Birth plan and waiting

We actually got a chance to go over the birth plan with a midwife. Well... sort of. I held the birth plan in my hand, asked questions and made notes. The midwife had some practical suggestions for things to have on there that we'd not considered before.

The new birth plan is just a modified version of the one we had for R but never go to use. So we've deleted some of the parts we now know to be useless ("maximum possibility of enjoyment") and added some things we now know are useful ("fresh o batteries for Tens machine"). The midwife suggested some terribly practical things we'd not have thought of:

• 7 towels (why 7? does each have a specific purpose? Or do they know that if they ask for less they'll get none?)
• parking permits
• a hand mirror (for checking on progress without making L move)
• portable lamp (for the same reason)

Note: this is not a complete practical guide for would-be at-home parents

Also she gave us instructions for what to do if the baby comes before the midwives arrive. It's pretty much: call 999 so you have someone to guide you, then make sure to catch it and keep it cuddled til someone arrives.

So every few days we make some edits to the Plan, then print it out again so it's nice and legible. And repeat. In the end well have some well formatted and crafted thoughts about the birth, but I suspect it'll just sit on the clipboard in a corner of a room when the time actually comes.

In other news, every day at work I've been treating as my last. It's pretty much Bye. Maybe see you tomorrow. at the end of every day. So every day I try to have everything wrapped up as much as I can assuming everyone has to carry on on their own without me.

I'm getting lots of questions at work. I get a lot of Do you know if it's a boy or a girl? To which I always answer Yes. followed by nothing. It's fun to see the awkward pause expand til the person feels the need to say something. I always explain how we've got so much time after their born to fill their world with gender. It's nice to have these few months in advance of that to just be nicely gender neural avoiding gifts of bright pink or with guns and sports equipment.

The other question I get a lot is Are you excited? How do I answer that? I mean, not excited. Nervous? Apprehensive? I could just say that all the miscarriages took more of a toll on me than I thought and I'm still kind of numb on the inside. I want to be more excited, but not being excited also keeps away the spiraling disappointment of when things go wrong. But it's not a direction most people want that question to go. So, in reality, I usually either say Yes or, in the more unguarded moments It's been a long road getting here. I suppose it's like my stock answer to Do you want a boy or a girl?, which is A live birth. I'd just like to get to the point where things are ok and we can get on with being an expanded family.

New clothes

We have quite a few hand-me-downs we've gotten from various people over the past few months. Today we organised the baby clothes, separating everything by size. This time remembering that they get big pretty quickly and that 9-12 month pile is going to get used sooner than we'd think, and to make sure we remember where we put it.

It's starting to really home that there will actually be a baby soon. We've only a few weeks left. I kind of miss last time when I was so paranoid I spent the whole time reading up on everything and making sure we are prepared. This time, well, I remember what I read last time, and I'm pretty sure I recall what we need. Nappies. A birth plan. A bed. A changing table. Something to carry the child around in. Something to carry the stuff around in. some kind of pump/bottle/steriliser situation. And a hefty supply of panic attacks that I can pick up and use when I realise I've forgotten something rather critical.

On a similar note, I've been continuing the pre-midwife cleanup to get at least my bedroom tidy and ready. Or at least pretend there is an away for everything in the room. I even cleaned under the bed. It's a pretty high up bed, so we store boxes under it. Somehow, after cleaning, there was more storage space than there was before. This is just encouraging me to do more cleaning.

I found a bag of my clothes I put away. I recall one t-shirt and one pair of trousers I hated enough to put away, but not throw out, but I've no idea why I stashed away the rest. It's all reasonable stuff that seems to fit. I worry that if I try to wear any of it, it'll turn out to have a hole in an awkward or embarrassing place that only reveals itself when I'm far from the house and have no backup.

The other downside of the big clean, is I've vacuumed up so much dust into the air, I've been constantly sneezing with a sore throat for days whenever I'm in the house. With luck that will settle down soon.

My fantasy nappy bag

Nappy bags are troublesome. Off the shelf nappy bags always have some major failing and other bags always have something which makes them not quite right for the job. Part of the problem is we have unusual requirements which few manufacturers cater to. And even when we find something which is great, the girl gets older and requires something new to be carried around with us.

Most nappy bags look like a standard woman's over-the-sholder handbag. At this point I have so much RSI from parenting I'm not willing to carry anything of any decent weight on one shoulder for any length of time. So that style is right out.

There's a number of lines of nappy-bags-for-men, all of which look like courier bags. These take some weight off the shoulder, but distributes it right across the child – since she's sling-carried. So that's not an option either.

That pretty much leaves backpacks.

Fine, there's plenty of backpacks out there. Surely someone must make something that fits my needs? Well… so far it appears not.

So, what do I need?

• A compartment for food. Enough for 2 meals - just in case we're away for longer than expected, or she decides she's ravenous. Ideally this would be insulated so it'll stay cold/warm, but that just just a wild dream.
• An outside pocket for her water bottle. Or at least somewhere to store it where it won't leak on anything else.
• An outside pocket for an umbrella. We live in London. The only way to ensure it won't rain is to take an umbrella with us wherever we go.
• A compartment with enough room for a change of clothes in case of accidents. Plus some extra space for a jumper or coat and a few small toys or books. Even better would be enough room for a jumper for me, so I don't risk getting cold.
• We're ECing her, so we need a place for the portable toilet seat we have to carry about. And it's got to be in a separate compartment from the clothes and food. The compartment has to have enough room for her nappies.At his point we carry around 1 or 2 cloth nappies with covers, plus a couple of emergency disposable nappies, just in case. I can live with these being in the clothing section, but the "toilet" section needs enough room for them once they're used.
  For those unfamiliar with reusable nappies, used ones go into a wet bag, aka The Bag of Yuck, until I can get home and trasnfer them into the laundry pail. The "toilet" section has to have enough room for the wet bag filled with 2 nappies and an entire change of soiled clothes. However, as long as the change-of-clothes compartment gets smaller as the toilet compartment gets bigger, I'll be happy.
• It's got to have enough room for stuff I need with me. All I really need is enough space for some pills, lip-balm/moisturiser, a couple of cloth grocery bags¹ and, as I said before, a spare jumper. L probably would like a bit more space for her stuff since she doesn't usually have as many pockets as I do. This could go in the clothes section, but I'd rather not have to dig through baby socks and suchlike to find my ibuprofen.
• I don't need a changing mat. I can't remember the last time she had a miss outside the house that we needed to put her on a mat to resolve.

When she was an infant, we got by rather nicely with a Petunia Pickle Bottom bag. It could be a backpack or a shoulder bag. Plus it was tasteful – not too girly or too manly, and never looked awkward with what either of us were wearing. When all we had to worry about was changes of nappies and clothes it was great. But its one big section doesn't play nicely if you have toilet seat and clothes and nappies all together, leaving no room for food. We still use it when travelling since we only have disposable nappies then, which take up less room.

We've been mainly using an old laptop backpack for the past several months. It's got 3 sections, one of which is tiny. So we often end up putting the portable seat in the big compartment along with the food inside a thermos bag. Which takes up far more room than it should. It's passingly acceptable, but ends up packed to the gills almost all the time. And it'll only get worse as she'll need more food (and fewer changes of clothes, I hope) over the coming months.

Sooooo… that's a backpack with a minimum of 3 big compartments and 2 outside pockets. Plus, ideally another smaller compartment. Every time I go to a baby shop, I have a look at what bags are available. Some have some really great ideas, but so far nothing has worked. I've even toyed with the idea of getting her a small backpack to carry her food or clothes, and I carry the rest in my backpack. After all, her back does face out in the sling. But I can't see that working. So I'm still at a bit of a loss and kind of exploding around the edges.

¹ At this point it rarely occurs to me I can still go to a shop if I haven't brought my own bags. I usually just skip grocery shopping on the way home if I don't have a bag I can put them into.

The birth, part 3

Saturday, 30 July, 6pm. We arrive in the birthing centre, wind our way through the halls, luggage in tow, to reception. The midwife at the desk is the one we'd spoken to on the phone earlier. Rather chipper and likeable. I bitterly wonder why she hasn't been answering the phone for the past hour. We explained the situation and she immediately steps out for lunch. Or so the wife (L) tells me later. All I saw was that she disappeared just after I gave her the hospital notes.

At this point things get a bit mad so I may have a few of the details wrong. I asked L to edit this to make sure I got it right.

They put us in a room with an unmade bed while they prepare a real room for us. We slightly settle in for about ten minutes. Then another midwife comes along to check out L, so she's moved to room 4. I grab all the stuff and L shuffles in, the TENS machine still dangling from her back, and switch in hand. The floor's still wet, so we leave muddy tacks all over the floor. Great, that's sanitary, I think, but at least the midwife cleans it up. I help L out of her pants, and she lies down on the bed to be checked. I notice there's nothing to plug the iPod into. Great. They told me they had docks for those. Grumble.

They check her blood pressure and the baby's heartbeat, which are doing just fine and not noticeably different from that morning. That's one worry smoothed out for me – having just read a story about a woman whose baby went into distress from just the contractions (how annoying is that? I mean being distressed by contractions? That's what being born in all about). Then came the first big check – how dilated is she?

For me, this felt like the first real big moment. For those who don't know, the cervix is what opens up to let the baby out (or stays closed to keep the baby in for most of pregnancy). As a general rule, it opens up to 10cm slowly over the course of labour. When it hits 10cm, then there's enough room for the baby's head (the widest part of the baby) to come out (which is usually around 10cm across, though ours was 11), quickly followed by the rest of the baby. So when I say this was the first real big moment, I mean this is what determines how long the labour's going to take. If the cervix is closed or just a couple of cm dilated, then we're likely in store for one of those 20+ hour labours, punctuated with lots of helping L focus on getting the contraction muscles to work together. On the other hand, a larger dilation means baby comes sooner, usually a few hours of hard contractions. Given L and her sister's births, I imagined the latter (L's sister was born 5 hours after contractions suddenly started. L was born in an ambulance outside a petrol station 10 miles from hospital) and expected maybe 6cm dilation and maybe some notable birth and transition stages. I was wrong.

So, the midwife waits till the current contraction is done before sticking her fingers in and says something like I can't find the cervix. It's got to be in there somewhere, so it must be in an unusual place. So I'm going to guess you're about 8cm dilated. then she left to sort out the room. While she was gone L and I discussed how that was, of course, crap. L's cervix has always been in the usual cervical place – at the end her uterus. It was just so fully dilated that the midwife could find no trace of it. So now we knew. We were in store for a quick labour.

The TENS electrodes have been slipping over the past few hours. I've had to adjust them a few times, but at this point L is sweaty enough that they just keep slipping out of place. I'm wondering if they're actually doing anything for her anymore. The midwife asks would you like some gas and air to which L responds Yes, please or at least would have if she'd have had time to before covering her face with the mask and breathing deep. At this point we'd been in hospital maybe 20 minutes.

We're left alone again for a few minutes with L intermittently breathing the nitrous. I tell her comforting platitudes about how everything is going well, and she gets annoyed about how I'm just saying platitudes about how everything is going well. The midwife comes back and L she says she has to go to the loo. I know it's just the baby's head putting pressure on the rectum. The midwife knows it's just the baby's head putting pressure on the rectum. Even L knows it's just the baby's head putting pressure on the rectum, but if it makes her comfortable, what's the harm? So into the loo she goes.

She sits there around ten minutes. We briefly discuss getting in touch with family, at least L's sister, to let them know labour's begun. But things just got out of hand. The midwife comes back and says she wants to check the baby's heartbeat. She tries, but couldn't do it with L sitting there, so L comes back and lies down on the bed-thing, and the heartbeat is found (all good).

Quick aside. The bed-thing is a curved bed with a giant bean bag chair as the pillow. So it's not very straightforward to lie on.

At this point L points out to the midwife she has the urge to push. She's not very convincing in the it's coming now front. So the midwife interprets it in a isn't that interesting to note kind of way. L is lying on the bed, which is just about the worst position possible for birthing. L just can't get up – which is going to be a real bother for the birthing. I tell the midwife we'd like to use the birthing pool. She says it'll take an hour to clean and fill up. I don't bother mentioning that we'd asked for it when we came in. L and I just look at each other and share a knowing glance of we've not the slightest chance, do we? and L asks, with just a hint of futility, can you start filling it now?

Another aside. I don't know anyone who has successfully used a birthing pool in hospital. Everyone seems to be talked out of it or given some excuse for for why they can't use it. Why do hospitals bother having one? Just to tick a box?

We need a backup to get L into a better position. I ask if we can get a birthing ball. That the midwife can do. So she leaves to get it. I have no idea if she even tries to get the pool cleaned and ready. While she's gone L lies on her right side and tells me to hold her left leg up. The TENS electrodes are still attached, clearly all migrated to the wrong positions. L has the gas in hand to hopefully take the edge off the pain, but I can't recall how much she's actually using (and she has no idea if the gas actually helped. At times it just made her nauseous). Then I see something coming out of her. I just think WTF is that? Is that a placenta? a millisecond later I realise I'm really stupid and that is a gooey matted bit of hair. Before my eyes can pop out of my head I exclaim She's crowning! to L and dive for the call button. Maybe 20 seconds later (though it felt like much longer) the midwife comes back into the room with the deflated birthing ball. well, that's not going to be of much help, now is it? I don't say. Instead She's crowning! comes out of my mouth.

The midwife replies with simply Dear sweet jesus christ!, puts down the stuff, fetches a coworker, starts putting on the blue gloves, and settles in at L's business end.

At this point the midwife says to L In a second I'm going to tell you to pant and not push, and starts adjusting L's bits to not break when the baby comes out. Then the head starts coming out for real this time and L says It burns!

The matted hair is visible again. On an elongated alien head. Which kind of answers the how can an 11cm head come out of a 10cm opening? I was asking the day before. Another contraction and the head is out. It's grey – something I was a little prepared for by all the BBC documentaries on birth I'd been watching. But it's still weird. I look closer and I say That's my ear! On the side of the baby's head is clearly my ear. I'm astounded.

Then the grey torso slides out at the next contraction. There's a face and a body. With limbs. In one move, the midwife scoops her up and onto L's chest. It's less than an hour after we got to UCH.

She's breathing – I can hear her breathing. Several breaths later she cries. Not for very long, but enough to make it clear she's ok. She settles back down to gentle breathing again. She's belly down on L's chest and L is cooing at her and telling her she's so sweet.

I ask the midwife It's a girl, right? I'd not seen the baby from the front yet. Just her face and back. She quickly checks and says, Yes. I've known it was a girl for about 30 weeks, but still, part of me didn't entirely believe it.

The midwife takes a towel and starts brushing her off, she claims it'll get the blood flowing to the skin. I say leave the vernix on, which she promptly ignores and says I am, even though she's clearly not. Whatever. The baby is safe and here and clearly alive and well in L's arms. I'm grinning like a madman. At this point I see the midwife taking note of the time and writing it in the notes. I'm distracted when I look at my child's feet and say to L I know those toes! Those are your toes!

To be concluded...

Birth story, part 2

Saturday, 30 July, noonish. We arrive back home after the being checked out at UCLH. We decide to take things easy and just sit at home watching movies all day.

After a bit of hemming and hawing we decide to bail on the 1:30 meeting of the NCT group. It was at a nearby pub, so we could easily get there – and it would be better than sitting an waiting for the other baby shoe to drop. But quiet and at home won out – mostly due to the fact that all but one couple had emailed saying they couldn't make it. We found out later that one couple had just given birth a few hours previously, just didn't have time to send apologies in advance. Which made me quite glad we decided to stay at home.

The wife was starting to feel unidentified twinges. She had no idea if they were contractions or not. She just kind of guessed they must be since what other uterine twinges are you likely to get the day your water breaks? To be safe, we attached the TENS machine. It's supposed to not work if you start too late, so starting early felt like the best way to go. We put on My Big Fat Greek Wedding and had a light lunch. It's not a great film. But it's a fun film, and a mindless film. We tend to watch it when we need an amusing distraction from the world.

The wife started contractions around 1:30 pm. 5 minutes apart, no pain at all. At the time it wasn't clear if that means the TENS works or the contractions weren't real yet. At this point we were pretty sure that these were not fake Braxton-Hicks but that the baby was coming that day.

When the movie was over we debated if we had time to watch another full length movie, or stick to something shorter in case we're interrupted. We decide on something shorter. She has her first real contraction at 3. At that point it occurs to me then that this is real and we can actually handle this.

The wife phones UCH again. They say to sit tight. At home.

So we sit down to watch the episode of V with the birth of the alien baby hybrid. It nicely set the mood. Over the course of the show, the contractions got stronger, but not too bad and not regular. By the time the show is over we're both having a hard time focussing on it – her with the pain, and me with the concern. When it ends, around 4:30, we give up watching things and just concentrate on the contractions. They're irregularly every 3 minutes or so, but skip every now and again, and are strong enough the wife tells me to note that they're strong. The wife phones UCH and tells them this. They focus on the skip every now and again instead of the every 3 minutes which we found to be the important part. They say to not come in yet.

It's getting awkward calling her "the wife" all the time. I'll switch to "L" from here on out.

Eventually I remember we have music for this. We made a Labour playlist. I start to get out the iPod to play it, but L just says we're going to hospital. Now.

So at 5:00 I start calling UCH to tell them we're coming in. No answer. Over and over again. For 15 minutes (FFS). I can't call both a taxi and the hospital at the same time. Ok, technically I can since we have more than one phone, but I can't focus enough to do it. So I keep trying to call the hospital – especially to let them know to get the birthing pool ready. And while it's ringing I use L's phone SMS some nearby friends and ask if they could give us a lift.

They're just about to head out to a party, so they're happy to stop and get us on the way. At 5:30 we're in the car and on our way. L is in the front seat still timing contractions and making smalltalk. I keep saying potentially unhelpful things like don't go anywhere near Arsenal. Around now contractions are coming every 2-3 minutes and lasting about a minute. Still, L keeps up polite conversation, and stops bothering counting contractions. I am impressed. Later she tells me what is wrong with the contraction timer app she was using and what a good one needs to do. If anyone wants a collaborator for writing one, I can put you in touch.

We get to UCH just before 6, pile out of the car with our 3 bags, and say very brief thanks and goodbyes. We head up to the birthing centre on the 3rd floor. Fortunately we've been there before and can easily find it. Unusually, the lift is there, so there's no where's the sodding lift panic.

Since I was never able to get through to them, the midwives are not ready for us. L sits in reception having contractions while I give them the pregnancy notes and our birth plan. They say thanks though I clearly see that they don't actually read out birth plan – they just file it in with the notes. They start cleaning a room for us, and take L to another room to wait.

To be continued...

First day out

We took the little one out to lunch today with my parents. It was our first attempt at a restaurant . It seems to have been a success. It was the wife's turn to carry her in the sling (I took her last time). We did take longer than expected to pack the Bag – mostly because every time we'd packed before was on way to midwives and such, and we knew they'd have stuff if we forgot it. This time we were going to the real world, and we'd have to make sure we had everything we needed.

The wee one spent the bulk of the meal in the sling. The wife only dropped food in her hair once. The baby slept or was quiet the whole time. After the meal she seemed to be getting a bit warm, so we took her out of the sling. That's when the next table over noticed and decide to pay tribute to her by cooing, asking her age, and informing us they have 3 girls in their twenties between them.

This seems to be pretty common. It's happened every time we've left the house with her. Later in the meal one of the staff asked how old she was. I told him 8 days and that this was her first meal out. He spread his arms in welcome and smiled. I don't mind this at all. A friendly bit of natter with complete strangers is a good thing, and something that city life seems to miss out on. I don't like the unsolicited advice about how we're doing it all wrong — but only one person's ever done that. The Isn't she cute and You're brave leaving the house so soon I can live with.

The place had cooled down by the time we had coffee, so we put her back in the sling. The wife drank hers with a straw with the excuse that most baby burns are from spilt hot beverages. We clearly are still quite a bit paranoid. The walk home in the rain showed that, me walking close with my arm around the wife making sure she can't slip and fall. And us stopping at every intersection waiting for the green "walk" light regardless of how little traffic there was.

All in all a success with no crying or meltdowns or anything. I wonder how old she has to be before she's too fussy to take out?

Completely unrelated — I keep pondering the adage sleep when they sleep. I don't know if I'm missing something, but it's the opposite of what I find I'm doing. When she sleeps, I do dishes, talk to adults, go online, read, blog, and variously maintain the household. When she's awake I try to calm her down if she's annoyed, or cuddle, or just stare at her. I can't see how I'd do the opposite. Ignore her and do work when she's up or crying. Perhaps this too will make more sense later.

How we got here

So for the past several years, the wife and I have been discussing the theoretical child. Not everything, but alot. The point was not to plan out the kid's life, but a whole bunch of what-ifs. The birth, raising, schooling, citizenship – all kinds of things, even whose body parts and traits it would be better off having. If we could answer them and come to an agreement then we knew we were closer to being ready.

We're control freaks. Both of us. Everything needs to be planned out. It's just the way we are. It seems to be working out for us so far.

We didn't talk about it with friends or family. Talking about it would make it too real. We felt that telling people would make it more concrete and force ourselves down that path whether it be a good idea or not. Or the opposite – sometimes discussing your plans means you're less likely to actually do them. We had to be really ready and really be sure we were doing this for the right reasons. So, to cope, it had to be our little secret.

We decided on names literally years ago. One name for a girl and one for a boy. Of course we won't tell anyone until she's born. Somehow we feel if we did it would make it less "us" and ruin the name. We may be control freaks, but we're not always rational.

A couple of years ago we decided on a code name for the kid. The wife did not want to use any of the standards - bean, alien, bump, bambino, etc. She suggested Willow. This was long before we even started trying to conceive. We needed it so we say things like Which room will be Willow's in the new flat? without feeling like we were committing ourselves to breeding. The name is based on an offhand comment my step-cousin-in-law made to the wife at the wedding, making a joke on my surname, Rosenberg.

We bought a flat almost a year ago after searching for a very long time. We'd always "known" that this would be the place where we'd have a baby. That thought went into our evaluation of every place we saw. In the worst case, we'd just end up with extra space if we chose not to breed. It did end up with us having to come up with lots of on-the-spot rationalised avoidance of questions when people'd ask Why do you need 3 bedrooms? or Stoke Newington? Is she pregnant?

We didn't decide for sure to sprog until last year. The wife had a completely irrational pregnancy scare. There were no real signs, and the maths didn't work out. There was no way she could be pregnant – but she got in her head anyway that she was. So, being the rational/irrational creature she is, she sat down and figured out how we'd handle it. She came to the conclusion that we could handle it, and it wasn't such a bad thing after all. A month later we started trying.

It's a year later now, and we're just over two weeks from the due date. Willow could come at any moment. We have, I think, everything we need. It's just not organised enough – it's all in piles on whatever random flat surfaces we can find. Plus our home is still in a state, with curtains needing to be put up and furniture moved to at least the right room. And the bag. We need to pack the bag. And by the bag, I probably mean 2 or 3 the bags with just-in-every-possible-case stuff for all of us. In the meanwhile, all parts of our lives are coming to a mad peak. All we need to do is get past it and ride the waves down into whatever familihood awaits us.