The really early miscarriage.

A few weeks ago Daniel and I had the BEST news and we were quick to share it with our friends and loved ones. Some would say too quick.

I was brought up with the old adage, 'Don't count your chickens before they hatch!' and never was there a more fitting situation..

But why not? Aren't we always talking about the power of positivity? What is the point in preparing for the worst all the time? Focus on the good I say. That will generate even more good. It didn't in this case though.

And it was just bad luck.

Actually no - scratch that! I don't think it was just bad luck. I think what happened was what was supposed to happen. Daniel held my hand tightly on the morning while the miscarriage was happening. His disappointment was too strong to mask. But it wasn't directed at me. To me he said something quite sickeningly beautiful and perfect, like,

"Baby, I trust in you and your body implicitly and if this is happening to us, then your body knows something we don't."

My own disappointment in myself was pretty unbearable at the time. I totally blamed myself then, and ~ let's face it ~ I still do a bit now. And, well, shit... I didn't WANT to hear anything logical or reasonable. I may have been laying dry-eyed, silent and motionless, with my thighs squeezed tightly together, desperately hoping gravity could circumvent the miscarriage, but on the inside I was jumping up and down screaming "GIVE ME MY BABY BACK!!!"

Because to me he already was my baby. And he already had a name. And I had already figured out the sleeping arrangements, and I knew exactly how many years beneath his big sister and brothers in school he would be. He wasn't a fetus or a cluster of cells dividing. He was my fourth.

And I had FELT him growing inside of me for two weeks.

Time is an incomprehensible thing. So much can happen and so much can change in the blink of an eye. Our time on this Earth is fleeting - whether we live to be 2 or 102 ~ and in the whole scheme of things, that baby DID had a lifespan, albeit a really really short one.

But let's get real here....

>>>>If I hadn't taken a test I might have had a delayed period and might never have known.

>>>>This happens to at least 1 in 5 women out there....

>>>>There's every chance this was a chemical pregnancy ~ or a phantom pregnancy ~ and there might NEVER have been a baby there in the first place.

All meaning WHAT exactly?

Am I not allowed to grieve?
Does any of  that make this sadness less real?

I think that if I'm honest with myself there's a big part of me that believes I am not even entitled to be disappointed. I look at my three little wonders of the world and I am so eternally grateful for them.

And there's this nagging voice inside my head... How can you ask for more? HOW. DARE. YOU.? 

'This is what you get for being greedy.........'

I know better than to listen, I do. But it still hurts though.

taking it one day at a time.

Wednesday 1/23/2013

I've been holding off blogging about our norovirus. I'd figured I'd wait 'til I was feeling well again, before I gave you all an inappropriate run down of this last week's nastiness.

Suddenly I'm no longer game for oversharing.

My norovirus miraculously recovered two evenings ago when my hubs mentioned he was concerned about Little Miss D's soft spot. I guess you could say I've been quite literally scared shitless ever since..

Time heals all wounds. So they say.

A year ago today I wrote this post, It was my fourth day blogging and the fourth blog post I ever wrote:

Heavy heart, 14th January 2012

Well today has been pretty trying. And I'm just a bystander to a tragedy. As a Mom I can tell you that the most horrific notion that springs to mind is the loss of a child. So today I've held my boys close, and thanked my lucky stars that I have them and can know them.

I went to the grocery store the other day and.....

Today I'm linking up with Kate over at Can I get Another Bottle of Whine with My Morning Quiet Time? and Janine of Confessions of a Mommyaholic. Last night these two ladies kicked off a fun new Friday finish the sentence blog link-up, which I knew about a week ago then subsequently forgot about until last night, when all my wonderfully witty bloggy friends started publishing their hilarious posts and I hadn't even begun writing mine.

It's always good to get in early on these link-ups, but whatever. I've been typing away furiously during the kids' nap time just so as not to miss the boat on this one. Hence the lack of a 'fuck' filter. If you are in anyway offended by the over-usage of the word fuck navigate the F*** away now.

This image has absolutely nothing to do with my post,
except for the grocery store theme. L-boy is sporting
his very first shoplifted (whoops!) woolly hat. Aww, bless. 

The LAST baby wipe!

a visit to McDonald's makes your day!

We took the kids to an indoor 'park' at McDonald's the other day. This was new 'play' territory for the boys. They're already familiar with three other McDonald's in the Austin area...

I know, I KNOW! I can see all you nutrition police out there paling at the prospect of yet another mother and her brood succumbing to those evil Golden Arches.

But it doesn't matter what anyone says, it's good value, and we always have an AWESOME time! AND - believe it or not - we're finding food options that Mommy can make-believe are healthy!

Check this out for the kids breakfast...

feeling trim?

Thanksgiving turkey is still working its way through my system and we've already got the trees up - two of them.

This decorating malarkey is getting out of control.

The rest of the house is half-way trimmed up too - but Momma still has a lot of work to do. I'm going for super sparkly and garish this year!

A bit like this British pub:

You don't think it's too much?

Growing consideration....

While the full brood are snoozing (the boys, top-and-tailing on the couch, and baby girl, in her bouncy chair under the desk with a little help from some foot bouncing), I think I'll take a moment to brag on the boys.

I don't do enough bragging. After all - don't want anyone thinking I've got a big head or anything. But, today I feel the need to shout it from the roof tops "My boys are frigging AWESOME!"

So sweet it's sickening!

It was 6:00 in the morning when I finally succumbed to the inevitable, after a restless few hours drifting in and out of sleep. 

I'd hoped I'd get through the nausea without chundering. I knew it would make me feel better (at least in the short term) to expel all the nasty stuff out of my tummy, but it's sort of like that first pee of the night when you're out on the lash. Once you've broken the seal you're back in the lav every five minutes or so after that.

The urge to spew my guts up into the bucket stationed beside the couch had been successfully suppressed for three hellacious hours, but now my time was up.

Patience lost

Our mornings are supposed to start at 7:00am - but that's a rarity. 6:30am is about as late as it gets.

Daddy and the boys eat brekkie at the table around 7:00am, while baby girl guzzles her breakfast down in Momma's bed. The boys can see and hear Momma and their baby sister over the video monitor.

After breakfast all the boys come and join the girls - armed with a coffee for Momma. 

That's my official handover, and the start of  FULL parental duties...  I'm not exactly clocked off during the night....

Getting the green light for some red light action!

*sigh.

What a fiasco that final trip to the OB/Gyn office turned out to be!

I'd debated (in my head) about whether or not the postpartum visit would be worth the gas money or even the stress of taking baby girl out on a car ride exceeding 15 minutes!

It was already paid for, so why the hell not, was the winning argument of the debate. Oh yeah, that - and the minor issue of birth control, which cropped up last week following a Crimson Tide!

Incidentally, NONE of my babies have liked being in the car - so much for short-cutting bedtime with a drive around the village.

Anyway, after lots of shushing, key jangling, car seat wiggling and only ONE stop - we pulled up at the OBs right on time (4:00pm).

no use crying over SPIT milk!

Our first few weeks home with baby sister were a breeze - easy peasy lemon squeezy (don't forget the mac 'n cheesy!) 

Then I had to go and open my BIG mouth, and start bragging to the hubs about how I had this newborn malarkey down pat. 

*sigh. Silly Momma!

The weeks of squirming, gassy, I-can-scream-like-a-banshee baby that followed this over-confident bluster, serves Momma right! 

Please DON'T spew on my Moby!

Enter the dawn of a new (baby wearing, ball bouncing) era - MOBY Mommadom ..... but that's a whole other blog in itself! 

The moment where typical third (i.e. best behaved) baby evolved into the 'baddest' baby on the block (or at least in the Bisett household) was somewhere around day ten.

I'm not logging each day's events down in a journal or anything like that - remember, this is our THIRD baby - I just recall asking our pediatrician about it at her two week wellness check.

OK, I know. I've said this before; What Mother would refer to her own baby as the 'baddest'?

How to get both boyZzzz in bed by 7:00pm.....

It's pretty easy really - in theory. We just have to keep big kid (our almost three year old) up all day long.

But in practice it turns out it's not all that easy after all.

Go figure?

He's the one that came up with the whole nap elimination idea in the first place! His nap 'resistance' started about a week or so ago...

Our 17 month old had already crashed out in his stroller - magic pop in hand - as per usual. I led big kid to his room to lay down on his 'Choo Choo' bed to recharge his batteries - when he started to protest.

"No naptime Momma. Not today Mom - not today!"

Putting him down in the daytime has been a doddle in the past - in fact he's often taken himself to his room around lunchtime and crashed out on his train bed without a word to us.

It came as a bit of a surprise then, when, after reading a story, tucking him in tight, and closing his door, the little scamp started to get up to mischief in his room.

let's hear it for the boys!

Our 17 month old 'baby' boy cuddling his newborn baby sis. 

After "Is she a good baby?"....

(She's a wonderful baby - of course! Aren't all babies 'good' babies? I can't imagine any Mommy actually saying 'Oh no she's bad... really very baaad!') 

and "How's Momma doing?" (Sore hooch, actually... thanks for asking... Oh, TMI? Well then why did you ask?)

The next big question on everybody's lips is:

"What do those big brothers think of their baby sis?"

I was pretty sure easy going big kid - our almost 3 year old - would handle baby sis's arrival no bother. The little 'un though - our 17 month old 'baby' - I was a little more concerned about.

Up until a couple of days before the birth he'd been my all night snuggle buddy. And his name had been 'baby' (y) ever since he was born. (Our firstborn was 'baby' (x) also, even though he had no bigger siblings - lots of older cuz's though - Momma just likes the 'baby' prefix).

Dropping the prefix 'baby' has been a big step for all of us.

Our newborn daughter 'baby' (z), has now picked up the prefix, and middle kid loves LOVES calling her 'baby'. He's got the word and the sign down pat!

Whereas before he'd enter the room and point at me in glee exclaiming "Momma!", Mommy may now just as well be chopped liver. He only has eyes for 'baby' - well, unless Kitty Cat is in the room.

Our timing with the kitten couldn't have been more perfect. We've seen a nurturing side develop in middle kid (I really need to think of better kid code names) over just a few short weeks.

He picks that kitty up and carries it all over the house, and the eager look in his eyes when he approaches baby sis makes Mommy a little nervous.

Kitty's getting a little quick for him. Baby sis is ripe for the picking up!

But as sweet and loving as he may seem, the 'Hyde' in him can come out of nowhere at anytime - so I have to watch him like a hawk. His behavioral pattern is pretty random:

Baby (y) kissing baby (z)

kiss, stroke, WHACK!

kiss, kiss, WHACK!

kiss,stroke, pat, kiss, kiss, stroke..... going good...

"Aww, what a good big brother....!"

WHACK!

Don't worry, he hasn't made contact.... yet. He gives the rest of the family including poor Kitty Cat the same tough love treatment, so it's nothing personal. It just has Mommy on eggs.

She'll be a tough 'un for sure!

I find though, that the more cuddles he's allowed with his baby sis the gentler and more helpful he is. He just handed Momma a wad of wipes - like 15 - and a swim diaper when he saw me changing her.

OK, so neither were needed, but any 'help' from my 17 month old is very much appreciated!

Our eldest holding his baby sister.

Big big brother is brilliant with both his siblings. He has the patience of a saint with little bro, and he loves holding his baby sis.

"She's sooo cute!" is one of his current catch phrases. One I find particularly endearing when he uses it to refer to Mommy!

He gently cuddles, strokes and kisses baby sister all the time.

Incredibly we've had no jealous tantrums - not a one - due to Mommy spending so much time with baby. Their maturity, and acceptance in my telling them "Mommy can't right now" is mind blowing. I'm so proud of them.

I think Mommy is feeling the rift more than the boys are.

*Sob... They barely miss me!

OK, so I know that's not true. But they've quickly gotten over their sad bereft moments that inevitably surface every now and then when Mommy's not around.

It has so much to do with Daddy being on summer vacation and all our fabulous friends and family rallying around us. The boys have had a blast over the past week.- particularly while we were in the hospital!

With all the extra attention and activities there's been no time to really miss Momma.

Even at night- they've been so shattered - not snuggling Momma hasn't been too much of an issue....

When everything gets back to 'normal' - whatever normal is - that will be the real test of their willingness to share Mommy with the pink clad cuckoo in the nest.

I've definitely noticed a quiet concern for Mommy - and baby sis - in big kid. He's been privy to all the Mommy's-having-a-baby conversations, and I think he got the gist of it all as best an almost-three-year old can:

Mommy needs to see the Doctor............Mommy is sick.................
Baby sis is coming out of Mommy's tummy...........
Mommy has a boo boo..........Mommy can't pick up big kid or little bro.......
Baby sis wants Momma's milk...

His incredible understanding of it all and his care and concern for Momma makes my heart clench.

Our middle 'baby' pointing at baby sis
 and exclaiming "Baby!"

When they all arrived at the hospital on Tuesday morning to meet baby sis I was desperate for my boy cuddles. Those 14 hours had been the longest I'd ever been away from either of them.

Little brother is definitely a snuggler, but he only cuddles on his time, so I was lucky to get a brief squeeze before he wanted down.

My big kid, however, wanted nothing to do with me.

That was hard to swallow. I thought perhaps he was miffed that I hadn't been around.

I tried hard not to be concerned about it and thought if I gave him some space he'd get over it.

Both boys were really excited about meeting baby sis though. They fawned over her with delighted squeals of "Soo cute!" (our big kid) and "baby!" (our former baby).

When big kid was asked if he wanted to take little sis home with him he looked genuinely horrified.

"No! Baby needs to be with Doctor!" He patiently explained to us all.

Eventually he agreed to sit in front of me on the bed.

"Hi baby," I said to big kid (I know... confusing, right? But he's still my baby after all!)

"Hi Mommy," he said (he likes it when I call him baby)

I put my arms around him and kissed his temple. He leaned back against me and patted my leg before asking tentatively.

"You OK Mommy?" followed shortly by "Are you sick Mommy?". I reassured him that I was OK. He pointed to the band-aid where my hep-lock had been.

"What's this?" After I told him it was a boo boo he leaned over and kissed it.

He's my angel baby.

Big kid softly stroking baby sister's head.

We've had a handful of similar heart clenching exchanges since the birth. He always asks if baby sis is OK too. Especially when he sees that she's missing from my arms.

Then the other night I leaned in to tuck him in and kiss him good night and lighting fast his little arms wound around my neck tight and he wouldn't let go. He whispered the same few questions over to me.

I swear it just about broke Momma's heart. He had missed me - but more than that - he was afraid to lose me again.

We all accompanied baby sis to see the pediatrician yesterday afternoon, and our big brave kid was a little perturbed to be hearing the word 'Doc' once again. Still trying to figure the world out, he put two and two together and made cinco.

On his way out of the Doctor's office he didn't want to go on ahead to the car with Daddy and leave Mommy behind to settle up. A momentary panic set in.

"You coming too, right Mommy?" He cried out in alarm.

"Right angel."

My boys couldn't have handled the arrival of baby sis any better. In fact, they've both come along leaps and bounds in the short week that baby girl has been in their world. I swear they both grew 12 inches while I was in the hospital - but of course we've got a new(born) point of reference now...

*Sniff.... Neither of my baby boys are babies anymore.

They are protectors now and I know they'll do a great job taking care of and watching over baby sis - even if that means roughing her up and getting her ready for the real world!

Our little lady is the luckiest little sister in the world, after all, no one messes with a girl with two big brothers!

This is it!

Apparently our little girl has all the patience in the world, until it runs out - which it finally did on Monday night at precisely 7:26pm.

After another disappointing day of Braxton-Hicks or early labour... or something, it was all looking like just another false-start....

She'd woken me up atrociously early that morning - at 3:30am - same drill as the week before (see What a load of BH!). 

This time it felt more real though. I know, I said it felt real the last time too. But this time it really did.

By 5:00am I'd gotten confident enough in the credibility of my contractions to wake Daddy. Of course he got straight down to the business of counting cramps. He pulled up the app on his Ipod and left me in charge of clicking while he started prepping bags... just in case.

The pain wasn't debilitating - just really frequent and uncomfortable - so I set to work sticking girly girl decals onto baby girl's bedroom wall.

....all very last minute, I know.

I hadn't planned on doing anything too girly with the house - hell, our girl wasn't even getting her own room - until last week. Much like her Momma she'd be 'happy' bunking in with the boys!

With two big bros, we'd be rearing a tractor riding, train driving tomboy for sure - what would she need a pinkified princess parlour for?

What poppycock!

I don't know where my down-playing nay-saying side comes from. We don't need to make a fuss...? Silly Momma. There's no hiding from the big fat fuss we're all going to be making of this precious girly!

Danni Minogue's This time I know it's the real thing was playing on repeat in my head - and I couldn't help singing and dancing to the beat, all the while obediently tapping Daddy's app every two and a half minutes.....

But by the time the boys awoke a little before 8:00am - over 4 hours after 'first pain' - nothing had progressed.

Damn it! I'd been so sure again. So much for Momma's intuition! I was supposed to be snuggling a newborn by then!

My measly contractions were still super close and very regular, but totally bearable. No pain - no gain! Nothing had changed. 

I stopped singing.

De ja vu reared its ugly head and I called off the dogs - well at least Daddy (aka the contraction warden).

I soon discovered I had it in my power to stop and start these confusing contractions. If I sat down they slowed to a ten minute frequency with less force than a fart! If I walked they continued in the same vein as they had been all morning.

So I walked and walked for hours - up and down in the cabin - until I could walk no more.

I headed to the bathroom for a 'pee' stop and some pinkish gloop caught my eye... Ta Da! So that's what a mucus plug looks like?

Perhaps we did have lift off - sort of.

My aching bod cried out for relief, so I sunk into the bath - nature's epidural don't they say? It definitely slow timed my waning waves of pain even further - and it helped sooth my legs after all that waste-of-time walking. 

It's tricky to describe my comfort level after my bath. It felt like the pause button had been tapped mid-mild contraction. 

I was in constant pain - but very bearable - I pondered that all that walking under the weight of an almost full term tyke - had pushed my paunch muscles to the max, and my constant contraction was maybe just really tired and tight tummy muscles.

Walking didn't re-trigger the mornings' contractions , but every now and then I'd feel a cramping wave. I stopped timing them though - I'd had well enough of Daddy's app - and the ensuing disappointment when the numbers didn't come up trumps!  

Fortuitously, I had my weekly prenatal check-up that afternoon - can you believe I made it to yet another prenatal check?

I had to call late morning - once I conceded to myself that we'd actually be making it - to find out the appointment time (3:10pm). I hadn't paid any attention when I'd scheduled it - I'd been so sure we wouldn't need it. 

I felt a couple of contractions on the way. We were still maybe a 'go' - and maybe not. 

By the time I'd peed in a cup, and been weighed and rambled on about my 'false starts' and fake contractions to the nurse - the Doc deemed me a generous 3cm dilated! Yay for progress! My cervix had opened a whopping 1.5 centimeters since last week.

Two full-on mornings of Braxton-Hicks hadn't all been for nothing after all. But what slow progress - especially compared to the boys. It wasn't boding well for the speedy labour I'd been hoping for.   

I proudly relayed that I'd discovered my mucas plug in my pants that morning - meanwhile I was having another one of those silly contractions while sitting on the Doc's bench...

Of course all this didn't mean anything. The upshot was: It could happen anytime now..

*sigh. Well we already knew that. 

I made another 'bogus' appointment for next Monday. 

We drove home via HEB - I wanted to stock up the fridge - just in case the baby really was coming. Hindsight is 20-20, and it's easy to look back on the timing and realize (now) that I was having pretty regular and reasonably 'real' contractions by this time. I guess every 15 minutes or so.

Some might even say I was in labour.....

I recall at least two in the supermarket - the second one being pretty painful forcing me to lean over the trolley - while Daddy dawdled over ice-cream! Then there was another on the drive back.

When we got home we relieved our babysitting crew - Daddy's aunts - and Papa made a popping chili for a famished Momma.

At 6pm I recklessly wolfed down the biggest bowl of hot beans and mince. I resisted a second helping - thank God for that.

I reported the Doc's dilation results on Facebook - only realizing in the aftermath it read like I was already in the throes of labour. Looking back, perhaps I was....

Daddy took the dogs and the boys out for an evening walk. I was so convinced we wouldn't be meeting her that night. I told the hubs I'd walk out to meet him after making some courtesy calls - another walk couldn't hurt right?

It was sometime after 7pm when I called our close friend and stand-in birth buddy to give her an update as to the day's dalliance. Afterwards I called our night baby-sitting crew putting them on 'low' alert (mobiles by the bed).

It was during that second call - while talking to (one of) my Mother-in-laws - that I felt the first 'real' one. It shut me up, just for a few short seconds. My MIL noticed too - Momma doesn't shut-up too often.

I rang off and rapidly started racking the dishes. The kitchen was a wreck! What would the hubs' folks think were they to come over that night?

The next contraction - a mere two minutes later - had me doubled over at the dishwasher. I remember the oven clock reading 7:26....... then 7:29........ then 7:31. Time to summons Daddy.

They were coming fast and strong now.

I started out to fetch Daddy - bad idea - I didn't even make it as far as the deck gate before doubling over in agony. It probably wasn't the smartest idea heading out into the countryside anyway - at least so close to the end....

I retreated back inside to hunt down my philanderous phone. It was right there on the table - thank God for small miracles!

Daddy was at the door on the double and at my command calling in all the forces ASAP. I continued laboring while loading dirty dishes.

This was it!

These were contraction contractions. I'd fortuitously forgotten how merciless this pain was! Daddy loaded the car while I staggered around the house watching over the boys and waiting for back-up. They were bounding all over the house feeding off the excited 'baby's coming' energy.

The next twenty minutes or so was agonizingly slow - and the thought occurred that I really wasn't going to make it to the hospital. We were going to be on TV.

Birth partner and babysitters rocked up soon after, and in an attempt to accelerate an arduously long hand-over (minutes can feel like hours in full blown labor) I staggered out to the car hoping the hubs would follow quick-suit.

Save for groaning in primal pain - I didn't know how more subtly to get us moving to the hospital... stat.

Meanwhile Daddy was relaying dog feeding instructions....

I might be birthing a baby in the backseat, on the side of the highway, in 15 minutes - but at least the dogs wouldn't go hungry!

As soon as we got buckled in the two minute contractions stopped. Three minutes passed. WTF? The car ride had stopped them - then bam! After four minutes - holy cow! The pain was intensifying - and what a relief!

I wanted to have this baby. I was ready - more than ready - to bring this wee lady into the world!

'I fuckin' hate that triage room!' was all I could think during the car ride. That's the room they monitor for 'real' cases. The monitoring takes so long, while they 'make' you sit still! And sitting still slows it all down...

Daddy dropped me at the door and went off to park the car. I had to stop for three contractions while crossing the lobby - then another in the lift.

He overtook me somewhere on the maternity ward floor - racing past piled up with bags and a birthing ball.

I could here him hurriedly announcing to the nurse on attendance "She's coming - call the Doc, as soon as her waters break the baby's coming!"

Normally no self respecting neo-natal nurse will pay two hoots to panicky Papas. But this Papa was a seasoned pro.

All nurses eyes were on me as I slowly stepped into the ward.

I could see a flicker of recognition in Nurse Beverley's eyes. We'd bypassed triage!

Third baby status had finally given us the preggo-cred that all rookie parents rightly deserve! We should have had it right from the get-go three years back when boyo number one made his surprisingly speedy entrance!

Of course it had nothing to do with the ward being deserted - and a whole host of nurses desperate for some baby action!

My previous hospital experiences have all been up to par. There's been the odd complaint here or there - but this time they really listened. Mommy drove the show - once the admission and red-tape had been unraveled that was.

The only show-stopping question was "Do you want your water breaking?" What craziness were they talking - that's usually the highlight of my labours!

A quick "No interventions!" barked from Momma headed that one off. They hadn't been able to pull my birth plan from the system - but it didn't matter. I was clear and coherent enough to get this job done. I just needed someone to catch.

I regretted getting into my hospital gown the second it was on. It's hard to hold on to your dignity with just your arse cheeks bared. Better to go full frontal nude and butt-ass naked in my book!

Its press studs had been unprepped and after a few moments feeling like a fool the nurse created arm holes and clipped me in.

I was still in that 'I'd prefer to walk around in the nudie but don't want to look like an exhibitionist' place - so the pain had obviously not reached the 'I don't give a shit anymore' level. That happened a few minutes later.

One particularly irritating man was hung-up on my social security number - I didn't know the digits.

I was naked by then - I remember getting hot and yanking off my gown. My birthing buddy protected my modesty without me barely realizing it (thanks lady).

Nurse Bev handled him. I vaguely remember him hovering around while I was sitting naked and contracting on the bed... grubby penny pinching - pen pushing - perv he was!

I told him I was British - hence incapable of remembering a social security number.

Once they'd done their checks, drawn blood, gotten the hep-lock tapped into my vein and listened to baby, my endurance and patience for sitting had run its course. I tried to scoot off the bed, but the monitoring equipment held me hostage.

I was so desperate to stand I remember almost growling "Get these off me!" as I yanked fruitlessly at the monitoring pads strapped to my tum. Nurse Bev to the rescue - made short work of removing the straps and I was finally free to stand!

In spite of the brutal contractions I'd still been a 'don't panic we're only halfway there' 5cm - but both Daddy and I knew better. And thankfully Nurse Bev knew better too.

The hubs overheard her dismissing the second-in-command's suggestion to wait to call the Doc after they'd checked my uterus. Mercifully the Doc was on sight before we knew it.

I stood clinging to Daddy as the standing contractions coursed through my entire being, picking the pace up  a notch or two - it was back on like Donkey Kong!

I limped to the bathroom, sitting gratefully on the potty. I peed and farted - cursing my chilli gourge less than two hours earlier. I was going to be shitting and farting this lady out for sure.

The embarrassing notion soon paled in significance after a few paralyzing contractions on the can obliterated all but pain from my mind. Daddy helped me back on my feet and out into the room.

Sex in the City season 4 finale!
Miranda's waters breaking over Carrie's beloved shoes! 

By this time I was leaning heavily into the hubs feeling those bubble bursting contractions shake down through me.

I 'secreted' my waters to break, which they did - this time directly down - all over Daddy's $5 treasured thrift store Chacos!

Not quite the same league as Carrie's pricey pink ruffled Louboutin shoes that get showered in Miranda's waters - but just as precious to Papa!

Daddy's cheeky Chacos...

Carrie's legendary Louboutins!

Later Daddy told me he'd been secreting it too.

I vaguely recall the Doc and nurses engaged in a tete-a-tete regarding the plan of action - some nonsense about checking me again, after all I was still only 5cm and pretty posterior.. blah blah

I almost laughed out loud as I felt her moving down my uterus and I uttered those inevitable words "I need to push...."

That got their attention.

In spite of our warnings, for one iota of a second I saw utter disbelief on their faces - followed by swift action. I was up on the bed being checked in seconds. I heard - through my own groans - the blessed affirmation:

"Yes, it's all gone - she's fully dilated!" Then to me, "You can push now...."

Daddy interjected that we needed a mirror - which I kiboshed straight away. I wanted nothing to hold up this show. In a panic I cried out to my hubs, and held on to his hand tight.  The terror in that moment never goes away.

I really have to push a baby out of my vagina..... again? 

I'd missed the contraction, so I directed everyone to hang on before catching the next wave- seconds later I pushed through that pain... freezing while she crowned, then breathed, and mustering all my courage I pushed with all my might!

Aghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!

The second push was immense, and my girl came bursting out. With the speed she came out, it probably looked - and sounded - like a scene from aliens - only more blood!

No orgasm to report - at least not my kind of orgasm! A definite burning sensation which of course reached the clit - and every other outer vaginal region - once the head and shoulders raced through that ragged and ripped gash (a redundant choice of wording!)..

And there she was, sprawled between my knees on the bed, a blue-grey tiny baby alien bungeed to Mommy by the belly button.

I got some wonderful skin on skin time before my placenta and wounds needed tackling. My legs were shaking uncontrollably but other than that I was more present than I've ever been after my previous births.

My first birth I was hiding out somewhere on the ceiling, watching everything from a safe distance in my sublime bubble. Second birth I was more spent, plus there was no treacherous tear to tackle.

I watched in awe as Daddy cut the chord. He offered the honor to Mommy, but I felt I'd done enough - plus I still had my placenta to push out. More contractions came on cue..  and I felt a huge presence sitting in my vagina.

The Doc pulled the departed 'dessert' out and plonked it in a pot. It was as big as baby! Daddy could do wonders on the grill with that hunk of meaty nutrients. I didn't ask for a take-away box though - we're neither holistic nor hamsters after all!

Following the afterbirth scene, the Doc started to load up a nasty big needle to numb my nether regions. I watched in horror as she injected it into my already tender tissue in order to repair the rip down the center of my vagina.

Where in the center of my vagina?

I asked them to explain where twice, and I'm still not sure exactly where that tear is! I'm definitely more sore than ever before. (Maybe I'll take a mirror into the bathroom and examine myself tomorrow - though perhaps that's where Daddy will find me conked out on the floor).

I got to watch and feel the nip of a nasty u-needle again and again, and again....

The official times of my maternity milestones on record at the hospital are as follows:

9:49pm - Waters broke
9:51pm - Baby born

That's a total of two minutes 'pushing' - which included climbing onto the bed and a uterus check.

"So how many pushes?" I asked Daddy. He confirmed two.

"Momma's getting slack!" I joked. That had the Doc in stitches - while doing my stitches!

I'd broken my record and my vagina. The tear was the biggest I'd had with all three babes - although the Doc assured me she'd seen much worse. Yikes!

If I'd have taken more time, maybe the rupture could have been avoided - although I'd like to see anyone else try and hold one of my head-strong kids back once they've made up their mind it's a go...!

And for me (and her adoring Daddy) she couldn't have come a moment sooner!

The nurse was checking vital stats of my cheese covered Chiquita - before I even thought beyond 'baby'.

Measured up like Mary Poppins:
practically perfect in every way!

"Is she a girl then?"

"Yes!" Everyone laughingly chimed in.

And so we have a daughter. A divine and darling baby girl. Holy crap!

Once real labor kicked in, it only took her two and a half hours to cut loose. If we hadn't had to endure all the hospital procedure and red tape we might easily have shaved off twenty minutes or so.

Maybe next time....

Ha! I think we were having the "I think we're done.." convo, while the chord was still attached - or was I still pushing? That's probably when I was having the conversation with myself!

As we were leaving the hospital, Daddy thanked Nurse Beverley earnestly - then over his shoulder he couldn't help a parting shot,

"See you in another seventeen months!"

In the nine years I've known him, I honestly don't think I've ever seen him laugh so hysterically - especially at one of his own jokes!

anticipation....

Both kids are down for their noon time naps. So what on earth is this crazy 'on the Go' Momma doing up and blogging when I should be stealing my Zzzzzzs?

After all, it could all kick-off this afternoon (and I'm not talking about the Olympic soccer heats).......

Don't I need all the pushing power I can get?

Frustratingly I was almost asleep less than ten minutes ago - I had my nose nestled against our littlest's, with our breathing in sync and I was just reaching that delicious fuzzy about to drop off the edge of the world feeling, when a squeezing sensation in my intestines woke me right back up.

Straight away my brain shifted into high gear and all the cogs started whirring around, setting my body on high alert. Is this it?

You'd think that after two pregnancies it would be easy to recognize when my primed preggo bod is under 'starters orders' - but not so the case!

A heavy dose of anticipation makes it too easy to misread the slightest tummy sensations.

The onset of labor (at least for both boys) felt very much to me like a period poop. I know, I know - TMI right? I'm sorry, but there's just no better way I can describe it. 

So that's what I'm eagerly waiting for.

When I start to have slight period cramping in my tummy combined with a dull ache in my lower back and the urge to poop it's a fair guess that the little lady is on the move.

That wasn't quite the feeling that just woke me up, but it was close enough to get me excited. Just a bit of bladder pressure combined with a genuine urge to poop (easily mistakable).

Getting up off the bed for a potty break - especially without alerting baby boy to the fact that Momma is vacating the nest - is no easy fete.

I've mastered a somewhat nimble maneuver using my leg to brace my weight while I pull up to sitting. Then I can butt skooch to the edge of the bed. Alternatively, there's the rolling onto my hands and knees and crawling backwards off the bed option.

Either way those extra 38 pounds make it harder to keep Momma's momentum under control and each tiny shift can create an earthquake rippling effect across the family bed with the power to wake the dead (or at least the wee nipper...)

But not if I inch off ever so slowly..... and with girly pushing hard against my bursting bladder I often have to swallow some sharp and nasty blows during an already painful and painstaking process!

Once I've mastered getting off the bed, standing up is an even bigger challenge. Gravity can be such a bitch!

I don't remember having to cup my crotch before. But now, for some reason, I find it excruciating to waddle to the bathroom without holding on tight to my girly bits!

Thank God it's not an all day problem and I don't have to publicly grip my goods on my way to the ladies! Only when I first get out of bed and baby girl is sucked back down into a fully engaged position, does my hooch cry out for additional support....

Anyway, It turned out to be a false alarm of course. Just a regular everyday poop I'm afraid....

I probably should go back to bed - but I'm too damn excited.

I managed to squeeze in another prenatal check on Monday. I was hoping to be done with them weeks ago!

I even held off scheduling next week's appointment until today. I don't think I'll be needing it though....

OK, so I know even now (at 38 weeks) it's still a little premature to be expecting lady gaga to join the ranks, but I'm just so anxious to meet this bitty broad who's been bopping my bladder like crazy the last few weeks - and stretching my tummy in ways the boys never did!

She's been very generous on the stretching - until a week or so ago when a swirl pattern emerged around my belly button. My bump suddenly looks like a washing machine on full spin!

To be fair, I've been incredibly lucky on the stretch mark front - I guess I must be blessed with stretchy skin! My second baby was nice enough to give me a few battle wounds on the underside of my tummy, but those have since faded away to nearly nothing. 

Baby boy number one never left a single mark on my tum - barely any trouble at all that kid (both in and out of my belly)! 

He did, however, create strange stretch marks in a more - shall we say - unconventional place. And that was before stretching his way out of my vagina (btw I wasn't meaning my vagina....)

I remember Googling about stretch marks..  you know... in the...ahem... 'a' hole vicinity. I even plucked up courage to  ask the Doc, who you'd think would have seen everything.

Apparently not.

I remember feeling mortified when she asked somewhat aghast, 'How did you even find them?'

Oh c'mon! Doesn't everybody check themselves out in the mirror? Surely I'm not the only curious cat out there? Incidentally they seem to have disappeared altogether now... (Thank goodness for that - my porn star prospects aren't completely scuppered!) 

Which reminds me - this time around I'm hoping to watch the birth through a mirror. 

(Already rethinking this one!! A few accidental live birth image hits while searching for some (in)appropriate blog pics has this once-upon-a-time squeamish Momma quaking in my knickers!) 

I forgot to ask the Doc if they're set up for that - I could always get the hubby to hold a hand mirror if they're not...

Last week I put on a whopping 5 pounds! The Doc was very quick to reassure me that we preggos retain a lot of water in the last few weeks - nothing at all to do with the brownies then, eh? 

Baby belly was measuring spot-on though. I'm hoping she'll stay nice and tidy within the 7-8 pound region. My boys have made sure I'm already nice and prepped for that. 

Anything more and we'll be having to work on widening the gap..... not a pleasant thought!

The hubs has neglected to massage my perineum this time, and admittedly I'm not pushing for it. 

As intimate as the act may be, it's never been the most stimulating experience, having fingers and thumbs pull down and stretch the backside of my vagina opening - not exactly the foreplay you'd think it might be!

Instructional image showing *D.I.Y perineal massage.  

I'm not sure if the prenatal practice really does anything other than provide a hint of the sensation that is to come during crowning - and who the hell wants a taster of that? (unless of course, there's a hint of truth in that crowning orgasm legend....) 

The pinnacle burn - when baby's head finally pops through - is that rightful '10' on the pain scale that the nurses like to go by. It's a little tricky to provide an accurate number until the worst has happened.   

That stretch and burn - even without a rip - bites like a beeatch! 

When the hubby got out the olive oil last pregnancy I thought I'd handle the massage like a champ - I did have an experienced vagina after all. Who was I kidding!? And what a weeny I turned out to be! 

All the massage did was refresh my memory of the intense birthing pain that I'd buried in the deep dark depths of my mind - deep enough to make procreation only 9 months later seem like a top idea! 

This time I don't want to remember the pain until I'm thrust into the throes of it once again. That's probably why I'm not rooting for massaging my perineum and possibly why I declined the cervical check for the first time ever this week. 

The nurse clearly gave me an 'out' and I surprised myself when I took it. I've been given the right of refusal for the last three weeks now - and I'm really starting to get the impression that the Docs don't believe it's necessary. 

I think it has to do with this being my third baby. 

In spite of my curiosity I know the measurements don't really mean a jot. If I'm destined to leap from 5cm to 10cm and skip most of transition (like both my previous labors) I hardly think knowing whether I'm 1cm or 1.5cm will make much of a difference at this stage in the game. 

Daddy was a tad disappointed when I told him. I think he was hoping that a little 'Doctoring' would kick-start the birth. I'd rather not mess with mother nature thank you very much - although if Daddy wants to have a 'hand' in doing some agitating he's welcome to bring it on.....! 

The upshot is it could happen any time now. It would be convenient (and most considerate) if baby girl would oblige after a good 8 hours sleep, and before my sister-in-law leaves the state. 

Whenever she does finally decide to get a wiggle on, I'm sure we'll be ready for her!  

and then there were 7.......

multiplying like rabbits.....

Once upon a time there was a Mommy and Daddy who lived with two baby boys and two puppy dogs. Life was pretty full to the brim and with a 36 week old baby girl tucked away in the mommy's tummy things were set to take a turn for the busier any day....

On a freakishly foggy summer's morning (last Saturday) Daddy and the boys set out for a walk with the dogs, taking their usual trek along the dirt driveway of our neighbor's expansive property.

It wasn't far away from Daddy's scorpion saga POW POW POW site that they first heard the soft cries of baby kittens. Daddy was all set to follow the mews but of course our dogs were ahead of the game, and having already marked their prey they made chase.

Within seconds the dogs 'treed' what turned out to be a lone black kitten.

I didn't hear about this tale until much later on that day. Daddy didn't rescue what he referred to as 'wild kittens'. He had his hands full, what with the dogs and the boys.        

I was worried about their safety - roaming around Texas Hill Country with all the potential predators. It wasn't too crazy to think a possum or a hawk - or even a snake could gobble them up.

Still, common sense dictated that it wasn't strictly our problem, and if we wanted to set out in search for stray cats to save, sadly, we could find a million mangy minxes in need of a loving home. There was also a slight reticence to the word 'wild' which daddy had used to describe them. I didn't want to risk rescuing rabid cats!

It soon became our problem when the tiniest bit of black fluff brazenly made its way onto our land, in spite of its earlier run in with our safely penned would-be predators. Even with the dogs woofing wildly at the enticing little creature, it stood its ground from a safe distance crying out to us, "Help! Help! Help!".

What was a Momma to do? I set out a small bowl of water and a jar of Gerber baby chicken puree (from the same baby food stash that pulled our parvo pup back from the brink last winter) on our driveway and waited a wee while, then I tried to approach stealthily - but how much stealth can an eight month preggo Momma pull off?

My slow waddle was never gonna cut it, besides my paranoia of contracting a harmful baby bump disease was a major debilitating factor. Instead a nimble footed Daddy was nominated to snare the stray kit. He eagerly rounded on the wee wild one and before long he had her stashed in a big cardboard box that had formerly housed our outdoor grill.      

It crossed my mind that there was only one, and Daddy had thought he'd heard a pair. Well, this one was obviously the wilier one of the two - a hardy survivor of this treacherous territory. Hopefully hardy enough to hold its own with two mutts and two toddlers...

I wasn't sure if it was a good idea to adopt it. Of course it wasn't a good idea - it was a terrible idea, but Daddy was already in love with the wee beastie. I remember hearing tales of newborns being suffocated by cats snuggling up tight over their milk mouths, and that cat poo was potentially toxic for an unborn child. Not such a shocker then that I harbored doubts and yet still my heart was already inclined to give this kitty a fighting chance in our family.. blasted pregnancy hormones!

Mommy did a bit of online research on possible diseases that the wee waif may be carrying and although there were mild risks of human contraction (minimal risk of rabies) - the only real risk was to unborn baby from ingesting cat poo. 

Well that was settled then. No matter how peckish preggo Momma was feeling I would refrain from snacking on Kitty-Kat litter contents!

We did a little (little being the operative word) investigative work in the neighborhood, just in case someone was missing their much loved kitty cat. OK, we asked one neighbor - the one whose land Daddy was walking on when he first spotted the runaway (the same land that one of our pooches got a bullet in the butt). It didn't belong to them.  

Surely that was already going beyond the call of duty? Hadn't we searched enough? Perhaps we should have posted signs up on our road....

Ah well, isn't possession 9/10 of the law? Finders keepers, right? In all likelihood the poor thing had been abandoned so I didn't feel too bad about not aggressively searching for its rightful owner.

In this case one man's trash was definitely another Daddy's (and two little boys') treasure!

Our youngest loving on his 'Uh-Oh'

The kitty was a hit with the baby boys from the get-go, especially our 16 month old, who has nick-named it 'Uh-Oh'.  At least that's what he calls to it repeatedly whenever it's roaming free in the cabin. I think he thinks it's escaped - or is in danger - and needs to be safely returned to someone.

He follows it around calling "meow" and signing 'cat', before picking it up and handing it back to Daddy or Mommy or big brother. He repeats this over and over, and strangely - as fast as that kitty is, and as unwittingly rough as our 16 month tot may be - it's seemingly happy to let baby boy pick him up and handle him... 

The eldest is obviously captivated too - but not to the same extent.

The cat hasn't hissed once at the boys, or lashed out a claw. She hasn't, however, extended the same courtesy to the dogs. We let them in last night to meet and greet family member number 7. Instantly - and unprovoked - we saw our feline friend turn feral for the first time. Perhaps she remembers her earlier encounter with the ferocious animals when they ungraciously chased her up a tree.

We gated the cabin so the dogs and cat were separated but still able to watch each other warily - I'm not sure who exactly we were protecting though. The dogs eyed up our black fur ball much like they would a rawhide treat. Pup barked a couple of times and kit hid under the couch. 

It could have been worse. It'll take a few more meetings before they're snuggling up together on the rug!   

Once again Daddy is cat-happy. We've had two cats cross our paths in the past - never before a black one - both of which we fostered briefly before our inevitable departure overseas. 

Admittedly Daddy's predilection for petting pussy has conjured jealously in the past - but finally Mommy is in that place of utter fulfillment (and sheer exhaustion) to finally let some of other willing creature lavish in the loving hands of papa bear. More guilt-free time for Momma to blog!!

Now we have to think of a name for the wee 'beastie' - which Daddy already threw out there. Our eldest has tried it out on his tongue a couple of times, but it hasn't stuck tho. 'Uh-Oh' is also a contender, and 'Kitty Kat'. 

I generously offered the name Eponine - the little waif and stray from Les Miserables (Daddy's favorite musical and top of his baby girl name list) - as there's not a cat in hell's chance that our little girl should be so lucky!

The name just lends itself to such ribbing and ridicule (Epi, panini, punani to list a few) besides which her literary character is not so endearing as her musical counterpart - no matter how well she can belt out a tune! 

But I figure for a cat that will stay largely within the family home and not have to attend school or ever worry about getting a job, the name Eponine surely can fly. Admittedly it was only Momma that thought up the barrage of nasty nicknames - so perhaps poor 'punani' the pussy is not safe from ribbing and ridicule after all.... 

We are open to suggestions (bearing in mind we still don't know for sure if she's a girl or a boy). What would you name our newbie family recruit? 

TMI Friday!

It's Friday again (well it is in Australia), which means two things for this Momma: Firstly it's time to link up to my bloggy friend Tropical Mum who lives Across The Pond (not the usual pond I'm talking about) with a bit of witticism and Mommy mirth. Secondly it's time to spread my knees (if you please) and let the Doc check out if the Little Miss is making headway - so to speak.     

Baby is 36 weeks old today, so the count down to push time is most definitely on. A spontaneous pants wetting episode at the start of the week had Momma thinking baby's bubble had burst - but after a bit of Googling and a call to the nurse practitioner I'm now pretty convinced my amniotic sac wasn't responsible for saturating my skivvies - or for the puddle on the bathroom floor. We shall say no more. Nevertheless I'm somewhat eager to get my cervix checked out today. It feels close.

Last Friday I had my first vaginal check this pregnancy, which started out with the somewhat invasive strep B test. After swabbing a pugil-stick inside my vagina (no biggy) and a chocolate starfish sweep (a touch more embarrassing), the Doc caught me completely off guard by politely asking if I wanted my cervix checking.

I've never been asked before. I thought it was standard procedure for the Gyno to get their hands dirty at this stage. I hesitated. It's easy for me to over-think these situations: Why did she ask me? Doesn't she want to check? Of course she doesn't - why would any woman voluntarily stick her hand up inside a stranger's vagina!?!  

I couldn't do it - much like waxing bikini lines for a living - dealing with my own vagina is plenty enough punani for me, thank you very much. Yes, I realize it's beautiful (yahda yahda)  just like a flower... 

What a crock! It's got to be one of the ugliest 'attractions' known to man but for some reason nearly every man on earth loves to leer at those ghoulish red creases. I just can't fathom how that and Beyonce can both be deemed beautiful! 

hmmm, rose or vagina?

Beautiful Beyonce

Of course I'm not complaining. There are many kinky kick-backs to having your man mad about your muff! 

It's a magnanimous mystery that mother nature should let men (and a few lucky ladies)  look upon our vaginas through rose tinted spectacles. Sadly I'd be a pretty poor lesbian - I'm sure I'm missing out.

But how game are the Gynos really? Surely they are gluttons for punani punishment - they must encounter a million muffs a day! And they chose this profession! Even the male docs must get vaginad out by the end of the day.

Friends' vagina Doc sums it up on his date with Rachel the waitress: "Okay, all right, well aren't there times when you come home at the end of the day, and you're just like, "If I see one more cup of coffee..."

Back of the bathroom door instructions for
collecting a clean midstream urine sample.

Much like our faces, each coochi must be different - of varying degrees of ugliness. And I'm guessing that muff maintenance and cleanliness is not always up to scratch (and sniff) - especially in this Texas heat. The Gyno-clinic must be humming like Grimbsy fish docks by mid-August!    

That's got to be the real reason behind the mid-stream (clean catch) collection instructions posted on the back of all the bathroom doors in the building. If I had to have my head hovering around vaginas all day long I'd definitely want to make sure all the ladies had thoroughly wiped their fannies first!  

I have to say, punani protocol when it comes to pap smears and giving birth has always been a bit of a quandary for me. For my first labor I went for the fairly normal 'bearded clam' approach - we're not talking a full on long beard here - more of a genital goatee. 

a  bit like this....

OK, perhaps not quite so straggly as Brad's chin pubes but hopefully you get the idea! 

Then the last go round I went all out with a bare muff! Don't be shocked - I was hoping for a bit of regrowth by my due date but the little man was eager to be outta my beaver.  

I'm curious about how all you other Mommas out there presented yourselves for your births? Did you trim, or shave, or wax? And if so, how much is too much? I mean - is a shaven haven a little sluttish for a birth? Or is it just sensible for vagina visibility? I realize back in the day there was little to no pubic preening - or leg shaving for that matter. A bit of rug burn on the way out must have been par to the course.       

When exactly did our feminine fringes become so unattractive? After all it's such a natural thing. But it's no longer just our pubic hair that's causing offence. All of a sudden our actual vaginas and even our buttholes have come to the attention of the beauty industry. A muddy starfish is no longer acceptable - not when you can peroxide that peripheral! The first I'd heard of butt bleaching was earlier this year. Then I stumbled across vajazzing - and I'm blown away. You can even firm up those flaps and give your labia a lift! 

Many years ago back in the UK there used to be a Friday night late show called Eurotrash that showed you all the wacky sexual eccentricities that our European neighbours were into - I remember one week it featuring a waxing salon that would shape your pubic patch into any pattern you wished and even tie in a bow if you so desired. The exclusive service had to be performed with the customer on all fours so that all the hairs in all the folds and crannies - butthole included - could be accessed easily for a clean wax!   

No longer an obscure fettish, vajazzing is getting to be a trendy business! Has the world gone mad or is it high time we put a bit more vigilance into vajazzing our vaginas? We've been making-up our faces for centuries now, and we're all happy to fancy-up our feet - what's so wrong with garnishing our gashes for the guys? After all, don't we want it to look good enough to eat?

Are our fellas behind this push for beautifying our bits - or are other women behind this new fangled fancy? 

Perhaps the OBs have orchestrated it all! 

So, back to last week; I'm laying back trying to think of England with only a swift uneven shave of my bikini region to show for my vaginal efforts. Should I have dressed up down there?    

     

I was dying to know if baby girl's head was down, but it seemed a little forward to eagerly reply; "Yes, please!" so I tried to muster a casual (and very British); "If you wouldn't mind.." 

It's not the most pleasant experience, having a hand reaching right back to your cervix - in fact sometimes the Doc's probing can be pretty painful. Trying to maintain my dignity, I've always endured these internal exams without wincing, and usually I prattle on about something irrelevant - making out like I don't even notice that her hand is stuffing me like a Christmas turkey! 

All the while I'm thinking about those poor cows who often have a vet's arm - sometimes both arms - stuck inside all the way up to their elbows! And inevitably I cant help my unruly thoughts flitting to the pornographic practice of fisting for fun - I mean WTF? 

Even after two vaginal births - two fingers pushing against the back wall of my vagina is enough to make my eyes water - I can't conceive of how a clenched fist could be physically possible, let alone enjoyable! If the poor OB could read Momma's messed-up mind wanderings I'm sure she'd have security remove me from the building!!

I got the info I was wanting: head down (you go girl!), 50% effaced, 1cm dilated, everything feels soft.

Basically we're good to go! So now I have to figure out how I want my hooch to look for the actual birth. It's kind of like deciding whether or not to go for an up-do for your wedding day, only a much smaller group of folks will actually get to admire the handiwork. 

I've been playing about with the idea of watching the birth through a mirror this time around, so I can see the crowning glory for myself. Perhaps for performance purposes I'll be better able to push if I'm proud of my preened punani - a bejeweled box with bows might be a tad bit distracting for Momma, although what a way for my little diva to make her way into the world!

Talk about making an entrance! 

What do you think ladies (and I'd love to hear what the gents have to say on this hairy issue also)? We've talked about waxing our tashes - how about waxing our asses?!

Boy V Girl

What really is the fuss all about?

So we're having a girl next. Big deal!? Aren't boy and girl babies all the same?

The rapturous hand-clapping and delight that we receive each time we reveal our imminent baby's gender is incredibly infectious and, admittedly, I'm pretty frikkin excited about the 'new experience'.

But what 'new experience' exactly, are we in for?




What was it the smart-mouthed kid in Kindergarten Cop piped up with?

Boys have a penis and girls have a vagina!

Well yes they do, and we already know that much, but nothing too different really happens with those bits until they're teenagers, right?

Wrong.

With my two little lads - and me being a lady - I'd yet to stumble across a gender specific problem that had me bowing down to Daddy's superior knowledge, until yesterday, when our almost 3 year old woke up from his nap with his usual buddy, Mr Woody. And I'm not talking about his Toy Story pal here.

When the indie-rock band oracle Oasis wowed all us Brits back in the 90s with (What's the Story) Morning Glory? I have to fess up, I had no idea what a 'morning glory' truly was! It took me and my vanity a wee while to accept that my first real boyfriend's early morning magic trick of erecting a pole-free tent under the duvet had nothing to do with my irresistible sleep-drunk self, nor with him rousing with romantic intentions.

He quite simply needed to pee.

I recall even earlier than that, a school boy friend crudely making reference to having to do a hand-stand in the morning to 'take a pis*'. I guess it's only finally sinking in. I'm not slow - OK, well maybe a little it seems when it comes to knob knowledge. Not all knob knowledge. Don't go pitying the hubs now - this is our third baby on the way after all!  

Anyway, our almost-three-year-old has been on a dry stretch when it comes to night-time and nap-time pees - knock very hard on real wood after writing that Momma! I'm so excited about his bladder going-the-distance, that maybe I'm a little over-zealous at getting him plonked on the pot as soon as he wakes up, and unsurprisingly he's not super receptive to my preemptive potty push.

So yesterday, when I harassed Daddy to get the pot in position, after big boy emerged from his afternoon nap looking all sleep-swept, I got admonished.

"You don't understand. He can't when it's like that."

No - I don't understand. I don't have a penis.

Don't you have to try and pee a little to help the flag come down? Oh, I see! You just have to wait a few minutes for the anthem to finish....  What happens if you're not sitting pretty waiting for the moment? Can you hold your pee after the temporarily 'erected' dam finally lowers - can a three year old?

Of course I don't know these things. I'm a girl.

Foreskin retraction and cleaning has had me stumped a little in the past too - but what more could the hubs possibly know about this than me? My British roots puts me at somewhat of an advantage when it comes to willy 'hood' maintenance!

Other than these teeny-weener trials, it's all been mostly Mommy manageable, until now.

Oh wait! I forgot about Daddy's 'pull it down' lecture on potty (and hovering) penis positioning - Mummy has been known to let the hose shoot backwards, upwards and even overboard at times. And then of course there's standing up to pee. Not something I'm experienced in myself....  except after watching The Full Monty for the first time when I let curiosity get the better of me!

I'm sure, much further down the road, there'll be plenty of wet-dreams, masturbation mishaps and other male-issues that will have my once-upon-a-time Mommy's boys banishing me from their room.

I only hope Daddy will be ballsy enough - and not too 'testy' - to man-handle these penis problems. At least he's got a 'helmet' to protect him! (haha - had enough of the puns yet?)

But seriously, what about a girl?

Daddy will be putty in our little miss's hands for sure. Both boys have been breast obsessed, will our Daddy's girl be the same!?

As far as I can tell, my only bit of mindful advice thus far is to wipe from front to back. Yep right. I knew that from my own muff maintenance. OK, Got it. I'll remind Daddy.

My subconscious is chanting .....periods, pill, PENISES! over and over. Hopefully we've at LEAST a decade of dolls and tutus before all the puberty pandemonium prevails.......

Is there more? Should we be worried? What really is all the fuss about?