When I Grow Up

When I was a little girl I had a dream for my life. Where others wanted to be Doctors, Astronauts, Entrepreneurs… I wanted to be a mother. To so many it seemed so mundain, what a boring choice. Of course I had other aspirations, but growing up I’d always been so maternal. I begged my parents to have another child and couldn’t wait until the day I’d have my own.
I fell in love with my dream man, we got engaged, had our first baby and then married – the modern way!
I thought conception would be so easy. I was still young, healthy and fertility would be no issue. But after 9 excrutiatingly long months Tiny One was conceived and 39 weeks, 2 days later there she was.
So life carries on, baby grows and parenting becomes easier and after a little while we knew we were ready for Baby 2.
It seemed like a bigger decision in a way because our little Tiny One was and remains the apple of our eye. Spoiled, loved more than all others – how could we do such a thing to her? Maybe she’ll be jealous, maybe she’ll be okay. But silly worries subsided and the pull of maternal love grabs at me once more.
Lets just see what happens. The famous last words, and amazingly for us, straight away it happens.
Two little blue lines. One little baby.
The joy of growing a new life is worth so much. Overwhelming happiness consumes every bone in my body as my little family is growing and life is almost complete.
The worry of pregnancy sets in quickly. The post-pregnancy-test bliss has faded, why am I not experiencing any symptoms? At 6 weeks it hits me like a tonne of bricks. I was one of the unlucky few with severe pregnancy sickness. Those who have it so bad it has a really long unpronounceable name.
A bunch of trips to the hospital, handfuls of drugs, several injections and even being admitted and after a few weeks I was feeling better.
Bloody hell, I’d forgotten how hard pregnancy was. Dragging yourself around and trying to look after a toddler whilst your body is literally killing itself is exhausting.
But as I said after a few weeks I was on the mend and a few weeks later I nearing the joy of the second trimester.
I couldn’t wait for the 12 weeks scan, that time when you feel safe to finally announce to the world that, woohoo, we are having another baby! My head spun with clever and witty pregnancy announcements. Maybe we’d have Tiny One in a big sister t-shirt? I’ll use my professional camera, take a lovely picture. I wonder how many people will congratulate us. I can’t wait to tell so and so.
Nothing can prepare you for miscarriage.
On the morning of the scan, I started bleeding. At 11 o’clock the sonographer tucked the paper towel into my jeans, put the cold jelly on my stomach and the screen produced a black and white image of our unmoving child. Our worst fears were confirmed.
We had lost our baby.

17966041_1911565859057648_705281186070373854_o(Photo: 11 weeks pregnant. So full of joy for the future. A memory I can hold, forever.)


It’s not what it looks like..

I spend an unreasonable amount of time on my laptop with 2 businesses and one part-time job. I also spend a lot of this time on Facebook. I have to advertise, post, create events etc, it’s about 10% of what I do. I’ll often find myself scrolling through Facebook, as most of us do, checking the news feed I checked only an hour before, and not really looking for anything.

You see another mother doing sensory play at home, again with her baby younger than yours and feel guilty as you sit watching the same episode of the Twirlywoos for the 14th time this week. Another baby being pushed in a swing, taken to National Trust locations. One mummy seems to be able to juggle 3 children, a business, the school run, 7 after school activities, host a coffee morning and even have time to bake the cakes too.

Someone you went to school with is travelling the world, becoming cultured and experiencing all the things you never wanted to, but you still feel jealous that its not you out there. Career women post photos of them out with work colleagues at fancy cocktail bars in dresses worth more than your TV. Another Facebook friend shows snaps of ‘All the girls’ for their weekly lunch date at that restaurant you really want to visit, but isn’t child friendly and even if you did go with your husband you wouldn’t be able to order more than a salad and tap water as you calculate the cost of the meal to tubs of formula and boxes of nappies.

I envy all of these people. I wish I had the career woman lifestyle, with my gorgeous child in tow, with my husband who took us to fancy restaurants and the regular holiday in paradise, with a business that didn’t require any effort but still afforded me success and I had all the time to take our baby to National Trust parks and the energy to do sensory play each afternoon.

But the truth is thats unrealistic. Darcy is happy to watch Twirlywoos, Bing or the Teletubbies while I catch up on some work. I don’t have all the time to do everything with her and to be the world’s craftiest, most entertaining mum but I do make her laugh and play with her for hours and if I find the time to do some sensory fun, then well done me! Holidays will have to wait, but we’ll get there in time. Daddy and I will reserve ourselves for the rare Date Night to relive our misspent youth at fancy Cocktail bars.

But more to the point. What you see is not necessarily what you get. While I envy these people, to my surprise, a lot of people have told me they are jealous of my life.

Now I won’t pretend that my existence isn’t full of happiness, but its certainly not perfect. Just remember, you can edit photos, type what you like and paint your life through rose tinted glasses on social media. No one knows what goes on behind closed doors. So before you start doubting yourself and feeling depressed with what you have… just remember. It’s not what it looks like. 


Tiny One

Once upon a time there was a tiny baby. She was no bigger than a doll. Tiny baby was small and new and cosy in her parents’ arms. She slept and dreamt of new things, and when she awoke love surrounded her. She was met with smiles from strangers and cuddles from her family. The world was blurry and big, but each day she saw more, knew more and felt more.

Sometimes Mummy cried, sometimes Daddy got frustrated. But tiny baby knew that with a simple smile she could make them better.

Anyone with children knows that they are hard work. Its the most challenging time you’ll ever experience but its also the most worthwhile. When I’m feeling down, I hold my daughter a little tighter, play longer and make her laugh harder.

They grow so fast, so cherish each day. I often look back fondly at the newborn stage, remember the sleep deprivation and the complete and total fear of a first baby. But I would do it all again in a heartbeat.

To my darling Darcy,  you’ll always be ‘Tiny One’ to me.




Bringing Baby Home

Joe and I would be the first to admit that the first night home with our new baby was the most terrifying night of our lives. A few hours after giving birth all the checks were done and we were both deemed well and healthy. I got dressed straight away while Joe held Darcy and put some make-up on to try and feel normal again. Giving birth had made me feel so high and I was still getting over the shock as well as having my hormones bounce all over the place.

Joe had texted our parents about an hour before Darcy was born. We didn’t want to tell them in the night because we knew they wouldn’t be able to sleep and they would just worry. By telling them right at the end, they didn’t have too long to wait! We were allowed to stay in the birthing room to greet our visitors. Luckily it was my parent’s day off so they came straight away and both cried in quick succession upon entering the room. They greeted us with hugs, kisses and congratulations and sat to hold Darcy, cooing and fussing. Joe’s parents soon followed and did the same. So much love and emotion flowed around the room, it was beautiful.

But something about seeing my own mum with my new baby upset me. She was just so natural, holding her perfectly and confidently. The realisation dawned on me in that moment that I actually had no idea what I was doing. All the information from the classes and books and TV programmes had disappeared out of my head and this poor tiny thing depended on me to know how to keep her alive. How on earth was I going to be enough for her? I sobbed onto Joe’s shoulder in front of my parents and in-laws and tried to take in their comforting words. A heavy weight fell upon my shoulders almost instantly and seemed to be impossible to lift.

After a few hours of chatting and telling them all the story of how she was born, my parents offered to stay with Darcy so that Joe and I could go to Costa in the hospital to get a coffee. We declined. There was no way we could tear ourselves away from her when she was only hours old. I was getting agitated after my meltdown and embarrassed that they might think I was useless so they said their goodbyes and left. Both mums understanding that we needed the space and we were grateful for that. We asked the midwives if we could go home and after being discharged we left the hospital at 6:30pm. It amazed me that only hours before I desperately wanted to be in the hospital and now I couldn’t bare to stay.

Joe put Darcy in the car seat and we checked several times to make sure it was secure without being too tight. She had scratchmits and blankets and a tiny knitted hat we bought from the hospital as her newborn ones were huge! I sat in the back of the car and watched her all the way home, unable to take my eyes off her, even if I wanted to. Joe drove normally without being overly cautious and we joked and laughed for the entire journey. We were both so elated. The fear had subsided for the time being and it started to dawn on me that she was in fact, our baby. I wouldn’t have to give her back or wait any longer, the time had come and we were finally the family I’d always wanted.

Back at the house I put the car seat down and sat back. Both cats came, sniffed her and wandered off, obviously not bothered by our new addition. I sat and breastfed Darcy and we put the TV on, then watched her sleep, both of us just sort of drifting through the evening not taking a lot in. The sleep didn’t last long. Darcy woke and we changed her nappy together. She screamed at the top of her lungs whenever she had her nappy changed, clothes taken off, clothes put on, or screamed to be fed. She slept only lightly and cried all night. We were both absolutely bloody terrified of her. We both double-teamed everything, desperate to do it all as quickly as possible so as not to upset her. Changing her nappy was like a military operation. We found that I was the best at putting her nappy on, and Joe was the fastest at dressing. He’d do one side of her body, one arm and leg and I’d do the other. I cried a few times. It was all too overwhelming. Joe cried a bit too.

We daren’t sleep. We’d been awake since 7am Sunday morning, we were exhausted but sleep seemed impossible. What if we didn’t hear her cry? What if she stopped breathing? What if she spontaneously combusted? My eyes were locked on her for 24 hours after she was born. Every time she was in her moses basket I would have to put my hand near her nose or on her chest to make sure she was still alive. (3 months later and I still do this!) We had to keep her hat on all night. All the books said never to have a hat on indoors, we knew she shouldn’t have it on so we took it off. She cried. We put it back on and she calmed down. She’d fall asleep so I’d take it off. She cried. For some reason amongst all the worry and stress, I was so aware of what the neighbours would think. We only have one older lady living next to us who is so lovely and practically deaf but every time she cried I panicked that she would think we were neglecting our baby. I expected social services to be there in the morning to hit us both on the head with a truncheon, take Darcy and run.

By the end of the night we took it in turns to nap while one of us tried to stay awake. I woke after an hour or so, Joe had fallen asleep and tiny noises were coming from the moses basket. My boobs tingled and instinctively I knew she was hungry. It seems so simple looking back but I was amazed at myself for knowing what to do.

By the morning were felt a surge of confidence. We openly discussed our worries, fears as well as advice and criticisms and I was pleased that Joe felt the same. 24 hours after she was born we felt confident that we could and would be the best parents she’d ever need.

The first few days are the hardest. But they are the ones you’ll remember forever. With each day we knew her better, we grew stronger, we loved more and enjoyed every minute.

Labour & Birth

Braxton Hicks. For those of you that don’t know, that is the name given to false contractions. And thats what I was having. For almost two weeks before my daughter came in to this world she was playing tricks on me. The problem with taking maternity leave so early is that every tiny niggle is thought to be ‘The Real Thing’. So I’m sat at home watching Jeremy Kyle panicking that I’m going to have to ring Joe at work and call him home. Baring in mind he works the other side of Oxford which would take him an hour and a half to get back, and then another 30 minutes for us to get to Worcester Hospital – all this dependant on traffic.

One thing I learnt whilst pregnant is that your water doesn’t necessarily break first. Its not like in the movies when you hear a gush, look down see a puddle and you’ve got 20 minutes to get to the hospital before the head pops out.

So people kept asking me, how do you know if its real labour? Well, shit, how would I know?! I’ve never had a baby before, apart from Braxton Hicks, I’m pretty clueless to how it actually feels. My plan, each time I had fake contractions, was to go to sleep – I was knackered anyway, so why not? – and they got stronger I’d wake up and know its real.

Sunday 20th March, 6 days before my due date, my Mother-in-Law (to-be!) rang. She asked Joe if we wanted to go round for our customary Sunday Night Roast. “We might not make it Linda, because I’m planning on having a baby today!” I laughed down the phone. I’d been feeling shitty all day. Constantly trying to sleep because I was just so tired, then not being able to. I felt sick, achey, generally pissed off and uncomfortable. But I tried to perk myself up and we went over for dinner. Now by this point I was eating about the same amount as a fussy 3 year old. My stomach organ was so squished I was full after 3 mouthfuls. All through dinner my Braxton Hicks were putting me through my paces. By 9 o’clock I was standing with my hands on my lower back and swaying. Everyone kept checking if I was okay, but at 39 weeks pregnant I had a strong grievance for anyone being ‘overly nice’. Agitated, at 9:30pm I told Joe we had to go home. I just wanted to go to bed.

So we got home and tried to wind down with a bit of Game of Thrones for an hour and then off to bed we went. Joe works funny shifts and had to be up at 3:30am so it was getting late. I led down and did my usual routine of checking the Babycentre forum and researching labour symptoms. Standing, I started pacing around our bedroom and timing my contractions on one of my much loved Pregnancy apps. Hmm. One or two every ten minutes. I’m sure the baby books said there was be an obvious rigid pattern? I checked the hospital website. Call at every 10 minutes. Shit. These are coming every 7.

“Joe, wake up! I need to call the hospital!” We got everything ready in the lounge by the front door, just in case they called us in. They told me on the phone that I was welcome to come in or stay at home if I felt more comfortable. God, no. I was definitely going in. If it wasn’t real they could always send me home again, but I was definitely not leaving anything until the last minute. We put the bags in the car, along with our brand new, pristine Maxi Cosi. Looking back now, that simple moment of putting it in the car will stay in my mind forever. We might be bringing our baby home in that car seat tomorrow, I thought.

We arrived at the birth centre at Worcester Hospital by 12:30am. We were shown into a room and the midwife looked over my notes before coming back to examine me. Now its funny to think but all the way through pregnancy this was the first time I had ever gotten my vagina out. 2cm dilated. Hooray! Its real! This is it! No fake contractions anymore, its happening. The midwife, Beth, told me that the head was right there and my waters were so thin, it wouldn’t be hard to break them. But they don’t, unless theres an issue or you’re overdue, you have to be patient, it will all come naturally. She did a sweep – Stretch and Sweep, where they circle the baby’s head to do something. Basically help it somehow. I was never particularly clear on that one.

Again, I was offered the chance to go home, relax and come back when things started progressing more. Well, I was much happier in the hospital, and no way was I getting back in a car when I felt much better standing. So Joe got the bags out the car and we moved to a smaller sort of labour without birth room, incase someone came in ready to have theirs. We began the famous ‘walk around the hospital’ doing laps of the same area, going up and down stairs and passing about 4 other pregnant women with the same idea. An hours walk, then back to the room to bounce on the ball. Half an hour of that, then back round the hospital, and so it continued. Joe was falling asleep and I was so tired, I did try to lie down, as if sleep was even possible at that point! Midwives generally leave 4 hours before examining you, to reduce the risk of infection. So at 5am, I led down, put the soles of my feet together and let my knees drop. 4cm. YES! It progressing well. I’m in established labour. Well not quite. They like you to be 5cm before you’re allowed in the pool.

I was so against a water birth until about 4 or 5 weeks before when I was in the bath twice a day and found the water so helpful, something just clicked. So they offered me some pain relief. Gas and Air or pethidine were the two options on the menu. I opted for the gas as I remembered that pethidine can make you and the baby sleepy and I thought that so far I was coping with the pain. The first several puffs on the gas are fantastic. You’re supposed to take big deeps breaths and it goes straight to your head! The best way I can describe it is when you’re really drunk that you’re on your way to falling over, your teeth feel numb and everything’s hilarious – just before the point of being ‘too drunk’. Every time I went to the bathroom (every two minutes by this point), Joe would take a puff, so he was definitely enjoying himself.

Suddenly things kicked into gear. Something shifts inside a woman in labour and the noise begins. Every time I watched One Born when I was pregnant I found myself shouting at the women that screamed, shouted or made any noise in labour. “Put your head on your chest, your hands behind your knees and shut up you silly cow!” I’d shout. But by a few hours in, I knew there was no way I could be silent. So as I was saying, this gear change happens and bam! You’re a farm animal. A long pained ‘moo’ escapes on every exhale and all you want to do is be on all fours. The midwives sat in an office just outside in the corridor are trained to listen to this and Beth returns to tell me that the water’s on, I’m getting in the pool!

Round I go to the next room and prepare to get in. Joe gets my bikini top out of the bag so I can preserve some modesty. So trivial really, when only hours later its all tits, vag and arse on full display! I’d been told earlier when I was checked at 4cm that Baby had turned and was back-to-back. Babies are generally born with their back in a curved shape against Mummy’s tummy, so that the softest part of their head is at the softest part of your vagina. Back-to-Back babies are more likely to tear poor Mummy and can take longer coming out. So I had a little cry at that news. The midwives had a handover about 15 minutes after, so goodbye Beth and hello Hayley and student midwife Megan. Megan, only two years younger than me, had been in training for 6 months and my birth was the first water birth she would ever see.

So there I was, bobbing about trying to get comfortable without drowning in this giant jacuzzi without the jets. For some reason it helped when I was on my knees and grabbed my left ankle during a contraction, pulling it out the water and almost to my head. Like some sort of crazed ballet enthusiast. Possibly one of the weirdest things about contractions is in early labour and before the actual ‘Big Push’. You feel the peak of a contraction, it can last a couple of minutes, you’re in such pain and then it switches off, you’re back in the room and having a normal conversation. I expected constant pain.

Some toast came in for Joe and I had a bite but I definitely couldn’t eat anything. I felt a new sensation of pushing in my arse. Yes, sorry Ladies and Gents, it gets way more graphic from here. I remembered from my months of research that when the head is coming down the pelvis its pushing on your anus making you feel like you need to shit. So, there’s no point beating around the bush, I’d better tell them. “I feel like I need to poo” I said. And this bits the kicker.

“Why don’t you try and have a poo between contractions and see if that makes it go away? Sometimes it helps.” Hayley asked me. Right. Okay. So I had to try and shit in this glorified bath, in water while 3 people watched me squat and strain, with one random person who kept popping in for god know’s why and then if I managed to squeeze one out it might end up hitting me as it floats around. Well let’s face it, who could go under that kind of scrutiny? I tried my best but my bowels were having none of it. I failed to mention that during our several walks around the hospital I’d done the biggest poo of my life, calling Joe into the toilet and almost taking prideful pictures to send to my family.

But ‘Poo-gate’ didn’t end there. They were so desperate for this bowel movement that I was thrust out of the pool, waddled naked from the waist down to the bathroom and forced to sit on the loo with what looks like a tiny washing up bowl in it. This is literally to catch the baby if you give birth on the lav. Sat on the toilet, with my new best friends Hayley and Megan at either knee looking up at my arsehole to see what treasures they might find. Gas and Air in my mouth the contractions were coming thick and fast. A few minutes later, they’d given up on their futile quest and I was waddled back into the pool.

I’m not sure at what point it was, but sometime between getting in and having my baby I looked around the room and burst into tears. This is normal. Its called the Transition period where you usually here the classic “This is all your fault, don’t ever touch me again” or “I can’t do this” or in my case just crying. The realisation dawns on you in this moment that there is literally no going back. One way or another, this baby is coming today.

One of the midwives asks if its okay if a female doctor comes in. She’d never seen a natural birth before and only ever performed c-sections, so I obliged and she joined the audience.

Fuck. Here comes the head. Oh god, it stings like hell. I remember my mum called it ‘The Ring of Fire’. Well, keep breathing on that gas. They’re telling me I’m doing so well. I think they’re paid to say that. The head is the worst part, just get that out and a few more pushes and I’ll get to meet her. That’s what they always say on One Born Every Minute. For anyone that hasn’t had a baby it is as everyone says, the worst pain you’ll ever experience. For however long you are pushing, it feels like you’re dying. The head is coming out and my natural instinct is to try and close my legs and stand up. A different midwife behind me keeps pushing my bum back into the water and I’m holding Joe’s jacket instead of his hand for fear of breaking it. Occasionally I open my eyes to see him in front of me and I’ll never forget the look of pure helpless fear on his face. His presence and soft words are such a comfort to me and I wouldn’t be able to do it without him. I’m vaguely aware of my own voice in my head but everything else is just white noise. Someone’s saying my name. I need to listen now. They’re telling me the head is being born, they can see it in their weird spatula mirror they keep putting between my legs. I have to let the head be born slowly so only pant when they say and stop pushing. My body’s taken over and my uterus contracts without warning, 3 uncontrollable pushes and relief. The water turns bloody and I see a shadow underneath me.

“Pick your baby up!” They tell me. I thrust her out of the water and she cries. Why am I not crying? I’m in shock. I’ve done it. All my life this is the moment I’ve been waiting for. I look at Joe for reassurance and he’s sobbing. I joked before that if he didn’t cry he’d be in trouble! She looks so much like me. This little swollen-faced blue/grey creature covered in goo and she looks like me. They take her off me to dry her off and wrap her in a towel and give her to Joe. I notice a sense of urgency in the room that I wasn’t aware of before. Hayley throws herself up to her chin into the water, both arms reaching for something. The cord had snapped, which I’d never heard of before. It was so short that the tension had caused it to snap so my blood was being pumped into the water, the placenta still attached to me. Joe later told me it was like slicing my arm open and just letting it bleed. I didn’t quite realise the severity at the time.

Looking over at Joe holding our newborn baby I felt such love. But there was no magic moment when she was born, no Hallelujah chorus or bright light shining down. Just raw emotion, shock and reality that I’d just had a baby. Five or so minutes after giving birth I was still in the pool. The midwife I didn’t know that kept popping in and out came and stabbed me in the arm with a needle, before she told me that it was to speed up the placenta delivery. I felt something metal on the floor and picked it up to ask the midwives what it was. It was the clamp that was supposed to be attached to my part of the umbilical cord, it had fallen off! Whoops, they popped it back on and helped me out. Each step felt like climbing a mountain and I was told to put my feet flat on the floor so I didn’t trip over. I was wrapped up and laid down on a bed type thing to deliver the placenta. I was shaking, pure adrenaline was pumping through my veins and I was still having mild contractions.

Knees up, feet flat together, let your legs drop. Hayley was getting a good view up my lady bits. She touched me and tugged gently on the cord to help the afterbirth come out. I jumped out of my skin each time she put even a finger on me. “You’re so sensitive” she said. No shit, a tiny human just forced its way out my vagina only minutes before. I had to push a couple of times because the injection hadn’t quite taken and I’ll be honest I didn’t even feel the thing come out. It was huge, I asked to see it because I was curious, it was in a big silver tray thing they use during operations and looked like liver. Apparently, usually the bigger the baby, the bigger the placenta they live off.

Now to assess the damage as Hayley kindly put it! I’d had a second degree tear which was worse than a 1st but not as bad as a 3rd or 4th, so I considered that a win. A 2nd degree is where you tear through skin and muscle. The perineum (between the vagina and anus) is the bit that takes the pressure and I’d heard it described as ‘pulling apart wet tissue paper’. I’d have to wait 45 minutes for a bed from the delivery suite to be made available to come down to the birth centre and because it wasn’t too severe Hayley could stitch me up herself.

While we waited, Baby Girl was given to me for her first feed. I’d opted to breastfeed so my bikini top was removed and I was officially starkers now. They helped me latch her on for the first ever time and she fed straight away. It was beautiful, such a fantastic bonding moment that I’d recommend any new mother to experience even if you decide to only breastfeed once. The female doctor that had been watching my birth came over at this point. She was crying and thanked me for letting her share in my experience. I felt so proud that mine was the first natural birth she’d seen and grateful for the emotion she felt.

I had a real good look at my baby while she fed for about half an hour. I took in all her features, noticed her swollen eyes, tiny lips and masses of hair! Babies are also born with no eyelashes but long finger nails and delight in scratching their own bloody face so they look like they’ve been near Edward Scissorhands in their first ever photos.

She was given back to Joe while I was put on a different bed. It had all sorts of pull out foam parts, so that my arse was suspended in the air, feet in stirrups and back supported on the bed. To add insult to injury, a huge spotlight was shined on my ruined unkempt bush while Hayley and Megan stare deep into the abyss. Joe stays firmly on the other side of the room, god forbid he accidentally sees and collapses into a pile on the floor.

By this point the high of actually giving birth had started to wear off. And by that I mean, that when you have a baby you experience such adrenaline that someone could come along, chop your arm off with a machete and the pain wouldn’t bother you. I was no hyperaware that not only was I getting stitched in my most intimate area but I’d have to be injected several times to numb it. My favourite toy, the gas and air, was handed back to me and I was told to ‘enjoy’ it. Taking several deep breaths to calm me down so that I could actually be injected before they started the procedure. I was as high as a kite. They injected me and I was laughing my head off. The room was a blur, I kept passing out and dreamt that a male doctor came in and was poking me about instead. I woke up and had that familiar drunk feeling. Apparently I was saying things like “We’ve just had a baby, can you believe it?!” etc.

Megan, being a student midwife was absolutely entranced by my vagina and was listening intently to Hayley narrating exactly what she was doing. She poked me and said “That bit is supposed to be over there”. That was it, I was gone. I absolutely fell about the place and decided that that was the funniest thing I’d ever heard. Half way through I noticed that I could see myself in the reflection of the shiny wall behind Megan. So I got to watch it being done, lucky me. Megan did offer to stand in front of the wall, but the truth is I was quite interested. I even got a good look in the spatula mirror when Hayley was done. She showed me different angles which made me feel like I was at the hairdressers, which must have triggered me into saying “Mmm yes, looks lovely, very neat, thank you!”

While I was led there, legs up, knowing my favourite parts would never be the same again, I looked at my daughter in the arms of my best friend and swore I would do it all again.


Darcy Athena, born 21st March 2016, weighing 8lbs 7.5oz at 9:24am. My angel, my perfect girl, worth the wait.



Third Trimester

So the bliss of the second chapter faded slightly as the nausea and raging hormones of a 13 year old returned. My bump was growing bigger by the day. Several midwife and doctors appointments told me she was going to be a big one! I was excited to be soon meeting my little girl that I’d wished for so long. There was always an underlying feeling of surreality even as we felt and watched our baby kicking, I couldn’t believe that something this perfect was happening to me. Stupid, I know.

Mostly I felt knackered. The fatigue suddenly hit me like a ton of bricks and I couldn’t wait until my maternity leave kicked in so I could finally get off my feet and have a duvet day. I left my job on the 27th, just under a month before Baby Girl was due. I’d read that this was the right time to finish work incase she came earlier and also for any last minute plans to be finished. Although being the ridiculous over-planner that I am, almost everything was bought and sorted by 20 weeks. The wardrobe was stocked, my hospital bag was packed at 33 weeks, the nursery was painted and everything was in place for our precious bundle to arrive.

One thing we’d left off was antenatal classes. I wasn’t particularly bothered in attending any as I’d researched pregnancy, birth and motherhood to the extreme on the internet, baby books and of course, by watching One Born Every Minute 56 times a day.

(For any other One Born fans, here is my favourite episode http://www.channel4.com/programmes/one-born-every-minute/on-demand/50189-002 )

So we found out that our local children’s centre were doing an antenatal course and we booked ourselves on to the 3 classes. I met some lovely mums-to-be and learnt all about possible pain relief as well as a detailed look at breastfeeding. If you have the opportunity to attend one of these courses then do it, my mindset was you could never have too much information.

We found ourselves giggling under our breath during the hideous ‘labour exercises’ where you get down on the floor and try out comfortable positions. Although I took drama at school and my life long dream was to be an actress, the whole role-play situation did not appeal to me. I was forced to sit on a piece of loft insulation on the floor whilst Joe rubbed my back with a wooden ladybird massager hearing echoes of the instructor telling me to “Wave goodbye to that contraction, you’ll never see that one again”. In truth, that actually helped one of the mums I know during her labour, but I was too busy pissing myself with laughter when Joe tried to say it to me during contractions.

Towards the end of the Third Trimester come the “Have you had the baby yet?”s. I haven’t yet met a mum that didn’t feel like absolute shit at the end of her pregnancy. You’re so uncomfortable, pissing every two minutes, can’t sleep and desperate to just have this bloody baby. Your mind is an amazing thing. Giving birth, for someone who has never experienced it, is a terrifying thought. But suddenly your brain says, nope I’m fed up, lets get it out now. And you turn from being scared to just wanting it to happen immediately, the fear gets pushed to the back of your mind. I remember someone saying to me that I actually had to give birth, like the thought hadn’t occurred to me at all and they couldn’t believe I’d chosen to go through such an experience!

So there I am; Maternity leave had started, relaxed and ready. Bag is packed. Towels under the sheets incase my water breaks all over my badly timed brand new mattress. I’ve got two weeks until I’m due and I can’t venture more than 10 miles in any direction, making sure I’m close to the hospital at all times. We’ve done the classes, we’ve read the books. We’ve even chosen our name, though nobody is allowed to know. Everything is sterilised, cleaned, washed and put away. He’s ready. I’m ready.

And then it started. The first contraction.



Second Trimester

After about 16 weeks, I’d gotten over my morning sickness. The Second Trimester bliss had kicked in. I was going to be a mummy, my little bump was on full display and I’d even started buying things. Work was enjoyable again. The hormones had settled and everything was perfect, I was happily bounding around on busy days and felt so much love for everyone and everything around me.

However, there is a few problems – or should I say annoyances – with being pregnant.

1. Goodbye personal space. 

Yes, really. Working with the public you get to meet different people everyday. Complete strangers would come up and touch my stomach with absolutely no prior warning nor invitation. On my particularly oestrogen filled days I felt like yelling “Back the fuck off!” or punching the intrusive bastards to make sure they never touched me again. Towards the beginning of the third trimester, I discovered a good hard look of miserable stoney faced anger seemed to ward of wandering hands.

2. Hello personal questions.

Along the same subject really, usually strangers would ask things that would never be normal in a conversation with a non-preggo. But for some reason because I was now harbouring a foetus in my stomach it seemed okay. Mostly I got the hilarious “My God, you’re huge! Is it twins?” and “You’ve still got how many weeks?! You look like you could drop any second!” followed by a gritted-teeth smile and sometimes if I was feeling particularly kind I might squeeze out a slight laugh.

3. The Horror Stories

Okay so this one’s a classic. Any parent who has had or is having a baby has heard their fair share of horror stories. Possibly the worst thing you can tell a first-time mum is how terrible it can go. So your niece Teresa had a 46 hour labour and the epidural didn’t take and it ended in forceps. Poor Teresa also had a fourth degree tear giving her faecal incontinence and couldn’t sit down for 6 weeks and not just for fear of staining the new sofa. Well thanks for letting me know. You know I was worried before but hearing all about Teresa has really made me feel at ease.

Enjoy it now they say. All those bloody smug mums. Because soon the Third Trimester hits and its all down hill from there.

One huge peak of the Second Trimester is the 20 weeks scan. We were just desperate to find out what little Baby was. All along we thought it was a boy. I’d been out and bought some unisex babygros. But also some blues ones… But while I was shopping I might see a pretty frilly dress and feel a sharp tug on my heart while my mind always said I don’t care what the sex is.

A feeling of deja vu as you lie on the bed, staring at the slightly larger now blobs on the screen waiting to see your child appear. Baby pops onto the screen in a perfect position to be measured, so the gender reveal would have to wait. 10 or 15 minutes that felt like forever went by as she measured Baby’s arms and length. Then showed us the spine, kidneys and even the chambers of the heart. What a magical time we live in when you can physically see your own child’s heart beating in real time. Although weird, I’ll never forget that moment. Baby is in a weird position for their head to be measured so I was sent off to have a wee to try and bring him/her into a better place. I rushed back to the bed, now desperate to find out what we’re having and once all the checks were done the sonographer turned to us and asked us if we wanted to know. I almost shouted yes, the suspense was killing me. Down the body the picture went, apparently between the legs, I couldn’t make it out… She checked the picture on the screen twice.

Three white lines. We were having a girl. I was so happy, I sobbed.