My Birth Story

If you're anything like me (nosey as hell) then you love nosing through a good, gory birth story so I thought I would share mine.

Just a 20 year old girl that had one too many Espresso Martinis on Christmas Day and got the (happiest) surprise of her life a month later when she did a wee on a stick, I hadn't a clue what to expect. My pregnancy was plagued with vomiting every second of every day for the first 7 months, no matter where the location (Bent over Harrods Toilets trying to puke as quietly and delicately as possible on my 21st Birthday is a personal favorite) followed by my good old friend Mr Heartburn keeping me up all night for sleepovers and the grand finale being crippling PGP resulting in me being wheelchair bound and having my Grandma smashing me and my wheelchair into a display of toys at Hamleys.

Its safe to say I was more than ready to pop that baby straight out and regain the ability to walk through H+M without having to try and squeeze my big behind on a table of t-shirts praying I wouldn't fall straight through it because I couldn't handle more than three steps but I was also the size of a whale.

I have no shame in saying being pregnant was pretty poo and I was counting down the days until it was over. You won't catch me sharing perfect, glowing photos of me all done up looking like I'm wearing a strap on bump on Instagram saying 'miss this' thats for sure. The reality is I don't think I washed my hair or changed my clothes for 9 months and spent the majority of my pregnancy doing a pretty good impression of Henry VIII all fat and stuck in bed, being passed food and waiting for a crane to maneuver me.

After three whole days of no sleep, a lot of tears and snot, and constant contractions in my lower back, It was gone 10pm on September 27th when we arrived at the Hospital after my Mum and Aidan had somehow managed to roll me like a big fat cheese wheel out of the house and into the car, screaming to no avail.

I, like many other naive first timers, had put together an utterly pointless 'birthing plan' which was ignored from start to finish.

I wanted a water birth and had dreamt of a chilled, spiritual experience where I laid in a Queen like position In a pool surrounded by midwives fanning me and feeding me grapes as I lifted a leg slightly and a baby fell out. Everyone would clap and then Moet would be handed out in Champagne flutes as we giggled and picked potential 'first outfits' for my new baby who looked a bit like baby Hercules in the Disney film with a gold glow and blonde curl.

I got straight into my fancy, overpriced, polka dot, but definitely not itsy bitsy or teeny weeny, maternity tankini ready to put on a show. I was 'relaxing' in the birthing pool, testing out possible poses, getting through my contractions a little easier with gas and air (feeling a bit drunk on gas and air)

Aidan and my Mum chilled on big bean bags and we discussed what coffee we were going to get from the Costa downstairs and selected songs from my 'birthing' playlist. Everything was going swell, too swell as the midwife continuously, but calmly stuck a mirror in the pool so everyone could have a fab view of my front bum. 

My waters then broke in the pool around midnight, weirdest feeling ever, like someone popping a water balloon in your noony, and the midwife suddenly became concerned. Turns out there was Maconium in the water which means Bowie had done a big fat poo inside me. Typical.

I was then made to get out of the pool, so no more Buddha, floating, majestic birthing more rushed to the high risk unit on a bed screaming and a bit pooey.

Aidan and my Mum reluctantly stayed awake the entire night by my side, selfishly stuffing their faces with cheese toasties as I begged for every drug under the sun and burst just about everyones ear drums in Essex. Through my entire pregnancy I swore I would have a natural, drug free, scream free labour and without fail every time I saw a woman cry or scream on born every minute muttered the words 'I won't be like that'.

What I actually did however was the complete opposite. I was literally begging everyone I saw, from the cleaner to the extremely scared lady with the tea trolley for an epidural and was finally granted my wish.

Aidan and my Mum held my dead weight, whale body up as I had a whooping great needle stuck in my back and cried convinced I would never regain feeling in my legs again and that I now wasn't allowed milk (Aidan had for some reason purchased me the milkiest of milky drinks from Costa which sat staring at me, sad and confused as to why I wasn't drinking him)

 A few hours later, to everyones annoyance, I still had a lot of lung power left in me and still screaming in agony a lightbulb somewhere above someones head pinged and they realised something was wrong. Unluckily for me so far during my admission at around 10pm and now at around 8am the next day I had not been solely looked after by one or even 2 midwifes but instead about 6 different, agency midwifes who were all very unfamiliar with the hospital and where things were kept.

They were swapping around and leaving me constantly through my labour and none of them ever introduced themselves, really spoke to me or put me at ease and somewhere someone had not actually done my epidural correctly, hoorah!

At around 10am the contractions had eased off a bit but still not completely and I was still having a good old giggle with the gas and air despite the epidural. Midwife number 287 was starting to get concerned as more baby poo was leaking out of me and so a doctor was called.

After some pretty rubbish pushing the lovely French Doctor decided that I would be rushed to theatre immediately and not plopped back in the bath like I had wanted. So sporting a beautiful hospital gown with all my bits hanging out and my lovely bum out in the air I rolled, with no feeling in my legs, from a (not so) comfy bed to a metal table, more like a fish onto an oven tray than a mermaid into the sea like I had imagined. 

Aidan was in tears and a complete emotional mess at this point, snotting all over the place, and when given the option to only have one person with me in the scariest moments of my life so far it was a given that I was taking my Mum who quickly glammed up in her sexy scrubs.

I don't remember too much in Theatre, there were a LOT of people, the whole cast of Holby City seemed to be hanging around me as I lay sprawled out like Jabba the Hutt on a sun lounger, modeling an oxygen mask and a couple of tubes up my nose. It was just gone 12pm, My legs were flung up in the air ever so graciously,  I then gave one push and out popped Bowies big fat alien head, the rest of his body was quickly pulled out with forceps and somewhere along the line I was sliced from what felt like hole to hole. Bowie was briefly placed on my lower stomach for approximately 0.5 seconds and then he was gone again.

Bowie was born at 12:32 pm September 28th 2016.

I didn't so much as get a glance at him as I gave myself 1000 double chins attempting to lift my head up to see. He was whisked away, cleaned up and handed to my Mum whilst I got all my holes sewn back up which took a worryingly long time.

Its all a bit of a blur after that, I'm not sure I was quite with it to be honest. I then remember rocking up in a cubical alone and laying there waiting, Aidan came in and sat beside me and finally ten minutes later our baby was pushed in. Well over an hour since his birth I could finally see him properly and hold him for the first time, not before puking my guts up in a cardboard hat randomly as a little finale.

I at long last held my squishy faced baby on my chest, skin to skin and it was magic. 

Following Bowies birth I stayed in Hospital 3 days. Both me and Bowie had an infection and were given antibiotics, his was through a cannula in each hand and he had to wear little socks on his hands to keep them safe so we naturally called him Bowie Sock Hands.

I spent the first night with a good old catheter, watching yourself wee in a bag without feeling yourself weeing in the bag is pretty surreal. My wee bag was attached to the bed and Aidan kept knocking it by mistake spraying little bits of wee around the room, and who said romance dies when you have kids? 

It took standing naked in a hospital shower in a pool of blood with a nurse watching my every move in case I passed out for me to truly think, yeah, I've lost all my dignity.

I then had to have three blood transfusions and spent hour upon hour slumped in a chair like an OAP Vampire whilst they fed me blood bag after blood bag. A favorite moment for me was sitting in a chair in a nighty, hooked up to a machine having a blood transfusion with sick down my front and my unwashed hair in a bun whilst my sister in law, straight from work, sat perched on the side of the bed in a suit and a nurse came in and said 'so which one of you is the new mother?'.

I had a long road ahead of me with all those stitches in all those unpleasant places, not being able to sit down, soaking my knickers in witch hazel, putting sanitary towels in the freezer and being too afraid to do a poo (but my not so irrational fear of ever doing another poo again in my life is another story for another time). I never slept again (he still doesn't sleep at 15 months) and my bum is still not, nor will it ever be, the same as it was in the good old days. 

My birth was an experience, I can tell you that, but of course I wouldn't change it for the world because when you're holding your little squashed up, alien baby, you instantly forgive the pain you just endured for 4 days straight (forgive but definitley never forget)

All I can say is N E V E R  A G A I N

How was your birth? 
(don't tell me if it was amazing, fabulous, pain free and spiritual because I will be eternally jealous)

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