a second birth story - part one

Anyone who read the beautiful boy's birth story

will know that I didn't get the easiest time of it.

It was long and it was hard

and it didn't end up being anything like I had expected it would be.

So approaching a second labour came with baggage.

I had experience to call on,

I had a clearer idea about how I was when in labour,

but whether that would be a good thing remained to be seen.

After documenting my pregnancy from 12 weeks

with fortnightly updates and bump photos

this bit is the last chapter of one story

and the beginning of a whole new one.

This is the story of my beautiful girl's birth . . .

On Thursday 20^th September I was seriously ratty.

Absolutely nothing anyone said or did was right.

Only the day before I'd been feeling comfortable and happy

but something had changed that Thursday morning

and all of a sudden I was uncomfortable

and thoroughly fed up with being pregnant.

My due date of Saturday 22^nd was fast approaching

and I had a terrible feeling this date would pass without a baby.

Worse still my mum and dad were leaving the country for a holiday on my due date

so not only would this mean they wouldn't get to meet their newest grandchild until it was more than a week old,

it also meant that our childcare plans for when I went into labour were flying out of the country with them.

I was trying not to let this stress me out

but I wanted to know my beautiful boy was happy while I was away from him

and I knew my parents were the best option.

That day I had not one but two phone calls from our grandmothers

to “see how I was doing”.

I felt like everyone was waiting and watching

and I didn't like the feeling I was being 'checked up on'.

I kept calmly reminding everyone that it wasn't even my due date yet

but in all honesty I was as impatient as everyone else.

I had gone into labour three days before my due date the first time around

and anyone and everyone had spent my whole pregnancy telling me

that second babies tend to come earlier

and a big part of me had held on to that fact

and was hoping it would prove true.

The other part of me kept saying that I'd been lucky and not left waiting the first time

so this time was bound to be different.

So that Thursday I went to my mum's house.

We had a regular set up of going to hers on a Thursday anyway

and as my pregnancy had progress further
I was more exhausted and finding an energetic toddler hard work,

so we went to hers so that she could look after both of us for the day.

I spent most of the day in a rocking chair at her house.

I figured that the motion might help to make my little Splodge move downwards

and it became clear pretty quickly that Splodge wasn't a particular fan of the motion

as I could literally feel the bump pushing downwards with each rock,

but I was pretty much ready to evict this baby so I kept it up despite the discomfort.

That evening after putting the little man to bed at my mum's

we talked about whether I should leave him there for the night instead of taking him home

as it would give me a lay in and a rest in the morning,

but I was feeling pretty clingy about the time I had left with my baby boy

so I said I'd take him home as usual

and if I was still feeling uncomfortable and tired the next day

then my mum said she would come to help me out.

When I got home the poor hubby got the brunt of my baby frustrations.

I was fed up of being fat and of my body not feeling like my own,

I was scared about what would happen with the little man if the baby didn't come before my parents left,

I was just plain grumpy.
I was ranting away one minute
and on the verge of tears the next;
a real emotional mess.

And bless him, everything he said to try and comfort me was wrong.

In the end he suggest we just go to bed and get some sleep

and that I might feel better in the morning.

So we went to bed.

I fidgeted for a while trying to get comfy with my huge belly

but I finally settled and started falling asleep.

You can read the next part of the story here.