The Birth Story #3


Right then. Here
we go.  A full on no pulled punches
account of birth number #3 Warning: If you don’t like icky, sticky chat it’s
time to put your fingers in your ears and sing la la la la la laaaahhhhhh or flit
across to a nice blog about decoupage.


Go to bed with

Wake up in early
morning. Have a soothing bath

Call the midwife

Make way to Active
Birth Centre

Plug in
aromatherapy diffuser

Get into water

Give Birth on a
raft of lavender oil and Corrine Bailey Rae


Went to bed with

Felt twinges
become progressively less twingy and more body grippingly seismic.

Got out of bed at
3am and realized I couldn’t stand through the contractions

Stumbled to
bathroom and ran a bath

Got into bath
(poured in half a bottle of Elemis Rose Bath Milk)

Husband stumbles
into bathroom and says: “I don’t think a bath is a good idea. Aren’t baths
supposed to slow things down?”

I reply in high-pitched
squeal: “We need to slow things down!! Call the midwife, call your dad (to
babysit the girls). Get the notes.”

Manage to hoist
myself out of bath and hurl myself onto the toilet wherein my waters break with
a big pop.

Get massive
elephant sanitary towel and pants but can’t find planned birth outfit in the
dark (have not thought to turn light on at this point) so put on hideous
Michael Jackson tour t-shirt (kept for sentimental reasons only) with suspicious
looking hot rock burns down the front  –
they’re actually moth holes I promise – and leggings.

It strikes me that
I am about to give birth with a suspected pedophile’s name emblazoned across my
chest and I look like a massive caner.

I plough on.

Husband informs me
that his dad is nearly here and there’s an Uber waiting outside.

Have two massive
contractions on way from front door to Uber.

Uber driver looks
very alarmed

I crawl hands and
knees onto the floor of the Uber and thank god it is a massive one with facing

I keep my knees on
the floor and my head on the seat and grip onto the seatbelt clunkers as the
car makes the ten minute journey to the hospital over what feels like 80 speed

We get out of car
and stumble to the sliding doors of the hospital’s maternity reception

There is no one on

We panic

We flat-palm the glass
doors like cast-out zombies

After what seems
like an eternity we locate a bell.

We are let in and
announce that we are here to give birth in the Active Birth Centre.

Receptionist looks
blankly and says ”The birth centre is full. Go through the double doors and
take a left and then a right to triage.

Noooo! The birth
centre is full?! Contraction. Push through double doors. Can’t see any signs
that direct us to the maternity ward.

Go back through
double doors for reclarification of directions

Find triage, which
is basically a hallway with a curtain.

Massive contraction

Etremely posh
midwife with falsetto voice lies me down and puts her hand up me like a glove
puppet. Brave girl, wonderfully brave girl she warbles. I feel like I’m in a
Joyce Grenfell film.

“Where are your
notes my dear?”

Husband claps hand
on forehead – “I left them on the table at home!”

“I’m group strep B!”
I shriek. “I need the antibiotics.”

“There’s no time to
get 4 hours of antibiotics into you my dear” warbles midwife

“You’re having this
baby now! Fetch a wheelchair!”

Wheelchair arrives
and I lurch into it only to realize I can’t sit down fully as I can feel the
HEAD coming down!

Sit in wheelchair
one leg cocked and am rushed into the birth suite.

A midwife and a
student midwife are waiting. God bless them.

More glove puppetry ensues which is so painful I squeal like a guinea pig

“Can I stand up and walk around?” I

“No.” they say firmly

Husband says
equally firmly “But you can go on your hands and knees if you want to.”

It’s like a stand

“Do you have a
birth plan you’d like to tell us about Ellie?” Asks the junior midwife

“Just get it out!”
I shout.

I hang over the
headboard with my bum in the midwives faces (there is no room for modesty in birth) push and shout and push and shout
with sips of chilled juice being administered over the headboard by my husband in
between who also applies pressure to my lower back which is a godsend. I can honestly
recommend him as a doula

I breathe deeply and exhale slowly making shhhhhhhh noises through my teeth (this helps) and try to remember some of the hypnobirthing techniques I read about in preparation for birth #1. Go to your safe place. I am in my hammock under a fig tree for about five seconds before the next contraction flings me out.

I feel drained of energy, my pushes feel pathetic and my throat is hoarse. This is
the birth that’s going to defeat me I think.

One more push, go
on just push

RAAAAAaaaaaahhh! Rhino power! He’s out!

Turn around,
maneuver legs over umbilical cords and see my beautiful eight and a half pound baby boy who is healthy
and normal and pink and beady eyed.

The psychological
and physical release is immediate and immense. I’m completely giddily in love with my new little bundle and feel higher than a caner in a Michael Jackson tour t-shirt.

“Would you like tea
and toast?”

“Yes please!”

Thank you. Thank
you. Thank you.

 Of course I knew
that a third baby would more than likely arrived faster than previous babies
but I wasn’t prepared for quite the speed and intensity with which little Dylan
presented himself. First of all the little blighter was 12 days late which is
pretty unusual when it comes to 3rd babies apparently. As he was
following the same late pattern as his sisters had previously (stay inside
until someone threatens to poke about with a rubber glove)
and considering the five year gap between Dylan and his closest sibling I
thought maybe I just baked a certain way and that this baby would follow the
exact same pattern as the last two who were carbon copy birth experiences. i.e.
Go to bed feeling a bit twingy, twinges get stronger in the night and develop
into fairly strong contractions by around 6am, call the midwife and then give
birth at around lunch time. Yes, I have been extremely lucky. The big difference this time round was that I had to give birth in a hospital rather than at home. Both my previous births has been at home and there was no having to get to the hospital in an Uber or remembering notes, bags and aromatherapy diffusers (which we obviously didn’t even have time to plug in this time round). I really wanted a home birth again but having been diagnosed with the dreaded Group Strep B which can lead to serious infections for the baby it meant that I had to have the baby at hospital where I could receive antibiotics intravenously. I was gutted about this as a) i wanted to repeat my lovely home birth experiences b) I didn’t want to bombard my baby with antibiotics before he’d even entered into the world. As he came so quickly I couldn’t have the antibiotics in the end so I just had to stay in the hospital for 24 hours so that the baby could be monitored and given the all clear. Couldn’t have planned it better.

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