Seven months ago at this very moment, I was watching the Irish one spread mustard on a home made, ham sandwich while trying to huff, puff and focus myself through a never ending and incredibly painful contraction. I had been in labour for 55 hours and was only 3 cm dilated. While I was busy losing the will to live, the Irish one was merrily spreading Colman’s on a ham butty.
This pretty much sums up the Irish one. Even in times of trouble, the man has to eat. And no, not just a corner shop bap. He has to eat exactly what he has a craving for. And it has to be made by him. This is one of the many perils of falling in love with a man who can cook. (The other peril, is when you are being force fed Coddle. Never heard of it? Its probably for the best.)
The one thing I should probably clarify however, is how supportive the Irish one was during labour. Mustard or no Mustard. He was nurturing and caring, he held my hand while I was muttering all manner of expletives, and he understood when, high on gas and air, I began to call the drip doodle. (The drip going in to my arm. The Irish one is not the drip in this scenario. I love my poodle and I obviously missed him, so I named the drip after him. The drip in my arm. Not the Irish one. Make sense? I would NEVER call the Irish one a drip… honest.) So in summary, he was amazing. In all fairness, I couldn’t have done it without him.(The Irish one, not the drip.) That better love?
If I was to write about my ‘birth story’ it would take me forever (not only because most of it is hazy but because it went on forever.) I could, if I had a few years to spare, give you an hour by hour blow of what happened and I am sure it would make for good reading, it was dramatic, it was funny and it was painful, and yet, writing it all down seems pretty pointless. As you already know how it ends.
Seven months later here I sit, eyes held open with matchsticks, while a beautiful and healthy baby boy sleeps beside me. (Yes I know I should probably be asleep too but I have never been able to sleep while he sleeps. If I am asleep? And he is asleep? Who can check he is breathing every two minutes????)
This time last year – at this very moment (and I know this because I keep a diary, and I was reading it this morning.) I was 5 months pregnant and staring in to the unknown like a woman possessed. Looking back now my little meanderings, seem so funny and unimportant in the grand scheme of things. But at the time they were monumental! As well as howling with laughter at how idiotic I sounded, it really made me see just how much has changed in a year.
So much in fact, I thought I would share a few of my more ridiculous nuggets;
The meanderings of a 5/6 month pregnant drama queen. Written 4/11/2009.
I am not sure what to wear for labour. I think I am going to go and buy a nightdress from marks and Spencer’s. I definitely do NOT want everything to be on show and yet I want to look half decent. Yes I know I will be in labour but I still want the Irish one to fancy me afterwards. Hope I don’t have to spend too much money. (Brilliant! Him fancying me afterwards was the last thing I needed or wanted in reality! With five stitches holding my arse together I wouldn’t have minded if he had never felt the urge ever again! And as for not having everything on show? Did I mention the five stitches holding my arse together?)
I love being able to eat again. It is so weird to think, everything I eat my baby is trying for the first time. I wonder if when I feel sick it is because the baby doesn’t like the taste of something? (I am clearly a mentalist.)
We have the 20 week scan a week on Wednesday. I wish I could have a scan every week. We are trying to decide whether to find out or not. The Irish one thinks it is a girl, but I know it is a boy. I just do. But sometimes I think I am just convincing myself of that because I would like a girl. I only want a girl so we can watch the princess films and I can buy pink things. Plus how do you clean a little willy? I know it’s a boy. As long as the baby is healthy, that is all that matters. Healthy and cute! (So there you have my complete honesty! I was hoping for a girl at the time. Now I wouldn’t change him for the world and I cant imagine myself with a girl! Funny how times change! I learnt how to clean a little willy pretty quickly!)
I wonder if The Irish one will propose while I am pregnant? That would be nice. (Nope!)
We can not agree on any names. I like Sam and Sebastian for a boy, and Sienna for a girl. He likes random names. I figure I should be able to choose seen as its me who has to go through it! (Told you I was a drama queen! Turns out the Irish one chose the name, as 2 minutes before I went in to labour I went off Sam and had a bit of a meltdown.)
I am definitely going to breastfeed. Apparently you can lose all your baby weight by breastfeeding. My friend told me you can burn 1000 calories a day. Which means I don’t feel guilty about all these bacon sandwiches! (Yes those are the right reasons for breastfeeding Lexy. Because you lose weight. Not because it is best for the baby or anything!? Also I couldn’t breastfeed in the end. I was gutted and although Woo did very well on formula – and still does, I am still a happy size 14/16.…. And no where near as selfish! Honest.)
I worry about doodle. I love him so much. I hope I still get time to spend with him and that he likes the baby. I will have to watch the dog whisperer and get a few tips. (Doodle is fine. Woo is fine. Cesar Milan was busy.)
I could continue to regale you, but these were the funniest. I wonder if this time next year I will look back at today’s entry about how I know my boy will be a well behaved toddler and laugh?
Here’s betting I probably will.
Oh and just to finish off nicely, here is how my birth story ended. (There is a new born baby on my chest but i felt it a little too personal a moment ,to include. I hope you understand.)
But can you see the mustard on the windowsill?