ailbhe | Entries tagged with pregnancy

We got a thunderstorm, complete with heavy rain, in the middle of the night. The world feels much fresher for it. I think Linnea slept better, too; I know I did, weird nightmares about dinosaurs, boats, flamethrowers and political intrigue notwithstanding.

Rob has taken Linnea to visit his parents for the weekend, so I am home alone. I took the bus into town with them, got out at the stop by Mothercare, failed to find the maternity pyjamas I wanted to buy for hospital, walked to the bus-stop, got the bus to the library, realised I didn't have my library card, and was nonetheless able to check out three books I'd reserved, and half a dozen new ones. I don't usually get much chance to browse the adult books while I'm there, so today was a real treat. I did cheat by going to the Orange Prize shortlist shelf and seeing which ones my pet assistant librarian had given good reviews, but that counts too! And I took out Wilkie Collins "The Woman In White" because I've read books where characters refer to it often enough that I'd like to know what it says.

Then I got the bus home from the library.

It's a bit irritating, getting buses everywhere instead of just walking but at least the buses stop in convenient places and come very frequently and I have all-day travel on them for two pounds fifty. I couldn't go anywhere yesterday because my pelvis hurt too much to walk to a bus-stop, but today I think I did quite well. I hoped to get as far as John Lewis to check out sunscreens for pushchairs and prams (you can now get what I lacked with Linnea - a black mesh cover for the pushchair with SPF30 or so. Nowhere was stocking them when Linnea was little so we did what we could with draped muslins), but the prospect of walking that far was too daunting. I can't afford to aggravate this pain at all.

I got home at noon and did online banking, bill-paying, and budgeting. We've overspent on our grocery budget this month, mainly because I flaked on planning menus. I'll have to plan harder the next few weeks so we have enough to freeze half every meal, ready for the newborn. That will conveniently "save" a little money for when we are living with Rob's statutory paternity pay, too.

I'm tempted to order roasting joints and roast three or four of them at once, at gas mark 4, and freeze them sliced.

Get the spare room ready for my mother to stay in, including freecycling loads of stuff.

Pay storage bill.

Pay Mastercard bill.

Flea-treat three cats again.

Get a bookcase full of books out of our bedroom. Maybe two.

Make space in our bedroom for the Moses basket.

Launder all the baby clothes, bedding and nappies that have been in the attic.

Buy PJs for hospital.

Pack hospital bag.

Buy sleepsuits! Baby only has onesies so far.

Buy nipple salve, since the tube I have leftover from my daughter has vanished (I didn't need it for long, but when I needed it, I needed it).

In the past three days, about half a dozen people have told me they think I'm very brave to be going through All That again. I'm getting better at just saying "thank you," or whatever, but the truth is, it didn't take much bravery at all, really.

It took far more courage to face the fact that I might never have another pregnancy. The courage it took to have sex, to get pregnant, to contact midwives and doctors, to go to hospital, to research and plan the c-section, to stand up for what I want even when actual doctors with real authority don't like it? Piddling. Never being pregnant again was a truly terrifying thing. I attribute the drop in panic attack frequency and intensity, and the accompanying return of sleep, serenity, and domestic harmony to our lives, at least partially to my beloved teddy-bear beaded-flip-flop-wearing gynaecologist telling me that I could carry another pregnancy, even if I couldn't deliver vaginally. Basically, we went and got me pregnant the very next time I ovulated.

It's true that I've always gone straight back out and done the scary thing; when I first moved to England I promptly fractured both elbows (three fractures along the length of the bones in one arm, meeting at the joint, and two in the other, also meeting at the joint) ice-skating. As soon as my arms had healed enough to dress myself properly again, I got Rob to take me back to the ice-rink. It worked. And largely because going new places and meeting new people was terrifying for me, I made a point of going to all the afpmeets I could. That worked, too, though I was still crying with panic when I first went to Sweden. It's a tactic that works for me. Without it, my life would be unbearably restricted by now, because, well, enough nasty things have happened to me that avoiding the whole thing would be extremely, er, restrictive.

(OK, the phrase "Feel the fear and do it anyway" is sitting in my head begging to be said, so here we go, I've said it, though I don't believe I've read the book.)

The point is. The point is. The point is. Um. Probably that I don't feel terribly brave. I wouldn't be doing any of this if I could see pleasanter options. There aren't any. this is the leastest worstest path for me to take, so I'm taking it. It's still bloody difficult, yes. And I really appreciate when people acknowledge it - which is what "You're so brave!" remarks are doing. But I don't see much in the way of alternatives that don't involve rewriting my personality, and it took me long enough to write this one.

I met the ob who will be doing the exam today. She was pleasant enough, but had a few problems with my birth plan - wanted me to change my stated desires on the birth plan (the ones already qualified with "if possible"), which I refused to do. She also suggested "not focussing on it" as a way of dealing with the possibility of a panic attack while waiting for surgery - a possibility which I explained gets greater the longer I have to wait. She really has no idea that what I'm talking about is an actual panic attack, with a distinct possibility of turning into a full-blown flashback, and not a little regular anxiety. I suppose she just doesn't have enough experience of post-trauma people, since the other ob is the woman who specialises in it.

However, Rob reminded me that in previous surgeries, it has been the anaesthetist who sorted out my panic, not the surgeon, so we can discuss it with him - and my midwife will see to it that if I need it I will at least get enough gas and air to keep me drunk while we're waiting.

I'm going to argue very hard for a private room at the clerking appointment, because if I do have a panic attack it won't do anyone else on the ward any good. Also, the recovery room is communal, which does not appeal to me at all; the last birth had an audience of thousands for every stage, and I don't like that idea. However, actually doing my post-operative observations (blood pressure etc) will be - again - my fabulous midwife, so that will be lovely.

It's going to be so lovely that she's there to meet my new baby straight away. This whole thing would have been so, so much harder without her. She came today even though she'd hurt her back and was avoiding most of her moving around type work.

I really want to think of a nice gift for her. I keep forgetting to check if she has pierced ears, so I could get her some Pinard earrings. I'd also like to get her something like wine vouchers or a mixed case of interesting wines, or some other luxury goods type thing. I don't really know what she's into, other than skiing, wine, babies, midwifery, and going to live in Scotland. Unfortunately, most of what she has told me about herself has vanished into the generic memory fog. I could try buying her a nice piece of original artwork if I could get to a gallery with cheap art, I suppose. But I have no clear idea of what she'd like.

Temperatures are much, much lower - 25C in the coolest room in the house.

Postman arrived before I had any trousers on, but luckily I had brushed my hair and was wearing a tshirt, so I was able to put on trousers from the laundry basket and look dressed. Heavily pregnant and crumpled, but dressed.

Postman brought Tadpole's Irish passport forms, so we can take it to the wedding in September, and a proof copy of when baby runs

Rob has had it confirmed that he will get a full two weeks' paternity leave. We were worried about that.

Linnea and I have already started eating jelly to cool down. I think it's a lot more humid today. We were all but promised thunderstorms last night and didn't get them.

Further to this post I want to do a further update or summary, now that there'll be another baby along in a minute.

Physical symptoms I can think of offhand:

I still can't go to the toilet without manual intervention, which is increasingly difficult with a bump.

I am no longer in constant pain but I am frequently in discomfort.

I am not as continent as I would like to be.

If someone grabs my butt in an affectionate manner, the squeeze is quite likely to stretch scar tissue in an extremely painful way, especially on the left side.

I still can't have sex.

Mental symptoms:

I am forgetful. I can remember some things very well, and hold long discussions on intervention births including statistics, and ten minutes later forget not only the statistics, but that I had the conversation. Luckily, I can blog.

I forget words - simple vocabulary I use fairly frequently. Now I can blame this on pregnancy, though.

I am wary of talking to women who are pregnant in case I terrify them. But I am still afraid of other people's births - I focus on advising them to be as assertive as hell and keep politeness to the minimum necessary to avoid rudeness, since I remain convinced that a bit less deference in my attitude would have changed things a lot.

I cry when I hear of anyone who has a good birth. In a good way, but I cry.

Television or radio representations of women in labour make me panic.

I panic if I have to go to the doctor or the hospital, even if it's only to accompany someone else, such as my daughter. This is now being managed, but I do still panic, I just now have better tools for eg breathing through it.

With a big trigger looming, ie the impending birth of my second child, my avoidant behaviour is much, much worse. I avoid hospital appointments to the point where Rob has to come to the house and tell me to go. I have been strongly tempted to lie to Rob about the time and date of appointments, too, though so far I've stopped myself.

There are people who visited me while I was still in hospital last time whom I can't bring myself to see now, and suspect I really will not be able to see them in hospital again.

I am once again subject to fits of anger, though not as extreme as they were two years ago. I had one the other day, when Rob mentioned that the obstetrician said something as he stitched me up (pun intended): the obstetrician addressed the observing student, and said "The perineum has amazing powers of self-healing, you know," or words to that effect. Less than a month later his stitches were torn out and my perineum was tearing along the original wound again. He never bothered to stitch my anal sphincter back together. Let's just trust in the wonder of nature to fix things, shall we? Gods that makes me angry.

I see that not much has changed, really. Oh well. Ho hum.

So my NCT social event is over, and two women came, one with an external baby and one with an internal baby. They were lovely, if a bit more interested in adult-led weaning than I am, and stayed for about an hour, and it was fine. Now I'm feeling angry and stressed.

I'm annoyed, as far as I can tell, because I find it very hard to clamp down on my strong feelings about various things baby-related, but I do, and other people seem to me to be less reluctant to speak out to strangers on these matters. (Online journals don't count as talking to strangers; if you don't like what I say you can click away). I tried to be as moderate as possible on the topic of eco-disposables and cloth nappies, and on breastfeeding (I really, really stayed very quiet about breastfeeding, and didn't even mention that I'm still feeding Linnea, which felt very like not being Out), and I didn't even enthuse too much about sling use, though I did tell the pregnant woman that feeding a baby in a sling was a valuable skill and she's welcome to come and practice with my slings once her baby's external, before she buys one of her own.

They were nice, but I feel self-repressed, and that leaves me feeling a bit bitter. Ho hum.

This morning? Dreamt Rob had murdered Linnea and then I spent some time working out what would happen if that was true. We're off to hospital again in 20 minutes. I am exhausted.

A reflection on pregnancy, sorry Dot

Acid pains you
Mucus is damp
Colostrum stains you
Feet get cramp
Food smells awful
Pelvic floors give
Drugs aren't lawful
You gotta just live.

It was the consultant anaesthetist. My incredible midwife (should I buy her wine vouchers? if so, for where?) called him today and he called me personally to set up an appointment. I can see him at the pre-op clerking appointment, a week before the section, and discuss everything then. That's fine.

He sounded nice and friendly, inasmuch as anyone can on a bad mobile connection. I didn't catch his name, but that's ok.

We're getting there, and really, it could be much worse. I have to go to hospital again on Thursday morning (two days' time) for the Anti-D jab, and again 7 days later to see the surgeon who will actually operate, and 12 days after that for the pre-op, and 7 days after that for the section itself. 4 weeks today, I'll have a new baby.

Unless it decides to come earlier, at home, of course.

Goodness gracious me.

Went to bed early last night because I couldn't sit upright any more. I can't sit with my legs propped up in front of me because of my pelvis, and if they're low down my knees swell up. I must have had some kind of bug, because I had to change tshirts halfway through the night and swap the duvet for a light cotton candlewick blanket. When I woke this morning I had breakfast, Rob went to work, and I brought Linnea upstairs to choose clothes; she started playing in her room instead so I went back to bed. I got to doze until 9:30 that way, with both doors open.

Then I got up, dressed us both, dragged the monster buggy out of the cupboard, and went to the pool, where I delivered Linnea to the creche and myself to the shallow pool. I did a few lengths with my arms on a float, kicking from the knees. Then I did a few breast-stroke lengths with my legs crossed to keep me from using them. And I did a fair bit of stretching. Keeping my pelvis together is proving to be harder work than I was prepared for. I wasn't up to taking Linnea into the pool afterwards, which was sad.

While showering, a woman asked both "how long have you got?" and "do you know what it is yet?" - in my next pregnancy, I will make up Bingo cards.

After that, I brought Linnea into town and bought her new shoes. I have no idea whether or not they fit but I wasn't up to arguing with the shoe fitter and chasing Linnea at the same time, so I'll see and if they don't I can just take them back as long as she hasn't worn them outside. Maybe next time "my" shoe fitter will be there again.

Then Nicky and Is came, with Baby Jo, and played for hours and hours. And then they went home. Now it's dinnertime, and tomorrow it's Tiggler's Togglers.

Today we had an hour-long appointment with the consultant obstetrician - not the one who's down to operate on me - to discuss the details of the c-section. The good news is that my birth plan only needs two minor edits, in three pages, and she was absolutely happy with everything else. The bad news is that discussing the section as a likelihood rather than as a Vague Eventually Plan is really freaking scary. I am sick and shaking. Linnea is watching TV and Rob is back at work and I can't even cope with the idea of seeing my close neighbour friend, let alone anyone else. I am wretched.

What it boils down to is that, armed with actual information and statistics, there's almost a 24% chance that I tear very badly indeed delivering vaginally if the baby is over 4kg. So after 37 weeks gestation, there's not much point even trying - the risk is too great. My existing injuries are sufficiently severe that my chance of injury may even be greater than that. That's not a risk we can take; it's nto fair to the adults who would have to care for me afterwards, and it's not fair to either child.

In addition, I'm getting fabulous splitting pains in my pelvis. So no more sitting comfortably on the birthing ball, no more cycling, no more anything that might open it further. I've gotten very used indeed to the freedom of movement afforded by the trike and losing it now is going to be really tough. It's back to the buggy, and walking, which is slower and harder work. Can't lock the buggy up outside when I go somewhere with a lot of chairs, for example. Tomorrow is swimming; I may just take Linnea walking to the pool. I must remember not to do too much in the leg department in the pool. No more breast stroke. Dammit. If I cut out all my exercise, I'm going to be a big spongy mess by the time I actually have this baby. I need exercise. It keeps me sane.

Only four weeks to go, at most. I'm 34 weeks pregnant now, and the section is booked for 38 weeks. I won't be going any longer than that. My midwife is going to make appointments for me to see both the anaesthetist and an operating theatre - my memories are very brightly lit with huge gaps in, so if there's something in a theatre that will upset me to see it's best to do that before the day I go to have a baby. I have an appointment to meet the surgeon who will cut holes in me. I have my second anti-d appointment.

We can do this. It's a damn shame that the relationship counsellor we were seeing to help us deal with the strain all of this is bound to put on us has been hospitalised, though. We'll cope anyway... but it would have been easier with help.

Clare said "I have just been getting the are you completely mad looks from friends when I mention going to the pool."

IMPORTANT SAFETY ANNOUNCEMENT: Saying any or all of the following may lead me to poke you in the snoot.

"Oh my god you're eating tuna?" "Don't you know you shouldn't drink tea?" "Swimming will kill your baby!" "That child should have a hat on." "You're gaining too much weight." "I can tell it's a boy because you're so wide." "Hahaha you must be ready to burst!" "If you walk too much you'll start labour early." "Don't eat milk or you'll make the baby lactose intolerant." "You should have a salt water bath every day to keep swelling down." "It's dangerous to have a bath after 30 weeks in case you get an infection." "Showers cause varicose veins." "Overcooked and undercooked meat will give you cancer." "Never eat anything but salad when you eat out so you don't gain too much weight." "Never eat salad when you're out in case you get listeria." "You can't use sunscreen when you're pregnant." "I can't believe you eat peanut butter." "Should you really be lifting that?" "If you don't watch your sugar intake you'll get diabetes." "I once heard of someone who read about someone who did whatever you're doing and there were DISASTROUS CONSEQUENCES."

That is all.

Accidentally ate milk yesterday. 7 months pregnant. 30C. Want aircon, emetic, big zipper.

I've been noticing more and more that my favourite posture is leaning slightly forward almost exactly as I do when tricycling; it's rather difficult to maintain when sitting about at home though. This baby, much more than Linnea did, has definite ideas about how I should sit and stand and lie and walk. I often wake flat on my back, hips aching, baby blissed out and quiet, and have to ask Rob to roll me over so that my hips and back can recover. The baby doesn't like me lying on my side though, and tends to wake aggressively.

The heat means I've swollen very slightly; I can still get my wedding and engagement rings on, but they're not comfortable, and all the cycling in the sun on Saturday made my knees swell hugely. Yesterday I did a little walking around Oxford looking at the outsides of pretty buildings and the locked gates of shady parks, and my ankles swelled a little. Not much, for a pregnant person, but some. Hardly surprising, I suppose.

Linnea rubbed cocoa butter into my bump this morning and talked again about the tiny baby in my bellybutton. I think she's in for a shock in 5 weeks or so.

She chose her own lunch. At 10 am she led me to the fridge and demanded potato salad. At noon she led me to the fridge and demanded cake. Then she wanted gingerbread mans. Then she ate some wholemeal bread, without butter, and a huge pear. It all seems to even out in the end.

My antibiotics, for the sinus thing I had last week, are making me queasy and tired. But I have to keep taking them lest I create a supersinusvirus, which would be really very tedious at 33 weeks pregnant in an average of 30C heat. Linnea's cough is still coughy, and still not bothering her in the least, so I've decided to stop giving her the syrup in case it's been suppressing the cough and she'd be more productive without it. It could just be the heat and dust and so on of all the cycling and walking she's done this past month.

We've booked my mother's flights for her visit to see the new baby, based on the c-section date, since that's easiest. I won't need her so much for a homebirth anyway since we won't need to find extraordinary childcare :) but of course she's not keen ("My baby isn't!" as she said when I said "But it could be worse, Mum, at least my baby's ok," some 18 months ago).

Well, when a man and a woman love each other very much...

They go see the obstetrician, along with the community midwife, and discuss birth.

We met my community midwife first. She's been looking into vaginal delivery after third and fourth degree tears, and spoken to a midwife with lots of experience, and they suggest a homebirth. If I have a homebirth, I can avoid pressure to escalate the level of intervention. I can choose to transfer to hospital for a section at any time, based on a feeling that things aren't going right or on the advice of my midwives, and I can refuse epidural, augmentation of labour with syntocinon, et cetera. I quite like the sound of this - I can have a go at a vaginal delivery and if it's not working I can have a section and they can all say "I told you so" and be happy.

Then we all went to see the obstetrician, and tried to find out precisely why I am being advised to have a section (we didn't mention homebirth to the obstetrician) and we got very, very vague answers. The only definite answer was "Well, if I were in your position I'd want a section." That's not what I call sound medical reasoning, so I choose to ignore it for the purposes of informed decision-making.

The baby is growing on its curve, is a fairly normal size, and is beautifully positioned - and so is the placenta. If it weren't for my torn up genitals et cetera, I'd be on schedule for an easy birth.

If I have a planned section, it will be on 15th August, a Tuesday, and it will be performed by a woman I'll meet in the next few weeks (I must update my calendars). I'll be able to discuss my c-section birth plan with her, as outlined and revised here, and find out what she's like. I will also quite likely be able to meet the anaesthetist, though that is lower priority because in my experience anaesthetists are lovely people.

Then we went to book my various appointments and I passed the obstetrician who delivered Linnea, and had only a small lurch to my stomach. He walked close to me again later, and I heard his voice, and again I felt a clenching of my stomach - but not more. No urge to run, no urge to vomit, no shaking, no crying, no incoherence. So now I know what he looks like - I can remember it, from seeing it today without trauma, on a conscious level. It's all very interesting (at least to me) and I feel pleased and somehow proud.

Then we had a cup of tea with the midwife and she talked to us about things. She is going to try to find me an independent midwife in my area with experience of delivering babies to women who have previously had third or fourth degree tears. She is also going to try to find actual statistics on maternal injury rates in women who have vaginal deliveries after severe tears or other complications. She's happy to be on call for me and attend the birth of my baby whether it's a planned section or an unplannable vaginal delivery in my own home. The expert she consulted recommends that I do perineal massage, not necessarily to stretch the tissue (as that may not be possible due to scarring) but to accustom me to the sensation of pressure on it, as that might be upsetting and it's best to get that over with before birth itself. I'll buy some sweet almond oil tomorrow, I suppose.

My own midwife reckons that because I have once managed to dilate to 10cm, and because all my tissues are well-stretched ahead of time, and because I have no intention of allowing myself to be trapped on my back again, I have a good chance of a vaginal delivery. But she wants more information for me to make a decision with first.

So we have two plans running concurrently, which is the way I prefer to manage things anyway. I believe in backups.

Current Mood: optimistic

Me, to the doctor, earlier today.

I explained that I was using saline, steam, olbas oil, sleeping face down to aid drainage, and so on. And he prescribed antibiotics, which was what I expected. Ick. Not a lot I can do about it. Rob can't keep missing work just because I can't stand up (haven't we been here before?!) so I have to get well.

Now I have to stay awake until it's time to take the next dose, because once I go to sleep Rob is finding it very very difficult to wake me.

At least he's able to make up his lost work-hours by working from home, a bit.

The contractions are much milder than usual, at least. They stop me in my tracks, but don't make me breathless. I think I'm having fewer, too.

And Linnea is fully and entirely recovered, apparently; full of beans and bounce, though still coughing. And we've found drop-in childcare that's open for two two-hour periods a day and needs only a day's notice to use.

So last night I dreamt that Rob did a c-section on my eldest sister, under the Christmas tree, and everyone thought he should do me next, to save time. But I wasn't pregnant, I was just bloated, so my stomach looked huge - but I sort of thought it might be a good idea to get the section over with anyway.

To aid her recovery, my sister was having her youngest child cared for by someone else overnight, but her older two were sharing her bed as usual.

Right. Can I just say that Rob's method of healing a section would looks a lot nicer than the real thing sounds? He sort of waved his hands over it, pressed down, and it sealed. Clever Rob.

I love Linnea so much sometimes I want to cry, or be sick, or explode. She's the most amazing thing that has ever happened to me. She's the best gift I've ever been given. She's the most fascinating person I've ever met. She's the biggest challenge I've ever had to live up to. She's the hardest work I've ever done - and I'm not talking about the birth, I'm talking about every day.

I always knew I wanted to be a mother - a stay-at-home mother, probably one who wrote on the side. I've been sure of it since I was 14. But I never knew how much it would suit me - how straightforward and natural it would seem, how simple the decisions are. It's easy - all I have to do is what I want, which is always to put what Linnea needs first, above everything and everyone, all the time.

Of course it's much bigger than I expected it to be. Of course I didn't really understand or believe how enormous it would be. Because it's huge.

I am glad now that I didn't know I had a miscarriage when I was 18. I thought it was a heavy, late period. Now that I've been pregnant "for real" I know it wasn't - I know how it feels to be pregnant now.

But I cannot be sorry that Linnea is my first baby. She's so wonderful, and I have the opportunity to be with her exactly as I always wanted to be with my babies. I couldn't have had that at 18.

Current Mood: Love

Some of you may remember that I ordered and received a Mooncup, but then couldn't use it due to the birth injuries. So I decided that rather than waiting for surgery, which after all may not even be successful, I would order some Lunapads. So I did, a while ago, and they arrived after the heaviest days of my period were over, but I started using them anyway - why put any more disposable sanitary towels in landfill than I have to?

My first thought was "I wish these had been around after I had Linnea," because wow I have never used a "sanitary product" so comfortable. Seriously, it's actually pleasant. Not just "the absence of unpleasant", but pleasant. They're soft and slightly fluffy and comfortable. I want pyjamas made in this fabric. It's a shame that underwear made of this would be too warm, because it would be glorious. Mmm. Yes.

They are also very practical, with booster liners held in place with - laugh if you want to - ric-rac braid. I certainly laughed. It's daft. But it's effective. And they have Little Wings! All the best sanitary towels have little wings, after all - these ones popper up under your pants (panties for Americans) and all's well.

I was expecting utilitarian and a little adjusting to a less comfy but more ecofriendly lifestyle. Instead, I'm thrilled.

(And while I'm at it, I love my new post-pregnancy menstrual cycle - predictable almost to the day, and I haven't been disabled by cramping since I had her. Hurrah! Long may it continue!)

Current Mood: cheerful

It occurred to me that this is an imprecise art, and needs some widely-recognised standard. I therefore propose the following points system by which pregnancy can be measured:

Conception:
1. Accidental: -5 points
2. On first attempt: 0 points
3. Per year trying: 1 point
4. Resorting to IVF: 10 points
Hyperemesis:
1. Self-diagnosed: 1 point
2. Really diagnosed: 2 points
3. Requiring hospitalisation: 5 points
SPD: 5 points
Acne: -5 points (especially if it shows in the first new baby photos. Have you no sense of style?!)
Labour and birth:
1. Per hour of labour: 1/4 point (false and spurious labour don't count)
2. Normal delivery, no intervention: 4 points
3. With venteuse or forceps, no pain relief: 3 points
4. With venteuse or forceps, lots of pain relief: 2 points
5. Catheter: -2 points for yukkiness
6. With no intervention other than pain relief: 1 point
7. Induction: 1 point
8. Also, with induction: 1 point for each additional tube going into the arms
9. Elective c-section: 1 point
10. Emergency c-section: 5 points
11. Home birth: 5 points
12. Unplanned home birth, with ambulances going wee-waa wee-waa and arriving too late while you deliver the baby yourself on the bathroom floor and wrap it in freshly laundered towels: 10 points (plus all the natural delivery points you can pick up, and the labour time ones)
13. Also, special bonus points: 1 point per pint of blood lost

Now, I hope that clears things up. We should in future be able to get all the competing sorted out nice and quickly, and get on to more interesting things like going "googoogooGOO!" at the dribblers.

storbarnsförälder

I'm spreading panic on my toast!

The morning of the day

before baby comes

Aren't you brave?

Today's obstetrician appointment

What's happened today then?

What it's like to have had a traumatic birth and PTSD III

Social stress

Can't sleep, god knows what might happen

Let me just take this call...

(no subject)

Hospital

Talk to the bump, baby

Sick and tired of being sick and tired

Yup, Still Pregnant

How do babies happen?

"I'm pregnant, of course I'm not taking anything for it!"

Dreeeeeeeeeeming

Linnea

Menstration: Product Review

Competitive Parenting, Part 1

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