DELIVERY DRAMAS // my birth story

As I hurtle towards the due date of my second daughter with frightening speed, my thoughts are now turning to the birth.

My first pregnancy was a dream (once the initial morning sickness passed). I was full of energy, my hair was thick and shiny, and my skin glowed. I had it all planned. I would have a nice, straight-forward, regular birth.

I wasn’t being unrealistic – I knew labour wouldn’t be pleasant. But then, just like all those programmes on telly, I’d have 24 hours of painful contractions, an hour or so pushing, then a gorgeous baby in my arms.

PAH!

Here is my actual birth story: almost everything that could go wrong, did go wrong. My due date came and went… then edged towards the dreaded two weeks overdue, when you’re told your placenta starts to deteriorate. So in I trotted for an induction. After three attempts with the Prostaglandin gel the contractions finally started. Unfortunately, nothing else followed – no dilation, no broken waters. Total ‘Failure to Progress’.

To make a looooooong story short, two-and-a-half days and one emergency caesarean later, I finally had my baby in my arms. Not that I really knew much about it – I was so exhausted and zonked on drugs that it all kind of went right over my head. I held Big Sis, and smiled and made all the right noises, but in reality I actually felt quite detached.

I certainly didn’t feel that rush of love that everyone raves about – in fact that didn’t come until the next morning, when the drugs had worn off, and I’d snatched a few hours of sleep, and it was just me and her.

Of course the less-than-perfect start didn’t affect our relationship in the long term, and today she’s my bestest little buddy. But I still can’t help feeling a bit cheated. I’ve got absolutely nothing against caesarean sections, or people who elect to have them, but it wasn’t what I  personally had planned. I wanted to feel the contractions (as long as they were achieving something – which mine weren’t), and give birth the ‘old-fashioned’ way – even with all the hideous pelvic floor damage everyone complains about afterwards.

I wanted to see my baby born, and have her placed on my chest, rather than seeing her for a moment over a blue surgical drape, before she was whisked away. I feel like I missed out on those amazing irreplaceable first ‘Mummy Moments’. Daddy got to hold her, and watch her being weighed, and have photos taken, while I craned for a glimpse from the surgical table. I don’t begrudge what my partner got for a microsecond, but I do begrudge what I didn’t.

I couldn’t even give Big Sis her first bath, because I couldn’t move from my bed for the first 12 hours. I had to ask the nurses to lift her from the bassinet, and place her in my arms for feeding, then return her again afterwards.

So even though I have one child already, I still don’t feel like I’ve actually given birth – by my own personal definition, that is.

This time round I’ve made it clear I want a VBAC (vaginal birth after caesarean) but, of course, there are no guarantees. There’s no reason why I can’t go on to have a ‘regular’ birth, but, as I know all too well, you can’t possibly forsee what might go wrong – even after a perfect pregnancy (which mine has NOT been, this time around).

I have loads of other things to consider. I won’t be allowed to be induced this time, as it brings on labour too quickly, and my uterine scar could rupture (ewwww!!). So, if I go too far overdue I’ll have to have another c-section. If I got into labour naturally, but fail to progress again, I’ll also be forced to have baby number two ‘whipped out through the sunroof‘, as one surgeon delightfully put it.

Or, I might have the straightforward birth I always dreamed of having. Here’s hoping it’s the latter… 

UPDATE: Lil Sis was born healthy and utterly perfect. BUT… she was also a c-section birth. My waters ended up breaking two weeks early (quite the shock, since Big Sis was two weeks late), and contractions began. Then, in a repeat of the first time, they just stopped. Because my waters had partly broken (the fore but not the hind-waters – or something like that) the risk of infection was higher, so when labour failed to progress again, I was taken back to the theatre for delivery.

This time it was a VERY different experience. Technically this was a regular c-section, rather than an emergency, so it was calm, and controlled and I was alert all the way through. Lil was handed straight to me before being weighed and cleaned up, and as I was wheeled back to the ward she was also nestled under my arm for some skin-to-skin time. I could care for her myself from the start, and everything felt so much more natural and real. 

It turned out I’d never have been able to have a traditional birth, as scar tissue from the previous caesarean had created adhesions that had actually attached my bladder to my uterus.

Do I still wish my birth story had been different, and I’d been able to avoid my c-sections? Yes. But I’ve come to terms with my own feelings of disappointment, and know all that truly matters is that my babies both arrived safe and well, and that I survived too – a century ago I would almost certainly have been a statistic.

Doesn’t that bring things sharply into focus? 

• fancying some more good reads? Check out my post on ‘Top 10 Sneaky Fitness Hacks for Busy Mums‘ or my first-person feature about Nikki Smith, who was ‘Branded a Thief for Trying to Make my Girls’ Dreams Come True‘.