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!

What a load of BH!

Well, I don't believe it! - as Victor Meldrew liked to say!

The infamous and grumpy Victor Meldrew from British TV
classic sitcom One Foot in the Grave.

It's Thursday morning and today I don't feel even the slightest twinge. Not a tingle or a tightening - not even a trump. Nothing... absolutely nada!

What a tease she's already turning out to be! 

After the warning bells she's been giving me since Saturday and the dry-run yesterday, I'm totally baffled. Maybe this is the calm before the storm....

We're already into August. That's totally blown Momma's "She'll be a July baby for sure.." out of the water. I was convinced she'd be an early bird.

Tomorrow we'll be at 39 weeks exactly, and my sister-in-law/fabulous friend/birthing buddy will be heading out of state. *sigh...

The best things come to those who wait - Bah! Only if we're talking about Draft Guinness.

I need to stop anticipating it - maybe our excitement keeps scaring her back inside!

Like the Doc said - don't say anything to anyone, then she'll be here. Or plan a fun day out that's just begging to be spoiled. Sod's law she'll coordinate her arrival to rain on her big bros' parade.

I like how we're already predicting she'll be an awkward little sod.. but most girls are, aren't they?

The last of our summer visitors from Across The Pond took off to pastures new (Dallas) last Friday, without any sign of our Little Miss making her appearance.

And I'd been so convinced she'd be here at least to see them off.

Then Saturday night I felt the first real twinge - not quite a contraction, but a familiar tummy tightening all the same that put all my sensors on high alert. I couldn't help letting the hubs in on my excitement.

"I think we'll be meeting her tomorrow...."

The sensation didn't go away. It stayed until I fell asleep. I awoke in the morning somewhat surprised and perplexed that she hadn't arrived during the night. I was even more surprised not to be in labor and that the feeling had completely vanished. I'm telling you... tease!

It happened again Sunday night too. I was more hesitant about building the hubs' hopes up that time.

I wouldn't have said they were contractions (at least what I know contractions to be) - not even what I assume Braxton-Hicks contractions would feel like - just slight tummy cramping that goes hand-in-hand with the early onset pangs I'd felt before both boys started their journeys.

I never had Braxton-Hicks with the boys.

I was very surprised - and a little disappointed - to be making it to yet another prenatal check on Monday. I was super keen, however, to let the Doc check-out my dilation status.

What with the teasingly tight tummy sensations I'd been having at the weekend, and the overwhelming force pushing down on my punani, I was half-way convinced that after taking one glance at my vagina she'd be rushing me across to the maternity ward and they'd all be yelling 'push' by the end of the appointment.

Not so the case. In fact I was still a non-starter. No progress in 2 weeks. 1-2 cm dilated. 60% effaced, uterus still posterior. Humph.

I'd likely been feeling Braxton-Hicks (the Doc affirmed).

Even though I know the numbers don't matter one iota - and I know it will happen at anytime now - I can't help but feel a tad bit disappointed. I'm just an eager beaver - and I know the hubs is ancy to meet his daughter.

I was, once again, incredibly surprised - but not at all disappointed - to make it to my prenatal massage on Tuesday. At almost 39 and a half weeks there's no longer any need to exercise caution on those labor inducing pressure points. On the contrary.. have at it!!

My massage was wonderful (thank you Mommy friend), and by bedtime Tuesday night it was looking like my magical massage had done the trick!

No contractions - just a lot of pre-labor sensations - whatever the hell they are!

But Momma wasn't feeling up to a night labor, and for the first time (this pregnancy) I kind of crumpled in front of the hubs, admitting all my worst fears. It's not something I usually do. I don't want to freak the poor guy out after all.

My sleep had been erratic the previous two nights and having missed out on my day naps, the lack of sleep was catching up to me. With my head banging - a combination of sleep deprivation and dehydration, and an untimely bout of the worst gas and indigestion hitting me hard I was terrified of the ultimate pain challenge I thought I was about to face.

I told Daddy that I was considering taking an Ibuprofen. When he responded that he thought that was a good idea I stared at him utter dumbfounded.

Nuh-uh! Total and utter fail and we're not even off the starting block! What planet is Daddy on? Has he not read my birth plans... all three of them!

NO MEDS!!!

Now a glass of a wine... THAT's not bad idea...

OK, so we weren't actually in labor yet - exactly - but we could have been at any minute. His quick-to-supply-pills response to my first admission of weakness was not the answer I wanted.

Of course I'm not taking a bloody pill now! I've gone 9 months without...

I reminded him of our pain threshold code word (Scooby-Doo).

I wasn't intentionally testing Daddy. I shouldn't have mentioned pain killers if I didn't really want them right? WRONG! 

The advice behind a code word is sound (I got it out of some hocus-pocus natural birthing book). When we're in pain we're not always in our right frame of mind and it's likely we'll ask (or more likely scream) for help we wouldn't want if we were able to think straight.

A code word protects us from undesirable consequences. It makes us pause and really think about what we're asking of our loved ones and the professionals.

OK, so we're only talking about a bit of headache and a few trapped farts here but the same principal still applies - at least when I'm 9 months pregnant.

Incidentally, Daddy's dinner should have gone to the dogs.

What?! I'm 9 months pregnant -  Of course I'm a bit meaner!!

Both kids new better than to eat it. They both tried it before pushing it away in disgust (actually little kid floored his - literally). They've had it before - just a simple chicken stir-fry, souped up with mixed flavorings and peanut butter - and it's been a massive hit. Only last night Daddy way overdid it on the peanut butter.

He just couldn't help emptying that jar. I think it's an affliction we all have. We might as well use it up than waste the little bit that's left. Let's just ruin dinner instead, eh!

It definitely wasn't Daddy's finest work - no I'm not being mean. Daddy was the first to say it. Actually Momma was the only one to devour it.

Friends' Joey diggin'  Rachel's Trifle disaster while Ross
looks on in disgust!

I'm not picky - I would have been right there with Friends' Joey eating a trifle/shepherd's pie combo!

I'm also always hungry - even when I'm not pregnant. The first bowlful doesn't usually touch the sides. I'm usually already polishing off my seconds before my taste-buds have come around to the conclusion that dinner wasn't too crash hot.

It was a mistake though - as I found out soon enough. I'm not sure if it's fair to blame Daddy's dinner (it may have had more to do with the veggie-chips I annihilated at lunchtime), but whatever - the persecuting pain that followed in my chest, tum and gut was almost unbearable!

It felt like bubbles of gas - having found insufficient room in my intestinal track and tummy - were trying to hide out any place they could squeeze into.

A fairly close representation of Momma
on Tuesday night!

Holding my arms above my head and belching like Barny off the Simpsons was about all I could do to abate the pain.

But that instantaneous relief was only temporary. I was pulling the nastiest baritone belches from some inner gassy place, I never knew existed, well into the early hours of Wednesday morning.

Right up until the contractions started.

After belching out the last of the gas a little after midnight, I managed to squeeze a wee snooze in before I woke up at 3:30am - with my tummy cramping. My first feeling was relief - thank God the gruesome gas saga was over!

Once the wave of tummy pain had subsided the little lady started moving - really moving. So much so, that I got a little worried about her. Adding up all my symptoms in my sleep deprived brain had me panicking that she'd got herself tangled up in the chord - perhaps the cramping wasn't labor pains but something else....

She soon calmed down enough for me to calm down also and we both fell back to sleep. Then sure enough, only 20 minutes later I felt the cramping again. THIS was it.

Awesome. Perfect timing - after the worst night's sleep ever!

I wasn't getting back to sleep anytime soon so I got comfy on the couch instead and attempted to watch a bit of Netflix. Of course big kid saw me on his early morning trip to Momma's bed.

But Momma's bed wasn't no fun without Momma in it - and seeing the flashing light box on the go - he was eager to snuggle up beside me and commandeer the TV. I almost managed to flick off The Inbetweeners before the shagging started... almost.

Thomas the Tank Engine it was then! I could have put him back to bed if I'd wanted to - but I really wanted his company.

I refrained from waking Daddy - in spite of my fear of a speedy labor (after the last one) - I was fairly sure we'd be OK until at least 5am. The contractions were every 20 minutes or so and not very strong - very reminiscent of the start of my eldest's birth.

Daddy had been awake until the early hours also. I think he was a little awed - albeit mostly disgusted - by Mommy's marvelous manly belches.

By 5am our big kid desperately needed to get back to bed and Mommy was already wiped out. I let Daddy know 'something' was happening, and passed the baton so he could put big kid back down.

I laid down and tried to get some much-needed shut eye. I was going to need it. Eventually - with a little help in the form of a foot rub from Daddy - I started snoozing, but the waves of pain had me opening my eyes and focusing on the red numbers on our digital clock every ten minutes or so.

I was progressing.

By 7am they were strong enough to prevent me from falling back to sleep. I didn't want to false-start anyone, but as a courtesy we let our babysitting troop and birth buddy know where things apparently stood.

Remembering in a bit of a panic that I hadn't 'mowed my lawn' so to speak, Daddy ran a warm deep bath, and prepped bags, brekkie and the like, while Momma had a date with a razor in the tub.

Baby boy (he won't be 'baby' much longer) was awake and on top form, completely unaware of the little cuckoo that would soon be sharing his nest...

I shaved and bathed, and ate my toast, while Daddy hovered over me, eager for the next contraction update...

Nothing.

The dull achy tight feeling remained. But the promising waves that had been strong and regular only moments earlier seemed to have relented. Without pausing to analyse the sudden change of pace, I gladly dived under my covers desperate to recharge my battered batteries.

I  fully expected to be pushing by noon and I wanted to have the strength to give it my all.

I snoozed on and off for an hour or so and I awoke to some pain closer to 9am - much weaker than earlier though. I assumed my bath had slowed them down.

When I entered the cabin, Daddy looked eagerly over at me for a contraction update. I put him off not wanting to break any bad news to him before I knew the scoop myself. Small waves of pain continued at erratic intervals but nothing to write home about. It was a false alarm.

Daddy was crushed, which in turn had me feeling crushed. I hate to disappoint him - or anybody else for that matter. And I was super keen to 'deliver' - especially on these goods!

The tightening feelings hadn't completely dissipated though, so we stayed on stand-by for the rest of the day. It's not over until the fat lady sings - and this fat lady wasn't about to break out in tune just yet...

Momma took at least five naps - falling into bed and fast asleep like only a Daddy knows how.

By late afternoon we were pretty clear it a false alarm. We're convinced I was experiencing my first Braxton-Hicks - although following two fast flow labors, I've got to say they were no different to the real deal.

For some reason or other Mother Nature keeps on cancelling the show. I'm guessing she realized one of her Momma comrade-in-arms was in desperate need of sleep catch-up.

Last night we all got a good 8 hours shut-eye and we're feeling much better for it. I don't think sleep can be stock-piled though, so there's no time like the present.

C'mon, oh wise Mother Nature - and my teasing tummy tenant! Now we're all rested up, and ready and rearing to go - it's game on!

And so we wait..............

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!  

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?!

the neonatal novice - My first time!

It was roughly 2:30am in the morning on the 17th September 2009 - my exact due date - when I felt the first hint of intestinal cramping. The sensation was very much like a mild period pain, nothing to write home about, but enough to start wondering.... was this it?

How are you supposed to know? After boning up on on all the recommended literature - and then some - I was yet to find a single labor story that matched another. Every woman, it seems, births differently. Go figure Momma? No wonder the Docs don't have the deliveries down pat yet.... I mean how could they?

I laid in bed snoozing on and off trying to read the tingling sensations in my tummy. They were roughly 20 minutes apart at first, but by 5am they were already closer to 5 minutes apart - although still somewhat irregular and  random. I couldn't sleep - I was just too excited - so I started walking around our small cabin trying to get a measure of the pain, which was not bad at all really. It could still be my gassy tummy playing up.....

By this time Daddy-to-be was following me around with his notepad and pen quizzing me on the nature of each 'contraction' and noting all my answers down religiously. I answered as best I could, but to be honest it was pretty tricky to decipher the exact start and end point, or to give any accurate idea as to how much 'real' pain I was in....

I actually felt like a bit of a labor fraud. Maybe these teeny twinges were Braxton-Hicks and I was getting the hubby excited and causing a fuss about nothing. I was also starting to feel like I was failing Daddy's 'labor' quiz. My inability to feel the beginning of each contraction meant his number's weren't making too much sense.

He decided to stay home from work and keep on noting numbers down - it was a really important job after all. And I made a tentative phone call to my makeshift Douala, who is also my sister-in-law, making it clear that although I thought I could be in labor - I really might not be...

Stupidly self conscious, I was more worried about looking like a panicky first-timer, and getting overly hysterical about the early labor twinges - and putting everyone else out around me, by raising a false alarm - than I was about making sure I had my full labor crew on board.....

But the pain didn't go away, it got more frequent and intense. Each contraction, however, was still erratic in length and they seemed to skip every now and then too. It was a completely random pattern perplexing my hubby, the minute-taker.

We decided to drive to my sister-in-law's house. Moving in the direction of the hospital seemed like a good plan of action - just in case I was one of those atypical TV Momma's who might push out my baby in the back seat of the car..

Giggly Mommy-to-be

Being on the move gave both daddy and me focus, and I was relieved to be heading towards a lady who had birthed her three bairns at home - all med free. She was one of my heroes (like both my Grannies) and being with her was inspirational and living proof it could still be done today. Nevertheless - her home was only a stop shop - a half way house on route to the hospital, where - armed with my bonafide med-free birth plan - I intended to have as natural a birth as medically possible!

Daddy-to-be taking notes

In spite of the doubt clauses I'd put into my earlier convo' with my sister-in-law she'd already gotten her hubby (my hubby's big bro) to take the day off work. Man! I hoped it was the real deal - I really didn't want him wasting his holiday time on his too-quick-to-raise-the-alarm' panicky preggo silly SIL!

I was very chattery and giggly (even more so than usual) - I guess because I was excited (and terrified) - about what might be to come. We walked for a while outside, which was a good call from my SIL. Daddy-to-be never stopped taking notes, and mommy-to-be never stopped talking.

When the walking became too much we headed back inside - it was getting too hot and I needed to change my activity. Daddy painted my nails (great distraction) and I sat on a yoga ball for a while - which I found intensified (rather than mollified) the pain. It was just starting to sting a wee bit...

What a guy!

I had to pause from my chit-chat during each contraction. They were starting to mean business, and I felt the need to focus a bit more to manage the pain. Holding on to Daddy-to-be helped a great deal and swaying side to side eased the pain - or at least gave me some head space to bare it. I guess a little like meditating (although what do I know about that?).

I think that was when we made the decision to head to the Hospital. I was dreading being turned away. You hear about it all the time. Surely I couldn't still be in the very early stages of labor...? It was late morning, so we'd been at it for a while now. I'd been warned, though, that first babies can take forever.. especially boys.

Swaying with my hubs gave me head space to bare the pain.

When we arrived we were put in the 'Triage' room - a laboring waiting room, where the nurses monitor your progress to evaluate if you can stay (truly in labor) - or send you home (hysterical first timer). I hated that room.

Monitoring is 'for sucks' - (as Daddy likes to say)! Pain management while sitting still, hooked up to a monitor is no easy feat. I kept adjusting position, and standing  - oh so carefully - but the monitors would still fall off prompting the nurse to come rushing back in...

My apologies were begrudging. This room was strike 1 against the hospital. After an hour or so of monitoring, two vaginal checks, and blowing chunks twice - I was summarily dismissed as not progressing (hysterical first timer it was then!). I'd only been 2cm dilated when I first came in, and I was still 2cm - so they were sending me home. Strike 2.

I looked at both Daddy-to-be and my SIL a little disbelieving and somewhat discouraged - but not wanting to hog the Triage room - in case a 'real' laboring Momma needed it - I headed out into the corridor. I didn't want to go home. I couldn't believe that I wasn't already close to the finishing line. The pain had wracked up a tidy notch during my Triage torture, and now standing in the corridor shuddering through another contraction I felt my confidence slipping somewhat.

My SIL suggested walking around the ward, and the nurses were happy for us to stay a little while longer. So we took a few turns around the ward, after which I could barely stand up. Somewhat more convinced that it might actually be the real thing, the nurses agreed to check me again....

4-5cm! Thank God for progress! OK - so only half way there - but I wasn't being sent home. I was no longer in the 'hysterical first-timer category' which meant this really was happening..!

That's when the pain-in-the-ass hospital admission stage kicked in. Who the hell wants to fill out bloody forms, and sign waivers in the throws of active labor? I remember being asked what pain medication I would be having - in spite of my Birth Plan stipulating I NOT to be asked this question. To rub further salt in the wound, the nurse's response was a smug and all-knowing '...your first baby, huh?'

She didn't believe I could do it! Strike 3. She was the naysayer nurse that Ricki Lake had warned me about. Still - in spite of her devilish taunt - my brain turned it around into a challenge, and I found renewed vigor to stick with the courage of my convictions...

Only Daddy-to-be knew my 'break point' password, Scooby-Doo...

We were finally put in the room I had coveted from our first hospital viewing. It had a bath, which I was allowed to labor in, but not allowed to give birth in. That rule had been a bit of a bummer for me in the planning stages, ironically not something I remotely fancied in the end....

It took them some time to get me prepped with my IV - another regulation I'd fought fervently against during the planning stages, but been forced to concede to get my hospital birth. Finally - probably only 20 minutes later, but a lifetime when all you desire is to be left to labor in peace - I got to take my warm bath. A midwives natural epidural - so they'd told me..  'they' were wrong.

It was nice at first, but I didn't last long in the confined space of the tub. I wanted to be on the go, changing positions constantly - but each position was just as excruciating as the last, and I couldn't escape the pain. Then I sat on the yoga ball. Straight away, it was like something moved down a foot inside me, and embarrassingly I realized I desperately needed to take a dump.

Talk about bad timing. It's not like I hadn't pooped in front of the hubby before (yes - we've actually crossed that line) and I needed him now for physical support - so he followed me in and helped me sit on the pot.

Bad call - and I jumped up quick - as a bone shaking contraction came hurtling through me. My brain made the horrifying connection that what I'd thought was a dump was actually my baby, and I was about to drop him down the lav.

Standing unsupported was impossible, and I confess I was on the brink of calling Scooby-Dooby-do.. where the f**k are you? Desperately afraid that it was too late anyway and I was going to have to push out a real human being with ALL my pain sensors activated. What kind of crazy masochistic idea was that?

But, I didn't call for Shaggy's dog. With my mind set, instead, I staggered out of the bathroom in search of my sister-in-law. She pushed the button to summon the nurse who, after having checked me only minutes before my poo panic, and finding I was still a measly 5cm or so, was probably relaxing on her tea break....

With both my SIL and the hubs supporting me, I remember slightly lifted a leg in order to sit my cheek on the side of the bed when my poor baby came hurtling out of my vagina at full force. I watched in horror as something hit the floor maybe 6 feet beyond our feet, seeming to explode on contact. All three of us were frozen in shock- I think we all went  'woah.!' at the same time.. in spite of the terror and pain I was feeling - I was awed by what had just happened - it was pretty fekkin amazing!

Thankfully it wasn't my baby, it was my water sack exploding full force. I'd heard of a more civilized water breaking - more like a public pants wetting, a constant trickle from your vagina, or even a gushing tap - but not a military canon style explosion! The Secret Services could do wonders with my vagina....

The pressure relieved instantaneously, and I thought for one millisecond that there was to be a reprieve, but then the relentless force heightened to an unimaginable level - and I felt real panic rise within me  'Oh God, oh God, oh God!' It was like the wrong wire had been cut during a bomb diffusal and the countdown was accelerating to breakneck speed. Nothing was going to save me now - I was going to have to push this baby out of my vagina - seriously MY VAGINA, a cavity barely big enough to accommodate a cucumber........ let alone a cantaloupe....!

This was it. I knew then that the baby was coming. I was yelling 'I need to push!' and squeezing my legs together so tightly I wouldn't drop my poor kid on the hard floor. But the bloody nurse still hadn't responded, and when she finally did, I was writhing about on the bed like the possessed girl in the Exorcist. It was nigh on impossible to stay still for her to check me - and when she finally got a measure the shock on her face did nothing to alleviate the horror of it all.

From then on, it was a crazy haze of madness. A fast and furious blur of faces prepping the room for delivery. I was aware of a LOT of faces, but uncomfortable missing that all important one, the Doc, who was apparently 'on her way'.

Oh Great. Just hold you knees together and don't push - she'll be here in a jiffy....

It's f*****g hard not pushing when you've really got to push. I tried, though, and finally a scrubbed up stand-in Doc came rolling into position ready to 'catch'. She summarily opened a bottle of oil, squeezing the entire contents over my vagina - then mercilessly she put what felt like all 8 fingers inside my wholly dilated hole and stretched the living s**t out of it...

Holy f**k did it burn! That, right there, was the pinnacle of my pain - so far.

It put the hubby's nightly one finger massage - and my wussy 'too much' objections - to shame. It was on my birth plan - massage my perineum - still, some friggin' massage that was!

Then the surreal movie moment came - and everyone started shouting 'push!' altogether. It would have been comical if it all wasn't so terrifying and painful to boot. But most mortifying of all, now that I'd been given the get go, and my body could finally go ahead and squeeze the little eager beaver out of my beaver, I froze...

In spite of all, I recoiled at what my raw instincts were trying to tell me, and in the midst of all the suspense and chaos I hear myself crying out 'I don't know how to push!' It was a nurse behind my right shoulder that spoke into my ear, gently encouraging 'Push through your bottom...'

Very politely she was confirming what my body had been saying .... it's OK Momma - you can shit this baby out now!

So that's what I did. I pushed like I was trying to push a great big stonking turd out - riding the next contraction wave for as long as I could. Even so - my first push was pretty pathetic, like the first long jump attempt - or trying to hit a piñata. The second go is always a bit better. Practice makes perfect, right?

I was also just that little bit self conscious about screaming - at first. Silence had been my savior throughout my labor (Tom Cruise would have been proud of me) - but what was required now was a bit of oomph. And once I got over myself - I screamed my lungs out for the next push (or two) until my little boy crowned -  AGGGGHHH! - then popped right outta there!!

Holy Jesus Mother of Mary - he was here. And so amazing, and tiny, and wriggling on my chest. Skin-on skin - chord still attached. My legs were shaking furiously, and I know I was bawling more than my baby was. The post natal phase transpired like a dream. I was floating on cloud nine, euphoric, and yet humbled by the experience (which had felt almost out-of-body at parts). I rode that all natural 'high' for many hours afterwards, somewhat oblivious to everything but the incredible creature that was no longer inside me.

One of my favorite shots - ever.

I think they helped remove the afterbirth after it had already detached, I think I had 2 stitches. I finally realized I was being administered post-birth Oxitocin - which I had them remove - I didn't need that if I was  breastfeeding!

Strike 4 against the hospital, but I didn't give a monkeys anymore - all was forgiven - they had helped me bring the most wonderful being into the world.

That room became a sanctuary for first-time-Daddy and first-time-Mommy and firstborn baby boy. We didn't want to leave that room now riddled with romance. How soon the seeming horror scene had transformed to utter bliss - and magical memories enshroud our hospital stay. Plus the food was top nosh - boy was I starving after that labor of love!

Our wee man was born at 4:03pm, weighing in at a surprisingly tidy 6lbs 9.6oz. What a guy!


Straight from the horses mouth....!
filmed 09/17/2009