To All The Mummies Still Waiting For Their Babies

Many months ago on an episode of One Born Every Minute an expectant father described his wife as being a mother without a child and that she would mother any child (and a few adults too) that she came into contact with. My husband turned to me and said "that's you, that's how you were".

The ability and kindness to care for any child in your life is a wonderful trait to have but it can also be something of a curse. Being an aunt, whether it be via family or friendship (what I call an aunty by acquaintance), gives you a quick fix but it doesn't fill that void in your heart.

Those of you that are regular readers will know I have now been lucky enough to blessed with a baby and therefore, parenthood. I am 22 months in and literally love every moment. Don't get me wrong there are some really bad days, shitty days (literally),  but when I climb into bed I feel forever blessed by the little ginger's presence.

Live Lagom - Living Sustainably - I Recycle, What More Can I Do??

If someone had said to me a couple of years ago "what do you think about living sustainably?", I'd have honestly have said it was a crock of poop! I recycle, what more can I do?

Push, Drag, Stitches

So, my waters have gone. It's official. I am in labour. The midwife has a look and confirms it's my waters and I haven't wet myself. Within a few minutes I am on the bed and having a drip but into my hand. I'm told it's to speed my labour up and to begin with it's fine. A midwife will now be with me for the duration and my husband goes off to get some lunch, as the midwife rigs me up to my friend, the monitor.

When he comes back the midwife tells him how well I'm doing and we chat among ourselves. Then the drip strength is doubled and the pain is stronger and quicker. Then it's doubled again and it's bad. The midwife times the contractions and they are lasting far to long with too little a break. I can't breathe. I need the loo. I'm going to be sick and then, well then, it all goes blurred and dark.

The Time Has Come

This is it. I have been admitted to hospital and all being well I shall leave with a baby in my arms.

My husband brings in my case and helps me settle in but once he's gone I feel lonely. Lonely and scared. The midwife has pulled everyone's cubical curtains back so I hope to spark up a conversation but it's not to be. The other expectant mums pull them back round and continue to talk on their phones.

Just after ten I am told it's time for lights out but as the doctor has said I should go back on the monitor and have a sweep I ask the midwife when this will be done. She tells me there's nothing on my notes and walks off.  Half an hour later I am woken by a tapping on my shoulder. The midwife is back with the machine I am now best friends with and tells me I need to go back on the monitor. It's like our earlier conversation never even happened! Bean's shuffling starts and I am on the monitor until gone one in the morning. There's no mention of a sweep being done and when I'm finally off the machine I'm left to settle down to sleep but I barely do. I toss and turn. Sit up and lie down. I am worried. I'm a bit scared. I'm lying, I'm bloody terrified! I want my husband. I want my baby. I want to go home.

The final countdown

So here I am again, wired up and lying on a hospital bed. Oh joy. I'm on and off for an hour as the baby keeps shuffling away from the monitor. I get a break when I'm sent for a scan and am greeted by the same midwife as before. She explains the scan will be the same as before, with measurements taken and the baby's movements being checked. The midwife makes a start and I quickly hear the baby's heartbeat but as I look at the large screen on the wall one thing is clear. The baby isn't moving at all.

After nearly twenty minutes of being scanned the midwife calmly tells me that the baby is probably asleep. She suggests I go back out to the waiting area and drink some ice cold water from the water cooler. The midwife shows me out of the room and calmly closes the door. I put my bags down and as I shuffle past the other expectant parents. I see her go at speed across the waiting area and into a side room. I see her outline through the frosted glass of the office and can see her on the phone. When the midwife calls me back in she tries to reassure me as much as possible but it doesn't work.

Spring 2014

So here I am between 34 and 35 weeks pregnant, sitting on a bed in the labour suite of the local hospital, legs akimbo and a light being shone up, well, you know where!

After an uncomfortable few minutes I am told my cervix is closed, which is a good sign. I am sent home and told to return the next day for more monitoring and another scan. I am exhausted but the thought of my husband or Mum packing my things prompts me to stay up a little longer and throw together my hospital bag.

The next morning I decide to go into work before my appointment at the hospital. My boss is really understanding and has already told me not to go in but I really don't want to leave them in a mess. I try and creep in but the waddle in my walk and the large bump give me away. I promptly get an almighty bollocking for going in, which looking back is well deserved! I do the bits needed and one of my colleagues, commonly known as my work wife makes me a drink. I'm not sure which is more of a miracle, the fact I am pregnant or that she has made a drink! I feel quite tearful as I leave and my work wife has to turn away as we sniffle our goodbyes.