Heaven knows I'm miserable now

It’s safe to say I am thoroughly bloody miserable.

Not only is this baby now nine days overdue but I am throwing up everything again for the second time this week and feel like utter shit.

I’m guessing it’s down to the hormones but I am so fed up I just want this baby out now.

Tuesday’s vomiting episode led to a fever and a trip to the hospital on Wednesday after my blood pressure shot up and we thought I had pre-eclampsia again.

Fortunately, everything settled down and I came back home but after two failed sweeps and the pressure of induction looming over me I am feeling pretty pissed off.

The problem with induction is because I had a caesarean with Arlo, I can’t have a pessary (synthetic prostaglandins which help to ripen the cervix) due to the risk of scar rupture, and so they only way they can induce me is by breaking my waters and then they may put me on a syntocinon drip if my uterus decides it doesn’t want to contract.

But, if they can’t break my waters they will want me to have a caesarean, and the thought of being pumped full of synthetic hormones to make my womb contract fills me with dread.

So far I have refused induction but if I get to 42 weeks on Thursday I know I will get statistics about the risk of still birth hurled at me by the doctors.

The last month of pregnancy has been really bloody hard and I can’t say I’ve enjoyed it all that much.

At 36 weeks Arlo gave me a stomach bug which resulted in me chucking my guts up into a bucket of wallpaper paste, while on my hands and knees, in our bedroom, while Arlo stood next to me shouting: “Mummy be sick. Mummy be sick.”

We live in a tiny Victorian terraced house and our bathroom is a 1960s extension built on to the back of the house downstairs, so I had no choice but to find the nearest receptacle to chuck up in as I couldn’t leave Arlo on his own upstairs while Johnny was having a shower before work.

My feet have been swollen since 36 weeks and my right foot throbs constantly. I can’t get my shoes on without help and walking is painful.

I stopped driving once I got to 40 weeks pregnant as it became too uncomfortable so that limits what we can do at the moment and poor Johnny and Arlo are having to put up with the grumpiest woman in the world at the moment.

I know I must sound ungrateful for what I have. I am not. I know how lucky I am to be having another baby and that when she comes it will be an amazing day. But being heavily pregnant is really fucking hard and at the moment it feels like it will never end.

Passing due dates and mother's guilt

Mother’s guilt is a terrible thing.

It strikes when you least expect it and makes you feel awful, usually for situations which are beyond your control.

I have been having full on attacks of it this week when it comes to Arlo.

I am worried about being in hospital and away from him when baby’s born but more than anything I feel bad about not being able to do what I normally would with him while I am heavily pregnant.

Today is my due date. I have reached that magic number of 40 weeks pregnant but this baby is showing no signs of making an entrance into the world any time soon.

I am shattered, I am uncomfortable, I get out of breath walking up and down the stairs, I waddle when I walk and I feel like I have a bowling ball in between my legs.

None of this is conducive to running around after a toddler.

In the last week I have found getting around more difficult, uncomfortable and at times painful as my pelvis feels like it’s splitting in half.

Fortunately, Arlo is at nursery on Monday and Tuesday and Johnny is at home on a Wednesday which means I don’t have to move around too much. But trying to fill our time on a Thursday and Friday is becoming more of a challenge.

I feel terrible keeping him in when the weather’s so nice but a walk to the park and then lifting him in and out of things is not doable at the moment. I also can’t chase after him if he runs off.

This morning my lovely mother-in-law came to the rescue and entertained him at home for an hour before taking him to the park where he picked me daisies and then put them in my pocket when he got home.

Tomorrow, Johnny is working from home so there will be help there if I need it.

But I am finding it incredibly frustrating not being able to do the things I normally would and although I know Arlo’s fine and happy, it doesn’t stop me from feeling guilty about it.

My mental, raging hormones aren’t helping matters either. In the past week I’ve gone from not wanting to get out of bed, to crying, to snappy, and then back to feeling my usual self.

I know this is all completely normal but I am so tired that I just want this baby out now.

Arlo was already nine days old by the time I reached 40 weeks in my first pregnancy and I had kind of set that as a milestone for this baby’s birth.

Now I am into the unknown and part of me is absolutely terrified about what comes next.

I just have to keep everything crossed (apart from my legs) in the hope that she arrives before next Tuesday when I am booked in to see the midwife and the subject of medical intervention is likely to be top of the agenda.

Twelve days and counting......

There are 12 days to go until my due date.

Although if our daughter arrives when her big brother did then I could be having a baby on Tuesday.

I have written my birth plan (although my midwife keeps telling me to call it a wish list) but I’m yet to pack my hospital bag, or a bag for Arlo, and I really don’t feel like I’m prepared for this one’s arrival at all.

What happened to me when Arlo was born has also been playing on my mind a lot.

A couple of weeks ago I had a huge wobble and sobbed all over Johnny telling him how frightened I was of going through the same thing again, and that I was terrified that I might die leaving him and my children behind.

Johnny just held me and told me that he would be with me every step of the way and that he would not leave my side. He is one of the most incredible people I have ever met and I am so lucky to have him as my husband and the father of my children.

The rational part of my brain knows I can’t let feelings like that overwhelm me, but it still niggles away at times.

I’m planning on a vbac (vaginal birth after caesarean) this time round as I really don’t want to have another section, although I know there’s a 25% chance it could happen.

Fortunately, I have remained healthy so far and I’m continuing to have weekly check-ups with the midwife.

I had a bit of a scare over the Easter weekend when my feet and legs swelled up as this was one of the first signs that something was wrong last time. But after taking myself to hospital and being tested for everything I was given the all clear.

Two weeks on I still have massive sausage feet and my shoes are proving difficult to get on but I know as soon as the baby’s born they’ll return to their normal size.

I’ve also been reflecting on how having a new baby around will affect my relationship with Arlo.

I’ve never spent more than one night away from him at a time so the thought of being in hospital for several days after having this one really worries me.

I love my beautiful boy more than I ever thought it was humanly possible to love another person.

This tiny, mewling baby is placed in your arms and even though you know that you will love them, you don’t know them. It’s like bringing a stranger home with you who cannot do anything for themself.

You are entirely responsible for them, you are exhausted from the birth and you have absolutely no idea whether what you are doing is right or wrong.

You don’t sleep, you barely have time to eat or look after yourself and half the time you don’t even get the chance to brush your teeth or even move off the sofa during those first few shell-shocked weeks.

But one day, you look at your tiny little baby and you realise that you have fallen totally and utterly in love with them, and that you would die for them.

Arlo has grown into a kind, caring, mischievous, lovely little boy. I look at him sometimes and still can’t believe he’s half of Johnny and half of me; that we made this amazing little person. I know Johnny feels exactly the same way.

And now another baby is imminent and I have no idea how I could possibly feel that way about two children. But I know that I will.

Feeling big, but not so beautiful

There is no doubt about it, I am enormous.

At 33 weeks pregnant I am pretty much the same size I was when I gave birth to Arlo at gone 38 weeks.

An estimate at a growth scan last week put her (it’s a girl, curiosity got the better of me) at 4lbs 9oz - with a big head and big stomach - which is both great and terrifying in equal measure.

Great because she is growing well, but terrifying because her brother only weighed 5lbs 15oz when he was born and I wasn’t expecting to carry such a big baby.

People keep telling me I look like I am about to drop or that I must be carrying twins.

The night before Arlo was born

It’s got to the point where as soon as I see them looking at my swollen belly I get in there first and say: “Yes, I know, I’m huge.”

The knock-on effect of this is that I am absolutely shattered and I am struggling to get around.

My pelvis seems to have taken the brunt over the past three or four weeks.

Walking is painful and driving isn’t great either but with a two-year-old to look after it is pretty much impossible to not do any of these things when he is around.

Couple that with having to lift him in and out of his cot, or the bath, or being clambered all over for a cuddle (which is of course lovely), pushing his buggy up one of the steepest hills in Brighton to get home, or taking him to the park, the only time I get to rest is when he goes to bed.

Don’t get me wrong, I love being pregnant, but I had forgotten what a toll it can take on your body during the latter stages.

Thankfully, I only have one week left at work and my boss has been great with taking me off jobs which involve lifting heavy equipment or driving a long way.

Me at 33 weeks pregnant this time round

Other than that we are totally unprepared for this one’s arrival.

Johnny has grand designs on our bathroom which he was planning on ripping out three weeks before my due date.

After much worrying on my part I managed to persuade him to bring it forward a couple of weeks.

Our bathroom is grim and it is the only room we have done nothing with since moving into our house just over a year ago.

The people who sold us our house painted the place from top to bottom with a standard magnolia paint before putting it on the market.

But the stuff they used in the bathroom isn’t waterproof so not only has it run down the walls revealing the poster paint blue colour the bathroom once was, it is also flaking off everywhere.

We are staying with my in-laws while Johnny and his dad wreck the place before putting it back together.

Once we’re back in I’ll be washing tiny vests and babygros which have been packed away for the past two years, waiting for this tiny person who will be living in them.

As for the birth and how a new person will change the dynamic of our family; both have been weighing heavily on my mind as my due date approaches.

But I’ll save that for the next blog.

We're halfway there

My belly popped out a couple of weeks ago.

I finally look pregnant rather than just a bit fat, although the wobbly tummy was still present from having Arlo so I think I’m just glad there is something more firm replacing it for the time being.

On the day I posted my last blog things took a horrible turn.

Johnny and I were about to go out for dinner together for the first time in ages.

His mum had come round to babysit but just as we were about to leave the house I started bleeding.

So instead of going out for dinner we ended up spending our Saturday night in A&E.

It was horrible. The doctor told me there was nothing they could do if I was having a miscarriage and that my only option was to go home and wait to see what happened.

We were given the number for the Early Pregnancy Unit which we phoned the next day after a pretty sleepless night and were told the earliest they could get me in for a scan was Wednesday.

The bleeding was light and intermittent but this didn’t stop all manner of thoughts from running through my head.

Poor Johnny was as worried as I was but was also brilliant throughout, despite having to deal with me sobbing in his arms on more than one occasion.

On the Monday evening he managed to book an appointment at a private clinic and we handed over £60 for a scan that was going to tell us what was going on.

I don’t think I have ever seen him so relieved when we saw the baby wriggling around and a strong heartbeat.

It turns out the bleeding was caused by a blood clot but I can honestly say that was one of the worst 48-hour periods of our lives.

We both work on a Monday which was no bad thing as we had wanted to take our minds off what was going on.

The following day I was stood outside a house in Saltdean waiting for the father of a man who had been killed in Syria to come outside and make a statement to the press, like the previous two days hadn’t happened.

At my 16-week appointment I got to hear the baby’s heartbeat for the first time which was lovely.

I’ve also had an appointment with the obstetrician at the Royal Sussex about my care plan because of what happened to me last time.

I am now taking baby aspirin every day to reduce the risk of pre-eclampsia. I also have to have another scan at 32 weeks to monitor the baby’s growth, see the obstetrician at the hospital once a month, have extra midwife appointments and my blood pressure is being monitored every week.

Looks like I am going to be in and out of the hospital and the children’s centre a lot but it’s good to know they are monitoring me so closely as I don’t want a repeat of Arlo’s birth.

At least I know what to look out for this time which will give me a head start if I think anything is wrong.

My legs and feet were so swollen from seven months of pregnancy that I couldn’t wear any of my shoes and even though I was showing no other symptoms of pre-eclampsia that early, in hindsight I think this was probably the start of it.

Tomorrow is our 20-week scan and I’m looking forward to seeing the baby again.

Johnny wants to find out the sex but I am still undecided as to whether I want to know.

I really hope curiosity doesn’t get the better of me but I’m not so sure it won’t.

Baby number two

We are having another baby!

It took 13 months but we got there and our second little miracle is on its way.

I had almost given up hope that it was going to happen again.

We started trying when Arlo was 10 months old as I knew it might take a while, but month after month I felt that pang of disappointment when it didn’t happen.

Couple that with friends announcing that they were pregnant for a second time and it just compounded my feelings of failure.

There were times when I felt I was being selfish and ungrateful because I already have a healthy, happy, beautiful little boy.

But the urge to have another child was overwhelming; exactly as it had been before I found out I was pregnant with Arlo.

So when my period was a couple of days late towards the end of August I tried to not hold on to that tiny bit of hope that the unobtainable might actually have happened.

Three days after that I bit the bullet and decided to buy a pregnancy test.

We had been away at my dad’s for the weekend and stopped at the supermarket on the way home. 

I put two bottles of beer and a bottle of rose into my shopping basket and when I got to the till I asked the cashier for two pregnancy tests.
My unusual shopping combo got me a bit of a strange look.

When we arrived home I told Johnny that if the test was negative I would be drinking all the booze.

The test took less than a minute to tell me I was pregnant – between four and five weeks pregnant – and although I still wanted to drink all the booze to celebrate, I couldn’t.

But I didn’t care and it didn’t matter because we had formed a new little life.

I did the second pregnancy test four days later, just to make sure.

Pregnancy so far has been very different this time round. To start with I’ve actually known about it from the start!

I have felt so rough. I have had nausea, I’ve had sickness and I have been so incredibly tired.

Not sleep deprivation tired, that’s the sort of tired which makes you a bit mad.

Just physically feeling like I’ve got nothing left to give, which you can’t let get the better of you when you’re working three days a week and entertaining a toddler for the rest of that time.

Arlo also gave me a cold which turned into something flu-like when I was about nine weeks pregnant which put me in bed for four days.

The sickness seemed to peak at about 10/11 weeks and I had a few mornings leading up to that where I had to pull over on the A27 several times, while driving to jobs, and puke at the roadside.

Carrying a sick bag around in your car for emergencies is not particularly glamorous.

I am now just over 13 weeks pregnant and feeling better than I was.

We had our scan last week and everything was fine, which was a relief.

As daft as it sounds I was worried I’d turn up and there wouldn’t be a baby in there at all!

But there it was, a tiny human being measuring 5.1cm from crown to rump, wriggling all over the place, its little heart beating.

It’s just got a fair bit of growing to do before we meet him or her at the end of April.

When it comes to giving birth, does normal exist?

Hello!


After a hiatus of more than 18 months I've decided to pick this blog up again.
Life in general, what with a toddler, work and all the other things going on, means I have let this slide.
But I love to write and so I am going to try to be more disciplined about posting from now on.
What prompted me was a request from Milli Hill, the founder of the Positive Birth Movement, about why many women are made to feel that they have failed if they do not give birth in the "natural" way.
Here is the piece I wrote and below is the link to Milli's article which uses some of what I have written.


I think I had preconceptions of what I wanted my birth to be long before my son was born.
I carried him for nine months and I wanted to work hard to bring him into the world, so when it didn't go to plan and I had to have an emergency caesarean I felt like I had failed as a woman.
Giving birth is like a right of passage. I was so sick when my son was born that I had to have a C-section under a general anaesthetic. I don't remember much about the day he was born, I don't remember feeding him for the first time, I don't remember photos being taken even though I have seen them a thousand times since.
His birth was never going to be easy. He was a stubborn breech baby who refused to turn despite me spending hours on all fours, going to the hospital for an ECV and finally trying moxibustion in the hope it might help.
Despite this I refused to book in for a C-section and had a long chat with the head of midwives about having a natural breech birth.
Fortunately, she was extremely supportive of my decision so I knew when the time came the labour ward would be ready for me.
But it was not meant to be. The day after my 38-week appointment I started to feel poorly and when my baby stopped moving as much two days later I thought I should go to the hospital to make sure everything was ok.
This is the part I find bittersweet.
Of course I am glad I went when I did because if I hadn't neither my son or I would be here today. I was diagnosed with pre-eclampsia which turned into HELLP after he was born. I was extremely ill and almost died.
My son's oxygen levels were also borderline when he was born and I subsequently found out that if he hadn't been born when he was he would've become hypoxic and would either have been severely brain damaged or dead.
But once the initial shock of what had happened to me wore off and I was back at home following a lengthy spell in hospital I began to grieve for the birth I'd been denied, the birth I felt had been taken away from me.
Even now I tell people I've made my peace with it, but in all honesty I'm not sure I ever will.
My rational brain knows that what happened was the only thing that could have happened at the time. But the devil on my shoulder tells me I'm not a proper woman because I didn't give birth in the "natural" way.
Having spoken to other women who have undergone an emergency C-section I know I am not alone in feeling this way.
I think there is a lot of pressure on women to have a birth without any medical intervention whatsoever.
Of course this is what I would have liked but even 50 years ago a woman in my situation would most probably have died without it.
I think the pressure to give birth naturally quite often comes, unintentionally, from other women, from our mothers, from the women you see giving birth on TV, but mostly I think it comes from the high expectation we have of ourselves.
So although I am sad I did not get the birth I wanted, I am blessed because I have a beautiful son and a scar which I will always wear with pride.


http://www.bestdaily.co.uk/your-life/blog/a591011/natural-birth-plans-why-do-epidurals-and-caesareans-feel-like-a-failure.html