.
Play with baby. Smile at baby. Gurgle at baby. Spend an inordinate amount of time discussing twee kitchen paraphernalia, 70s pop groups and spliffs ("Aga, Abba, doobie doo").
Switch computer on, surf blogs.
Baby cries ("don't look at that, look at me!").
Spend half an hour or more rocking baby, singing to baby, pushing baby around in pushchair.
Baby sleeps!
Log onto computer. Stare into space. Surf blogs. Get brain into gear.
Start editing work.
Ten minutes later...
Baby cries.
Feed baby.
etc...

So the only time I can really spend properly editing, or indeed writing blog posts, is when Ally comes home from work. Which looks a bit like this (from my point of view):

[Ally gets home]

"The cavalry! Here, have a baby."

And from Ally's point of view...

"Phew, home again after a long day at work. I'll just switch the computer on... oh, you want me to hold the baby? Oh. All right then."

[it's such a cliche, but must be the source of billions of arguments all over the world: stay-at-home parent is tired, wants relief. go-to-work parent is tired, wants a rest. Each one thinks the other one is being lazy. Luckily we both have the ablity to see each other's point of view, but it does get hard when you're both tired]

And talking of demanding babies... this blog post has already been written in two separate sessions... but the baby has just woken up again. Sod it, I may as well click Post. Remind me to talk to you about bulimia.


___

Brrr

The Littlest One has his very first cold.

Occasionally I worry about whether he can breathe through his nose and how he will feed if he can't and whether I will suffocate him by putting a dummy in his mouth, but mostly it involves some cute snotty snuffling and an awful lot of sleep, for which I am rather grateful. I know, I am a rubbish mum.

Weirdly though, when he has a boob or a dummy in his mouth it actually seems to make him breathe better. I've decided that because he is an outsize baby he therefore has outsize tubes, with room for air as well as gunk.

He sits beside me in one of those baby chair thingies while I type*, and occasionally I turn my head to look at him and he gives me the most brilliant smile ever, as if of all the things that might happen to a baby in a day, having his mother bestow a benevolent smile upon him is the most exciting and lovely ever. He wrinkles his little nose in a coy kind of way as he smiles, as if to say, "Oh go on with you, you're making me blush."

And here are some smiles for you lot too, but without the little nose-wrinkly thing - have you any idea how hard it is to get a nine-week baby to hold exactly the right smile long enough for a camera to go click?





And possibly even better than the smiles - well, funnier at any rate - are the looks of utter bewilderment he gives us most of the time. "They're all mad, I tell you, utterly bonkers!"



I have been making copious notes about this tiny person. Some time soon I may bore you all by transcribing them right here. But don't hold your breath. Or at least, not if you have a boob in your mouth.


* Did they have baby chairs in the olden days? When everything was made of wood? I don't think so. But whyever not? It wouldn't have been complicated, and surely babies have always liked watching the world go by. Most weird, if you ask me.


___

Language is Great

Did you know that if you play a tape of a babbling baby to people of different nationalities, they will all believe they can pick out words in their own language? Even when it's one of those weirdo languages full of strange noises?

And there is some kind of instinct that makes a mother repeat all her baby's noises back at it, in a strange kind of copying game that would be intensely annoying if the child were a few years older?

But here's the great bit: it gets filtered through your own knowledge of words and stuff, and this is how your child learns to speak.

"Gurgly," says your baby.

"Google," you say back to it. "A search engine. Quite useful."

"Google," thinks baby. "Yes of course, that's what I meant to say."

"Urble," says baby.

"Purple," says you.

"Oh yes, so it is," thinks baby.

Noam Chomski, eat your heart out.

And yes, I do have the most linguistically advanced baby on the planet, and when he says "ooooh" and "aaaah" and "ga!" it is the sweetest sound there is.

PS. There is a brilliant book called "Billy Brown, Babysitter" which my mum read to me as a child and now reads to my son. And the last line (I think) in the book is "Googly Mama, googly goo." which has a wonderful rhythm and is such a lovely cadence and I say it to my (littlest) son at least five times a day. The other thing I say a lot is "Don't panic, Mr Mainwaring! [pronounced "Mannering" - I know, isn't English ace?]" but most of all I say, "Hello there, Mr. Boodle Doodle Woodle." But I don't know why I'm admitting to that.


___


___

Woof! Eek! Grr!

The cat has her eye on my dinner plate and is hovering outside the room.

The dog decides to take urgent action.

"Woof!"

I am in a breastfeeding stupor in front of Big Brother on the telly. The woof is very not anticipated and I leap several inches in alarm.

"Eek!"

I shriek. It is an inviluntary reaction of shock. It is ear-splitting.

I am shocked by the woof and the eek, and much put out. I shout at the dog in anger.

"Dipsy!"

I bark. It is an angry "bad dog" bark. This is adrenaline x 2. Shock adrenaline followed by anger adrenaline. Stupid dog has disturbed my evening peace, and she knows how I hate it when she barks. And anyway, she should leave the poor cats alone. Although to be fair, they should leave my dinner plate alone.

"Clare!"

barks Him Indoors. He tells me my dog-directed shout was unnecessary. I shouldn't give the dog such a hard time for giving the cats a hard time. He is berating me for berating the dog for berating the cat. He tells me my scream hurt his ears.

"The scream was involuntary! She made me jump!"

I counter. I am defensive, and still shaky from woof-shock adrenaline number one, never mind dog-anger adrenalin number two. I now have leave-me-alone poor-me adrenaline number three buzzing around my system.

The baby starts to cry.

I wonder what's wrong with him, and check his nappy.


___

More Comparisons

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.


___

Baby Comparisons

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.


___

Pics pics pics

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!



___

Birth, Accounted

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

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


___

To Avoid Dissapointments

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...

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

___

The Odd Couple

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...

...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...

...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?

[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 cop