Monday, December 26, 2005

December 12, 2005

the entry I could have written two weeks ago, but didn't because if this drug free yet hormone enhanced, disjointed entry is anything to go by, the codeine driven entry it would have been then would have been an absolute doozey.

I went to work as usual that morning, my only concern so far being getting my stupid shoes on without losing my breakfast.

Sidebar and in all seriousness, if I could offer any advice to the newly pregnant, it would be to create the habit early on of donning your shoes before eating, not after. Your other option is to find yourself with child only within the holy bounds of matrimony. That way, if you're anything like me and ignore the complications of breakfast first, shoes second Every. Fricken. Day, you can get your husband to put your damn shoes on for you because it's his fault you can't reach your feet now anyway. God.

Now, where was I? Oh yeah, at work and about to meet mum before going for an ultrasound before meeting with my OB at 2pm.

The ultrasound showed *drumroll* that my baby was still breech (surprised? colour me duh but after the weeks of trying everything under the sun and/or on the internet to get this kid to shift, I was) and still tangled up in its umbilical cord. Oh, and that lump sticking out over there that I thought was a head? Was knees. Sooooo, those weeks I mentioned in the parentheses above, consisting of, but not limited to, ice packing my belly while hanging upside down and playing really loud country music to its headular region in an effort to encourage the baby to turn away from the icky things and right way up, was a complete waste of time because knees apparently don't give a damn about country music and sub zero temperatures. God.

Anyway, armed with my Oh So Surprising! and up to date ultrasounds, I went to see Chris, who prodded and palpated my expanified girth before sorrowfully announcing that the odds of the weebs turning on its own were minimal, so when did I want to have this baby?

I gulped and he called theatre to book me in for a c-section the following morning at 11am.

Once the call was made, the anaesthetist arrived to get all the technical details required to numb the living fuck out of my lower half without me going over all allergic or anything. In the midst of all the 'has anyone in your family ever died from an anaesthetic?' questions, I was still reeling because I'm either stubborn or stupid, but this wasn't how I imagined having my child would be. Oh, I know that having the baby is what matters, not how you have it but honestly, that's a big wank, so finally accepting that a natural birth was out of the question stunk. And anyway, what if the baby was destined to turn on Wednesday, and there we were, slicing it out before it had a chance to on Tuesday?

The time line gets a little hazy here, but it would have been around 5pm when I remembered that I forgot to ask my doctor what to do if I went into labour overnight, because shit happens, you know? So I waddled back to my OB's rooms to speak to his midwife, who suggested that, on account of me feeling 'funny', I go downstairs to be assessed in outpatients before I went home.

Once I got there, a big-arsed monitor was strapped to my belly and over the next hour, my belly was, uh, monitored for contractions and fetal movement. Weebee, by the way, was verrrry quiet, even if my uterus wasn't. By 6.30pm, my OB was called and by 6.31, the exam he requested showed that I was effaced and beginning to dilate. Meanwhile, all I wanted to do was go home to my cat. Be that as it may, I had to wait until Chris came back at the hospital at 9pm before I could. I was allowed to go for a walk to pass the time, but was instructed to return immediately if my waters broke. Waters? Breaking? Uh, okay, so this being labour thing must be for real. Mum and I fart arsed about til my doctor arrived, which he did, then by 9.30, I learned that I was going to have my baby that night.

From then on, things moved really quickly, with consent forms being signed, a surgical team being organised, and me doing a champion job of not crying. It still seems so unfair because as labour set in, my body responded really well and I felt amazing, like I could conquer the world, and if had anyone asked me to, I bet I could have run a marathon that night.

By 10pm, I was in the operating theatre and soon after, I was flat on my back and without the ability to move anything from the waist down. I'll never forget how my contractions felt before that time, and I'll never forget how sad I felt when they abated as the spinal anaesthetic took hold. With all respect to anyone who opts for an elective cesarean, I have no idea why anyone would because the whole experience, even with the fantastic theatre staff, a midwife who blew up a glove, drew a face on it and stuck it next to me on the operating table, and an anaesthetist who held my hand, stroked my head and explained every noise, sensation and light to help me relax, was horrible.

Soon enough though, the screen between me and the action was dropped and my baby was almost pulled out butt first. Note I said 'almost', as the screen went right back up again because despite its body being liberated, the baby's head was somehow still stuck tight. Then there was all this prodding and pulling and lots of me asking if it was a boy or a girl, and then at exactly 10.40pm, my son was born.

December 12 at 10.40pm

I held him for as long as I was allowed, and then he was taken away to be cleaned, weighed, measured, dressed and swaddled. I've never missed anyone as much as I missed him during that time.

His vital statistics were: weighing in at 7 pounds, 11 ounces, 50 centimeters long, and his head was 36.6 centimeters in circumference.

I thought it would take time and familiarity until I could truly love my child. I never realised that bond would be instant. This little man means the world to me. When I look at him, my heart swells, and when I hold him, nothing else matters except the warmth of his breath and the beat of his heart against mine. I didn't know there was a hole in my life until Daniel came along to fill it.

This is my son. This is my love, my life, my everything.

Meet Daniel.

holding the world in my arms

Saturday, December 10, 2005

the N word

I just scrubbed the floors. I mean, I was totally down on my hands and knees scrubbing the damn floors. I have a steam cleaner that works perfectly well, and I've never before felt the need to revist ancient times where a bucket, some soap and a really bristley brush were de rigeur. The funny thing is, it was only once I'd finished that I thought to myself 'Why did this hard, manual labour seem like such a good and normal idea at the time? Because aibs, you're clean and all, but scrubbing brushes? Buckets? What the fuck?'

I'm also on my third or fourth load of washing for the day, I dusted and swept everything yesterday, and I cleaned the front porch (where I also organised the pot plants to look just so) before taking my car to get a fully loaded cleansing experience. Right now though, I'm all twitchy because all this other stuff has kept me from making sure the bathroom floor is clean enough to lick.

Which, you know, isn't like me.

I'm clean, sure I am, but OCD about it? Uh, no.

I guess I'll get around to the bathroom tomorrow. Or tonight. Or now.....

Wednesday, December 07, 2005


It didn't work.

Well, it did, really well, in that the baby's butt popped out of my pelvis like a cork out of a champagne bottle, but instead of its head rolling forward as it should after such a manouvre, it jammed even higher up into my liver. We tried twice, but after the baby's heartbeat went up the second time, the assumption is now that the cord is holding weebee where it is, which feels like somewhere in my right lung.

I still haven't been scheduled for surgery, because Chris and I are perpetually hopeful. I see him again on Monday to reassess and regroup, and if I'm still breech, I guess we'll talk c-section then. He's as keen as I am to deliver vaginally (ooh! I said 'vaginally' on the internet!)(and, err, no, not using his vagina...)(and lookit me! I said 'vaginally' and raised it a 'vagina'! I'm so risque!) so I'm going to ask him his opinion on back flipping the baby. I forgot to ask him yesterday about that as I was a little distracted, what with my innards reasserting themselves after having been squooshed to one side to flip the weebs. Oh, and then I thought I might be in labour as my braxton hicks came thick and fast for the rest of the day, and my back? Oh, how she hurt (and for anyone who pishes at things like Kinesiology: pthhhh <- that's for you because I shit you not, within minutes of seeing my Kinesiologist (an appointment I just happened to have made fucking weeks ago, grazie dio) the cramping and back pain stopped, just like that. *snaps fingers* Hell, even I was impressed with how well it worked)

I'm really disappointed as I had a good feeling about yesterday on Monday (huh?), and like an idiot, I still believe this baby could turn. Of course, in the meantime and for Every. Waking. Minute (and even while I sleep, if the waking up at dawn thing is any indication of my messed up mind state) I'm scared that the baby has created a little noose for itself.

Monday, December 05, 2005

updatey stuff

I saw my OB today, and yes, the weebs is still breech and yes, it's still wearing its umbilical cord as a fashion accessory BUT the cord is looser than it was last week AND the baby's butt is easily moved out of my pelvis, which is a good indicator that an external version will be successful. (and in my exictement at this turn (turn? bwah! get it?) of events, I seem to have forgotten how to punctuate, excusez moi)

So, we're going to do one tomorrow, the external version, a gentle one, with an operating suite with my name on it right next door, which will have a surgical team standing in it, all of them scrubbed clean and ready to roll, just in case we need to get the baby out, stat. It's standard procedure when doing a version, and anyway, Chris is confident nothing will go wrong, otherwise we wouldn't be doing it - but if I do fall into the 0.5% who need the operating theatre, that baby can be whipped out of me in five minutes.

If the baby won't move after one (gentle) try, we're going back to plan A, but if it does move, y'all have to join me in hoping like fuck that bugalugs LOVES its new position enough to stay put until I go into labour.

Sunday, December 04, 2005

another *yawn*,

this one more desperate than the last.

It's just gone 6.30am, and I've been awake since 5.30 because this morning, it was the dog's turn to wake me up. It yelped for twenty minutes. I'm so sleep deprived right now that putting on my slippers and shuffling next door seemed like a good idea. The plan ws to bang on their door and inform them that their dog was yelping and whining, just in case they didn't know, but I didn't get to tdo it because their front gate was locked, probaby because they're taking measures against being murdered in their sleep.

I'm not getting anywhere near enough sleep, and I haven't even got a baby yet. The man next door, the idiots on the other side, never getting an afternoon nap because if I'm not out with my mother, I'm too stressed to nap anyway. Mum thinks it's just an issue of going home for a sleep, but it's not. I need to be home to feel tired, and when I am home, I literally pass out for an hour or two each afternoon. Except these days, I'm never home.

I'm so fucking tired.

So tired.



but too stressed to sleep.


Saturday, December 03, 2005


I was at the hospital at 7am this morning, and spent the next hour with monitors strapped to my (big, fat*) belly. The weebee hadn't moved for a whole day, after being uncharactaristically active two nights before. I woke up (translation: was woken up AFRUKKINGAIN by my neighbour reversing up and down the driveway (read: right outside my bedroom window) in his motorised wheelchair (*beepbeepbeep*) at fucking dawn. DAWN. Aargh. He does this all the time too, and my other neighbour? Is the one with the dog that barks All. The. Time, including the wee hours of the morning, and including this morning. I live in hell, I truly do) and tried everything to wake the weebs and, nothing. I was really calm too, thinking that maybe the weebs had got really tangled up, what with all the activity from the other day, and because I didn't panic, I acted on it and got it all checked out. Everything is fine, by the way, and the baby kicked up a storm again, but of course it waited until I was in the hospital, hooked up to machines and surrounded by an attentive audience to do it.

Apparently my kid is already a comedian.

*me, circa sometime last night and somewhere between 36 and 37 weeks:
sometime between 37 and 38 weeks

2005-2007© aibee