More visitors and Mothering Sunday.

Well my first mummy's day came - I got the Narnia DVD off Dylan - along with visits from Fran & Steve (K's sister and brother in law).


Frannie and Dylan


Steve and Dylan

It was totally lovely seeing them, but did feel a bit under pressure re the breast feeding from Frannie and Steve. Neither Frannie or her daughter have breastfed and there were lots of questions on why I "felt the need too". Steve was obviously a bit embarrassed about me feeding when he was around and in turn I felt a bit awkward. It was never anything really nasty, just made me realise that not everyone approves or understands. I guess I'm going to have to adapt and take into account other peoples opinions.

That said we had some lovely evenings together, just chatting and drinking - yes, I actually had a couple of drinks. One night I even, forgive my sins, got a bit p****d. Mum and dad did the Grandparent thang and baby sat, armed with a bottle of formula I left for the restaurant feeling a little bit guilty. A gorgeous meal and several glasses of wine later I picked up the wee man, woozie.

The 2am feed was a little strange, I felt very guilty as I was obviously not quite up to scratch with the feeding thing. I think Dylan knew that something was wrong, he was a little fractious and kept pulling away from me - could he taste the alcohol?

Marci also joined us for one night on her way up to Edinburgh. She was the doting "Fairy Godmother" and sat and stared at Dylan for literally hours. She was so gentle with him, it took me back to my first days with him.



Marci is moving over to Italy in June so this was probably the last time she will see him for a while. She always instills in me a sense of rightness, I moaned about the usual stuff and she, as usual listened.

I cried when she left, which made me realise that my hormones are still high and flying. But a bally good visit non the less!

Nicky, Laura, Gemma and Jonathan also dropped by through the week for short visits. It was lovely to see them all. Each visit meant I had to get up, get dressed and sort the trailer out. Even with a four week old baby I still cant seem to let things go, its great for me though because its forcing me to adapt and prioritize. Whereas before I would be dusting and cleaning windows I'm just running the hoover round and wiping down the worst of stuff.

Gemma - feeling a little broody

Week one - on my own

Its been a fairly strange week. I've been getting used to being on my own with Dylan, we've got into a form of routine. He's feeding about every hour and a half, which is kinda hard on the old nipples, but at least he is getting the nourishment he needs.

I'm also getting more and more confident when changing and clothing him, its not something that came naturally, especially as I've never really had to deal with babies. Changing dollies as a child I'm sure it was a whole lot easier - their legs and arms didn't jiggle and the whole floppy head thing is really daunting for the first couple of weeks or so.

Mum commented the other day on how confident I am with him, but I still feel a little unsure, especially when I'm on my own and he is crying. I'm slowly figuring out what each cry means, but have to admit that as soon as I get a grip on one he throws in another one for me to figure out.

Had a lovely visit on Tuesday from Sue, a friend from the Theatre group. Sue had a little boy of 9 months, William who crawled round the trailer. The first thing he headed for was the crystal classes we have on show - ha, made me realise how much we are going to have to change round here!!!!

I've also been given the all clear from the midwives and got my first Health Visitor visit. A lovely lady called Sheila popped round. Instilled in me a great amount of confidence as she complimented the way I handled Dylan and answered my plethora of questions.

Dylan coed and gurgled at both visitors and I watched hearts melt as they held him in their arms. I know I'm probably biased but bugger me - he's gorgeous.

Our first trip to the supper market!

Day three on our own arrived and I made a concientious effort to get out of the trailer. We dressed, always a bit of a screaming match, then headed down to mums'. As usual Granny San needed time to get sorted, finish her fag (outside in the back yard) and drink her tea.

Im not quite adjusted to baby life and constantly forget the need to take off his outdoor clothes when he is inside. That said he looked so content sleeping in the car seat that it was a crime to disturb him.

We got to Morrisons (mum's prefered shop) and for the very first time I parked in the mother and baby spaces. Then I attempted to get a trolley with a baby seat - More fun! Unbenknowst to me there are two type of trolleys. One that you sit the baby in and the other sort that you attach the car seat too. The car seat type seemed the easiest but took about five minutes for me to locate one.

Once found I strapped in Dylan and we headed off. I have to say that it was quite fun pushing my baby round the market, he slept all the way round and several times folks came up and asked about him. I kinda felt special - a new mommie!!

Hormonal and moving home!

Today K and I packed up the last of our belongings and headed back to the trailer. I was fine when we were at the trailer, unpacking and sorting things out - I guess preparing for Dylan coming home!

But back at mum and dads it suddenly hit me, that from this point on it was just K, me and Dylan. I wouldn't have mum cooking my breakfast. Neither Dad nor mum would be around to take on Grandie time leaving me time to recuperate and adjust,before I could stop them the tears came and just wouldn't stop. I walked from room to room sobbing; the enormity of becoming a family had hit home.

Even at the trailer I couldn't stop the tears, this trailer that I had loved and felt so at home in felt small and cold. There seemed to be no room for anything and I felt lost and uncertain at my own ability to cope. K tried holding me, but I felt unable to share my fears with him, certain he would just tell me I was being stupid.

Eventually he went off and did a shop returning with a large bunch of roses, apparently from Dylan, he held me tight and said that everything would be alright, but I'm not sure. How do you cope with this amount of responsibility!

Where went the week?

Oh my, this week has just flown by. Dylan and I have started to settle into a routine, feeding has become easier - my boobs have finally reduced down to their normal proportions and Dylan can latch on. The lansinoh cream has also helped with the latching on. Occasionally there is a little bit of pain but on the whole we are doing good.

When I think back to the last two weeks I have to laugh at my own insecurities. I guess this road is going to make me re-address lots my preconceived beliefs on a lot of things.

Dummies being one. Up till Tuesday I was adamant that Dylan would not be given a dummy, but mum brought some, just in case on Sunday. I sat there rolling my eyes and said "he isn't going to have a dummy, how many times do I have to say this". Then Sunday and Monday hit along with a cold (for both of us) and Dylan suddenly developed into this crying, sucky baby who couldn't be consoled no matter how we held or rocked his wee body.

Mum took the dummy from the packaging and slipped it into his mouth, peace reigned and has ever since - One more lesson learnt!

Its working!

The weekend was a bit of a trial, attempting to get through to everyone that the top ups come after the breast feeding, not before. Rachel explained to me the importance of continuing to breastfeed, if I stop my milk will dry up and as it hasn't come through yet I need to ensure I still feed Dylan everytime he wants feeding, then I top him up with formula to make sure he is getting all the sustenance he needs.

Another misconception Ive had to face is that your milk comes in straight away. Apparently it can take up to six weeks for some womens milk to come through... SIX WEEKS!!!

Mum, dad and K keep trying to get me to miss a feed. I keep explaining again what I've been told, but it seems to fall on deaf ears, I know they are only trying to help me out but sometimes it just feels like they all want me to give up, its like I'm being selfish for wanting to do this. I guess we are all on learning curves and today I'm not feeling particuarly charitable or taking their advice very well.

My boobs have become less engorged and are slowly softening up, Jo's advice of Lansinoh cream for my nipples has really helped. The toe curling pain is lessening with each feed and I'm actually feeling more comfortable when positioning Dylan.

We are primarily using the "rugby ball" position for feeding. Imagine holding a rugby ball under your arm and you've got it in one. Its nice cause in this position I don't feel as if I'm smothering him!

Today has primarily been a good day - Yeah!!!

Yet another midwife...

Today was Rachel's turn to visit me, she was lovely, all concern and encouragement following yesterdays trauma. Once again she voiced the general opinion that this is not an easy thing to be doing - motherhood - its a huge learning curve and I really need to stop beating myself up. She actually got me laughing at myself. Hearing the sound of my own laughter was actually a bit of a shock, I don't think I've laughed for days!

I'm sore, I'm hormonal, I've huge boobs, that feel like rock and I'm supposed to be rational!

Solace is found in Dylan's face, I know he's not really smiling, it's wind, but whenever he does his little grin my heart sores and I know I have to keep trying.

Thriving Vs Survivng

Today Julie, yet another midwife, came and said that Dylan wasn't doing well, he seemed lethargic and "mewlish", she was right. As she looked him over a rash, which hadn't been there last night as I desperately tried to feed him, covered his tiny body, his cries like a little kitten, his eyes staring into nothingness.

Julie said it was the difference between "thriving or surviving". He was obviously getting something from me, but not enough. She gave me some powder to put on his rash and his belly button, which didn't look nice, all red and sore and advised me to give him a couple of formula feeds through the day to see if he picked up. If he didn't she would have to get us to go into the hospital - primarily to check that everything was okay.

The tears that followed her leaving were indescribable. Had my decision to bring him home early caused this downward slump? Was it my decision to breast feed, and breast feed only, that had lead to him "starving". Was I able to make any sensible decisions?

Here I was five days in with a baby who was only just surviving - even mothers in Africa with nothing seemed to be able to do what I was unable to do. The more I cried from guilt the harder it was to comfort the bundle that lay quiet in my arms, too hungry to cry. Mum and dad desperately tried to comfort us both. K finally got home to find me in tears, unable to do anything but cry, he put his arms around me and said it would be okay.

Through the day mum and I made up some bottles of formula and attempted to get Dylan to drink but he was either too tired or just not interested. It took me 40 mins to get 2 ounces inside him, all he seemed to want to do was sleep.

Somewhere in the back of my brain a little part of me cheered, at least it wasn't just my milk he was rejecting, at least it wasn't just me!!!

Julie returned about 5pm and we told her about his unenthusiastic feeding. Once again she looked him over, her professionalism judging me. The final outcome being that K and I headed off to the hospital.

Tears still poured and I felt nothing but guilt and remorse. K attempted to comfort me, holding my hand and drying my tears but nothing anyone could say would take away the fear that my decisions had brought my baby to this state.

The doctors did various tests - all of which came back with good results, he had lost weight, eight ounces, but the nurse who weighed him said that was normal. We sat around for a couple more hours waiting for a doctor, who eventually looked him over, said she couldn't see anything really wrong with him, (huge sighs of relief) and asked me to come back the following week just as a check up on his weight.

I asked if it was okay to continue breast feeding and was told that it was the best thing for him. That I should just top up with formula for the next couple of days, that I should be aware that breast feeding isn't an easy option, that we both have to get used to it, that we both have to learn. I asked if it was normal for women to struggle this much and the attending Dr laughed, she had attempted to breast feed for 8 weeks and had to give up, not all women can, some don't even try. She said I was doing all the right things and that I should just continue, but if I wasn't able to then I shouldn't beat myself up - her encouragement fortified me.

K, Dylan and I returned home somewhat relieved. As advised I fed Dylan - 20 minutes struggling for both of us, but he did seem to latch on and suckle for most of the time, I then topped him up with some formula.

I entered into this pregnancy with so many beliefs, things I would and would not do but even this early in and I'm being made to see that things will not be how I want them to be, things wont be like they are in the books, thing will be how Dylan wants them, we will do, together, what works!!!

Engorged and failing again!

The book says: Some mothers find that as their colostrum changes over to milk, their breasts can become swollen and engorged, so that, if they are not careful, the baby finds it difficult to feed from the breast....

Well excuse me "if they are not careful". I went to bed with normal soft boobs and woke with Jordan's cast off's. There was no lead up, Dylan fed happily last night but when I got up this morning my boobs were solid, top to bottom like rugby balls!

He can't get his mouth around the nipple and just cries and cries in frustration. Mum and dad went out to Mothercare and brought me a breast pump, but it doesn't work, or I cant make it work, nothing comes out.

So we tried hand expressing. Only with my boobs being so big it all just dribbled down my stomach as I attempted to catch it. So we then brought a funnel, cut a bit out of it, so my boob can fit into it and still catch the milk I am able to express.

My boobs hurt, even just having clothes hanging from them and the only relief I managed to find was hot flannel compresses. Mum has been an absolute star, offering encouragement and bringing new flannels as I crouch over the funnel, vainly attempting to express enough milk to allow Dylan to feed.

Do I give in and give him a bottle or do I continue, the books and the midwife all say keep trying, mum, dad and K keep saying one bottle wont hurt. I don't know what's best! Whenever I put him to my breast his fists thrash and his head shakes in a desperate desire to get latched on, his cry sounds angry and frustrated - What do I do!!!!

Tonight I've crouched on hands and knees in the bath chest down, breasts floating in the water, attempting to ease the hurt. One step forward, two steps back!

Pooh olive oil and milk!

Well just wanted to blog about the fun of nappy changing. The book says "the first few days baby will produce a dark, thick substance called meconium". This stuff is wicked! Its like some alien substance and its hard to believe that this little tiny baby can produce this much of it!!!

Nappy changing in itself is something I've never really done before. I remember changing my dolls as a child, but Dylan is far more wiggly and seems to grow additional limbs, which constantly find their way into what ever is inside his nappy. Im using wipes like they are going out of fashion and although we brought re-usable nappies I have to admit that having to deal with all the feeding, changing and stuff Im loving the ease of disposables.

Pauline, the current community midwife who is looking in on us, has also asked me to rub Dylan in olive oil, his skin is really dry on his hands, feet and head, it looks quite sore but she assured me that it was fairly normal for late babies. I had to remind her that he was actually a day early.
Perhaps he was late, who knows, all I know is that last night my milk seemed to come in. Dylan was feeding and suddenly his little face changed and from a slow steady suck he began chomping frantically, his eyes alight. He must have been on for about 2o mins. I felt like I had finally succeeded in feeding him.

I'm a mommie!!!

Breast is best - so why can't I do it?

Dylan and I have struggled for the last three days with feeding. All the books say that he should be feeding for 20 mins from one breast and then be offered the other, apparently babies should be feeding this much by day three.

However Dylan and I both have a cold and he seems to find it difficult to get latched on and breath at the same time. I'm in fear that my boobs are too big and seem to be suffocating him. Even with the rugby ball hold we still struggle, I've reverted to the belly to belly as this seems to be the only position he manages to stay on for more than a couple of seconds.

Added to the positioning problems are the pain issues. All the books imply that there should be no pain when baby is latched, but I have to say that each time he goes on I feel like screaming. I've sat in tears as my baby feeds, primarily because of his cold he is lathing on and off almost every minute.

Mum, dad and K all keep suggesting I should give him a bottle, but I'm scared that if I do my milk wont come through properly or and this scares me more that he, Dylan, will prefer the bottle. I'm not sure I can do this - isn't it supposed to be the most natural thing in the world! What if he isn't feeding because he doesn't like what I'm producing, what if my milk wont come through properly, what if....

Totally unsure and feeling very down. Thank god for mum and her constant reassurance and hugs.

Our first night together.

After the fun of the labour K, Dylan and I were transported to the recovery room within the hospital, it was kinda like a cheap motel, strange lumpy three piece with matching curtains, but after the starkness of the labour ward anything was welcome.

K run me a bath and I sank into the water in blissful relaxation, not to gross you out the water turned pink with the blood from my body. That said it was what was needed to get me relaxed, I returned to the bedroom part of the room to find K sat on the bed staring at Dylan in the hospital cot a look of complete love on his face.

I climbed into the single bed, with plastic sheeting (still lots of bleeding happening) and pulled the thin hospital sheets over my body, looking at the two guys in my life. Smiling K pulled the cot over to the side of the bed and climbed onto the bed with me. Within minutes he was asleep, slowly he managed to maneuver himself into a comfortable position and I was left lying on my side. I was tempted to shove him and wake him but he looked so peaceful, I pulled the covers over us and tried to sleep.

Dylan only woke once through the night - angel child - finding from some primordial depths the right way to hold him in my arms and croon him back to peaceful sleep. I've never really been much of a baby person and this natural mothering instinct kinda shocked, but pleased me. His little face looked up at me and I down at him and I knew love like I've never known it before!

Putting him back in the crib I climbed back into the bed, shoving K across the bed and stared with perfect bliss at the little being in the crib next us.

At 7.30 the door opened and Angie, another lovely nurse who handled our change over, came in with the blood pressure monitor. My stats were taken one more time, all fine, K took himself off to the sitting room area and snoozed.

Angie then took me though changing and cleaning Dylan. We also discussed breast feeding and she showed me how to get him latched on. Last night Dylan didn't want to feed, I thought it was normal for babies to immediately feed from the breast, but apparently some don't, it can take up to 24hrs for them to want to feed. However even just holding baby skin on skin helps with the bonding, it certainly helped me as not being able to feed him left me feeling a little bit lacking - but how could I say this without anyone thinking I was strange!

So there I lay, with Dylan at my breast expecting it all to just happen. Id been to the antenatal classes, I'd read all the leaflets and books and knew all about latching the baby on. The breastfeeding mantra flitting through my brain
"Belly to belly
Nose to nipple
No pain"

And suddenly I was faced with small baby, small mouth, big boobs. There was just no way I could hold him belly to belly. Angie advised me to try it with a pillow, which we did, but that wasn't much better, he still seemed reticent to latch on. She said not to worry, but I couldn't help feeling like I was failing here.

Finally we placed Dylan on a pillow and I tucked him under my arm, into the rugby ball position. His little mouth opened and I squished my nipple into his mouth. A sharp shooting pain filled my breast and my toes curled, then suddenly he was sucking. Angie smiled and patted me on the shoulder "that's good, see his ears moving, his jaw going up and down, that tells me he's latched on properly".

Engulfed with joy at being able to feed my baby I didn't think to mention the pain I had felt, all the books said it shouldn't hurt when baby latched on, and just beamed at K. "Look I'm feeding him", he smiled back at me. "Well done".

Angie went off to get us breakfast after informing us that the peadiatric doctor would be round and we would also need to wait for the hearing test to take place before we could leave. So much for a six hour discharge - we sat on the bed again just staring into the crib, fingers entwined and a happy silence pervading the room.

Breakfast eaten and bags packed, we waited for the Paed doctor and the hearing test lady. Both turned up and did their things, Dylan was given the all clear, dad was called and we left the hospital. One thing we hadn't taken into account was neither K nor I knew how to fit the car seat, lesson 1 learnt!!!

Labouring towards labour!

The book said “ most women feel an urge to get themselves organised ready for the babys birth. As the expected date of delivery draws closer, many couples find a certain mild panic creeping in when they begin to wonder whether they will actually be ready….”

I guess this was why a week before the expected due date I was climbing around under the caravan sorting out the wiring and steaming carpets. I was filled with a sense of preparation, a need to get things organised, clean, sorted.

On Friday 24th Feb I spent the day trying to ignore the regular pains that encompassed my stomach. I cooked dinner for mum and Keefe, cried because Keefe didn’t come to the table quick enough, screamed at him for being inconsiderate and sobbed because I couldn’t control myself. All part of false labour, but as Hazel, our midwife said, at least we were on the home straight.

The following week left me surviving on two hours sleep a night due to false labour pains and Braxton hicks. All in all I was tired, hormonal and living life on the edge of emotional overload. Luckily Hx was on hand with daily phone calls to remind me there was life other than baby.

Thursday 2nd March dawned and I fumbled my way through the morning, I had spent the night logging contractions, irregular but strong which started at 1.30ish, they came every 10 mins, then about 5.30am they just stopped, another night of expectation with nothing to show. This had happened for the last 3 nights so I didn’t really think anything of it.

The day passed with the usual hormonal tirade, stomach cramps and tears. I pounded the pavements in the cold northern wind and bemoaned the fact that this baby was never going to come.

About 10.30pm everyone went to bed, feeling restless I nested downstairs with a book and yet another glass of water and chocolate spread sandwich. I paced the room alternating between reading, sitting on my bouncy ball, and getting through the cramps, attempting once more to prepare myself for another sleepless night. Contractions were coming regularly once again, this time slightly more painful, but nothing that really told me that this was it.

However by midnight the contractions were coming about 5 mins apart so as directed by the Midwife I called the hospital, Having already called someone out last week under false pretenses I didn’t want to get someone out of bed again. I chatted to the nurse on the labour ward telling her about all the other times I had thought I was in labour….

“Shannon” she said, “ are you having pains again?”

“Hmmm”

“that’s four mins since the last contraction, can you talk?”

“Uh-uh”

“Shannon, I don’t think your in false labour this time, I think your in labour, Im calling out the midwife”

“uh-uh”

Once the contraction had stopped I went upstairs and woke up mum, dad and K. Dad began boiling water – apparently its what Grandads do! Mum made toast and tea and Keefe rubbed my back as and when needed, paced the floor and fiddled with cd’s.

30 minutes later Christine has joined us and was able to confirm that I was in labour, things were finally happening. Four hours later and contractions coming hard and happening ever 3 mins Christine asked to do an internal to see how things were progressing, 5cm dilated – which would have been great, if it wasn’t for my soaring blood pressure. Christine gave me an hour to see if my blood pressure would lower itself now that I knew things were progressing, but even after a hot shower and a relaxing massage my blood pressure was still in the mid 90’s. Health and safety of the baby came first and an ambulance was called and I was sent to the dreaded hospital.

Arriving at the labour ward my spirits plummeted and the tears started, the hospital room was everything I knew it would be. Cold, sterile and the bouncy ball was flat. In the space of two hours we had three staff change over and I was left panicked and unsure that I would be able to do what needed to be done.

Keefe blundered round trying to keep me calm, kissing and hugging me telling me everything was going to be alright. Added to my panic was the fact that the birth plan had been left behind, without it would Keefe remember exactly what I did and didn’t want?

Up high and totally believing that I couldn’t do this labour thing, I was introduced to my new best friend – the gas and air machine. A few deep breaths, a few bounces on the ball and a calm over took me.

I have to say that the next 13hrs passed in a blur of gas and air, pain and changing positions. Mum and K offered invaluable support and Gillian, our main midwife, kept me calm and encouraged. Gas and air is a totally weird substance that allows you to be spaced out but present. At times I got frustrated with K and mum because they couldn’t understand that it took me at least 20 mins to get over the contractions, so when people were asking me questions I would give the answer 20 mins later. Some very strange conversations were had. I used the bouncy ball lots, leaning over it, sitting on it, placing it on the wall behind my back and massaging my back. Vaseline for lips, water and wet wipes were a must and seemed at times to be the only thing I could gasp out between contractions.

At sometime, mid contraction, Gillian asked K if he thought I might like to use the bath, he hummed and arhred, in amidst gulping gas and air I stared at him in disbelief, didn’t he know I would love to have a bath, hadn’t we discussed this. I was therefore forced to batter him over the head, scream yes and mewl in agony at his inability to understand my needs. I virtually ran from the labour room to the bathroom as I had no gas and air, luckily they had a couple of bottles stashed away for me, I was connected up and plunged into the warm watery depths of the bath.

At about 1.30 – now 11hrs in, I remember panting to K that I wanted to push, but after yet another examination (something I was adamant I wasn’t going to have but when its happening you just don’t care what they do to you) showed I was only a further 2cm dilated. 7cm my brain screamed, Ive got to be further than that, I really felt like I couldn’t take anymore, I wasn’t just tired, I was exhausted. I thought the pain I was feeling was as much as I could humanly stand.

Because I hadn’t progressed as much as I should have Gillian attempted to ask me how I felt about oxytocin. Book says: Oxytocin Drip, another method of accelerating or augmenting labour… if waters have broken.. but labour is progressing slowly. The down side to this is that you have to go on a drip, which means limited movement and continual monitoring. As I was already being monitiored because of my blood pressure it was just one more thing that tied me to the bed. However an hour later I still hadn’t progressed any further to we agreed to the drip. The belt they tie round you stomach to monitor the baby and contractions was totally aggrevating at some stage I remember begging for it to be moved, just for a few minutes, it constricted with each contraction and hurt like hell.

Something else we tried was the tens machine – supposed to offer a drug free release – Pah! It hurt like hell, as soon as it was on I screamed for it to be removed, the shock of the electric current just sent me crazy – yet another time K got battered.

I think there were a further two internal examinations, but really I didn’t give a flying fart, I just wanted to be told I was ten cm dilated and I could push. I also had an anterior lip. Book says: sometimes, with or without the premature urge to push the cervix may have dilated unevenly around the baby’s head, leaving a lip which can still be felt. If you do push vigorously on to an incompletely dilated cervix it might become swollen and thus take longer to recede, which meant the baby wasn’t coming out properly.

Im not sure what they did, or what I did, but what felt like hours later with lots of gas and air and not pushing I remember the Dr examing me, looking through my legs, smiling and saying, “Shannon your ready, you can push”. The relief, so I started, I screamed, I yelled, I groaned, I screamed some more. “I cant do it” I cried out, “you can do it, you are do it” called back Gillian, “Come on babe, push” yelled K. “Your doing brilliantly babe” cried my mum.

I couldn’t stand being on my back so moved onto all fours, primal and howling I began to push. So what does it feel like? Imagine breaking your leg, then imagine breaking that leg over and over again, the pain is indescribable. Gillian wanted me to push four times, to get baby’s head under the pubic bone, to allow it to come out, but at the end of each third push I collapsed in pain and exhaustion. “I cant do it”….

As his head finally hit the vaginal opening the sense of stretching is amazing, a sense of relief hit and I knew I was on the home straight, six more pushes and I heard K, Mum and Gillian all yelling “It’s a boy, he’s here”, kisses and hugs abounded and I was filled with an overpowering headiness as a small purple baby, bloody baby was placed into my arms… my baby, we had done it.



It was almost all over and I was adamant that I was going to have my natural third stage, but having stood for almost an hour with the placenta swinging between my blood spattered legs I gave in and Gillian administered the syntometrine, 20 mins later she gave me the all clear. K, mum, dad and I were left to stare in wonder at the little being in front of, face scrumpled up and demanding cry ensuring our love was sealed.