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Issue 1: Pregnancy

February 2017

It’s fair to say that my pregnancy was planned but only by me. I cannot believe I turned into one of those women that was so completely overwhelmed by the incessant ticking of their biological clock that they stopped taking their pill without the full consent of their partner. I know I am a horrible human being and I am going to hell, but honestly, I am OK with it. It started with a genuine mistake which then lead to a realization that I could, in theory, keep forgetting and see what happens (I knew what would happen!) It’s not as if we never talked about having babies, we did. We have been together for 8 years and not all of them have been happy. I had a slight misdemeanor with an ex a few years back which I kept entirely to myself (mostly because I got really pissed, slurred my way through 2 bottles of wine and then threw up and shat myself all over the hotel bathroom floor) which threw me off track with my relationship and I have a tendency to want everything my own way which must be relatively hard for him to deal with. But despite all that I am pretty happy and I assume he is too otherwise we wouldn’t be together. Neither of us are the “stay together for the kids” type. We talked about trying for kids once our house renovations were finished but I knew that there would never be a day when the house is finished so essentially I took matters into my own hands, or womb.

It took about 9 months to get pregnant and in the end I was starting to wonder if all the cogs were in place, but apparently they were. His immediate reaction was happiness, followed by a series of life altering rows leading to him telling me that we are not right for each other and I should pack by bags and go which was a great thing for a pregnant lady to hear. Eventually he admitted to being a shithouse and that he was scared and said he wanted to make it work. I was dubious at first but he really did try his best to support me and I can hardly judge as I have not been the most perfect partner.

My pregnancy was relatively uneventful in the grand scheme of things but to me it felt like the worst pregnancy in the world. I had a lot of sickness in the beginning, followed by a lot of heartburn and pelvic pain. Eventually we found out we were having a girl and after that things got a little easier. I’ve always had my heart set on a little girl and I think my endless praying to the god that I don’t believe in and feminine thoughts led me to have created a little female which I was really happy about. The midwife said she thinks its a girl but not 100% so I clung on to that hope throughout the pregnancy but secretly I knew I was having a girl. To be honest I don’t feel terribly guilty about actually not wanting a boy. All the boy clothes and boy names just did nothing for me. In retrospect I just did not consider that to be a possibility.

So we talked names and I drank gavisgon like there was no tomorrow for a few weeks. Work got a little harder, mostly because my boss is a prize cunt. I don’t know anyone whose boss isn’t an absolute mother fucker but honestly, mine is unbelievable. There are far too many occasions where she has humiliated me and my colleagues to mention, I would need a separate “My boss is a twat” blog. But one notable comment was when she said that my 20 week old baby was tiny and that my sizeable bump was mostly overeating. What the actual fuck?

Side Note: Why is it OK to say really fucking rude things to pregnant ladies? Here is a list of some of the things that complete strangers/friends/family/colleagues actually said to me whilst I was pregnant

1. Are you sure you’re not having twins?

2. You look massive

3. You probably shouldn’t be eating again

4. Your bump is a weird shape

5. Your bump is too small

6. You are carrying too high, is the baby OK?

7. Any day now? (I was 20 weeks)

8 You are being sick a lot

9. You aren’t being sick a lot

I did actually tell someone in the street that I was not pregnant but in fact had a tumor that was inoperable. Like I said, going to hell.

So the big day was approaching and my little bundle was breech from about 26 weeks. I knew that of course because the acid reflux and heartburn was excruciating and I could feel the head right under my rib cage. Everyone (including my fucking boss!) said that the baby would turn when ready but evidently she didn’t. Like with the gender thing, I just kind of knew I would have a c-section. I joked with friends that it would be like trying to squeeze a beach ball through a test tube but somewhere in my weird brain I just knew that I wouldn’t deliver naturally. I was actually terrified of giving birth to be honest and it would keep me awake at night so I was grateful of the c-section and actually it was not too bad.

Birth: Issue 2

March 7, 2017

I was booked in for 7th February 2017 and honestly, my main concern was that I couldn’t eat or drink anything from midnight the day before! I had taken to having about 7 meals a day not including snacks and I was genuinely more concerned about not eating from midnight until…fuck knows what time. I stayed up til 11.59pm eating all sorts of junk.

I got to the hospital early and got all checked in, my partner looked bloody ridiculous in scrubs and I was panicking that they might scan me again to see if she was still breech. I had convinced myself I would have to have a raging row with the doctors that I was having this baby TODAY. Any pregnant woman knows that the last few weeks are hell on toast and I was definitely not experiencing an exception to that rule. I was like an angry rhino ready to charge anyone who dared to breathe in my presence. Only the dog got any kind of affection from me. Sex was very strange at this point, I kept feeling the baby move and drying up like an abandoned well and worrying about my partner seeing my spotty arse because I was too large to have him on top.

The midwives and nurses were all fabulous except one. She had seen me during a gestational diabetes test a few weeks back and she denied me the use of a chair, until I kicked off obviously and magically a chair was available. As soon as she walked in I thought, jesus christ not her. She then proceeded to piss me off several times until I was called into surgery, I had tried to have a nervous poo beforehand but was not successful so I was feeling very tentative on the walk over to the operating room, which thankfully was a few yards only.

The staff were amazing and could tell I was a bit shaky so they asked me all about my tattoos which I was grateful for. I threw up at the beginning, fucking standard behavior from me really and another weird thing that happened was that the surgeon took my baby out and then opened her legs to show me she was a girl. If he had just told me I would’ve believed him. So now one of my first memories of my little girl is seeing her newborn vagina 2cm away from my face.

All joking aside, the moment I first saw her was incredible. She was born doing the full splits front to back which was why she managed to get all stuck in there. She didn’t realize she had been born and was just curled up all peaceful, it was amazing. I was slightly disappointed my partner didn’t cry because I was crying my bloody eyes out with happiness that she was OK and that she was wonderful. I won’t hold it against him, he is really not the crying type.

Her foot was next to her ear when she was all wrapped up in the towel and my partner obviously chose a baby gro that I wouldn’t have chosen (a shitty sheep one that was 0-3 months, not one of the nice first size ones I had packed) but it was all a bit of a blur and I didn’t feel like ruining his moment. His family came to visit, mine didn’t. Appalling behavior I have come to expect as standard. But my close friend did come to visit with her 3 month old which was really nice. I went to visit her in hospital with both of her children so I think it was nice for her to be able to repay the gesture.

I breastfed, relatively unsuccessfully. Bottle fed, more successfully and then got moved to the ward which was fine apart from Hitler the nurse came to tell me that I had to move and watched me struggle from one bed into another (they don’t normally wheel you down, apparently you should be able to walk hours after having a fucking spinal block whilst carrying your piss bag in your hand!) and in the end I split my wound open. So I was mega pissed off. I do suffer from resting bitch face but my face when I arrived on the ward, during visiting hours no less, was as if someone had set fire to the pink thing I had spent 9 months growing. I was less than impressed and so made it my personal mission to be out of the ward in 24 hours to the minute and I insisted on telling every soul who dared enter my closed curtain that I wanted to be out by 11.09am on the dot. The result of which was that the morphine stopped. Fuck. I did not fully think it through.

It took me 45 minutes to change my first poo nappy which my child conveniently filled 5 minutes after my partner was kicked out of the ward and I put it on the wrong way.  All I could think is “Jesus how was I going to manage to look after this beautiful little thing?” She was screaming so much a nurse had to help, much to my annoyance. But then she did bring me toast which was very welcome. I learned fairly early on that having a newborn is a constant battle not to spill crumbs and coffee on them,

I lay there all night making sure she was warm and she was cuddled in on my chest. I could feel her breath and her little heartbeat and I wondered if there is anything more incredible in the world. The moment was a little spoiled by the worst god damn snoring I have ever heard from a woman across the ward from me. I took a sound clip on my phone it was that bad. The woman shouted at her husband when he arrived in the morning saying she had had no sleep all night…As tempting as it was to show him the video my partner reminded me she might have had a tough labour. Doesn’t excuse her sounding like a fucking hippo all night. Maybe it does. But Still. Grrrr. I am aware I am very judgmental and intolerable of others but aren’t we all really? Deep down? She was probably thinking I was a royal twat for taking 45 minutes to do a simple nappy change. Or is she super nice and thought about coming to help me? Unlikely, In my experience the vast majority of people are secretly judgey, it’s just built in.

All checks were fine and I was on the way home by 11.09am on 8th February… Result!