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