This is a long overdue but fairly short post – because I am much to busy for my own good at the moment.

It is currently 01:19 and I have spent the past 5 hours (intermittently because I had to eat and feed Theo Prana) working on an assignment. I seriously don’t know how I am going to function tomorrow but I know that it will be worth it next year. That said, I take my hat off to my mum who did this for months and years – she has studied for as long as I can remember, alongside her full-time job, being a mum and running a house. Some people have super-powers and to me she is one of them.

I turned 21 last week, well 10 days ago to be precise. It’s strange, I have never had great expectations for my 21st birthday, but I definitely did not envision having a 3 month old baby by this time. Theo Prana is 15 weeks today – in 2 hours actually! For some reason 15 weeks seems like a bigger milestone than 12 did, maybe because he has grown and developed so much recently, or maybe because I think of everything in academic terms and 15 weeks is over a term.

H visited just before my birthday which was super nice, and it was a much more chilled trip than last time because he flew down and had an extra day. Theo was also a lot calmer with him so they has some proper time together, though it is still difficult to really let H have the reins because I am so used to doing everything. Plus, we have a system and it works – I definitely cannot wait to move in with him next year though; things will be a lot different then. It’s weird telling Theo that his daddy is going to visit… it’ll be good to be able to tell him that his daddy is coming home from a work day instead (bonus – he’ll understand me a lot better by then too!).

I got very spoiled actually in terms of people. H left the day before my birthday to go back to work, but my family from Gibraltar flew over on it. My brother was looking at universities so they made a short stop at mine before gallivanting around the UK. It was good to see everyone and I am looking forward to my mums next visit in a couple weeks.

So anyway, I decided that I wanted to do some fun facts about 1996 in this post, but nothing seems relevant… so instead I think I am going to pause and think.

I am a 90’s kid with very litter recollection of the 90’s – but I do know that as I grew up, in my early years and even when I was a pre-teen, my vision of the world was a good one. I know that a lot of stuff went on, but somehow, even though events like 9/11 had the world falling apart, in my small corner of the world, the sun was shinning. My parents did a brilliant job in keeping us informed but not depressed. I want to do the same for Theo, but I wonder with how the world has changed, will it be possible? I think that in a different way it might be… as I grew up, technology was advancing, and once I was in my teens, technology had taken over.

I video call H and my parents, and sometimes my in-laws. I spend hours at a time attached to a screen, for movies, music, and mostly work. Theo has been born into a world where digital technology is a major part of our everyday lives, and in his life, with a student mum who lives away from family, its more prevalent than I would like it to be.

I am conscious of the fact that he will be a toddler who knows how to use a phone – but I am also conscious of the fact that we do have time out, away from the devices. In my uni room I cannot keep my mat out constantly, but when I have my own place with H, I want to cultivate a space, with our mats out, where we can get away from all the media and devices, and we can relax. Today in yoga we talked about the importance of stimulating babies for good brain development, but also the importance of quiet time. In my 21 years I can honestly say that despite my ability to thrive under pressure and my addiction to mental stimuli, I absolutely love sitting by myself and just watching the world, or sitting on my own and watching myself. I have my parents and their encouragement of reading for that, I have learned how to enjoy my own company well; and I want to pass that on.

I am waiting for Theo to get up for a feed; there is very little point in trying to sleep for 20 minutes because I will feel more groggy and the milk will not let down as easily. It is the first time in weeks that I have not slept next to him after his first waking for food at night. I started with the cot almost all night… and I totally get that it is important for him to be comfortable sleeping alone at night – but hes so cute and tiny and it is so very much easier to have him next to me for a cuddle and feed. Half the time, if I don’t cover up, he won’t even wake me to feed (which is brilliant). I know there are many many people who have and will tell me that he will become too attached – but he won’t be co-sleeping at 15, and he won’t be breastfeeding forever; so I am going to make the most of it while it lasts.

I found this photo quote the other day and absolutely loved it. I had been second guessing my decisions to co-sleep and allow him to comfort suckle. He nurses to sleep and I let him… I rock him and I sing to him. I attend to his every cry, and when I can’t (for example when I bring him home and need to bring the pram inside) then it breaks my heart a little. Crying really is communication and I only wish that I was able to understand it better and faster.

Anyway… right on time, he has got up. I am glad to be calling it a night – it has been a long day!

Until the next time (no promises on when that will be).

My first week of lectures has arrived. Theo Prana and I have been in the UK for almost 3 weeks now and my gosh this has been a change.

We flew over with my dad, who is currently here with me to help me settle in, and travelled to my grandparents so they could meet baby. This was sometime special because he is their first great grandson, joining 2 great granddaughters and I really wanted them to meet him. I am a fair distance away so don’t know when we will have that opportunity again.

Once back in Portsmouth we tried to sort ourselves out and I decided to dig out my Gina Ford book and have a look at it again. Before he arrived, I didn’t think that I could have such a regimented routine with Theo Prana, but actually when I used it as a guideline, it seemed to work quite well. Unfortunately, between Freshers Fayre, his first round of vaccinations and a (very welcome and happy) visit from his dad, Theo has been thrown out of wack a little and we are back to square 1. Earlier this week I could see that he was very confused and not the happy baby that I know he usually is for a few days, but we are working on it and I am hoping that he will settle soon. Thanks to my dad, I am staying fairly calm, and having him around has made a huge difference.

The first time Theo Prana cried for more than 10 minutes was in Gibraltar and I cried and cried too. I felt terrible, and didn’t have a clue what was wrong or how to settle him. Now, 4 weeks later, I am a lot more calm with him and know that eventually we will figure it out. It was only this weekend, after his vaccinations that I cried again because he wouldn’t settle and I felt like it was my fault. I didn’t know what was wrong or how to make it better… but I kept repeating “This Too Shall Pass” and even though the minutes felt like hours and the hours felt like days, it did pass, and he was fine.

We have definitely had some tough moments since he was born, and more so since being in the UK because I was on my own for a week before my dad flew back. Regardless, we have had some wonderful moments too; we had our first day of uni together, H got to give him his night feed, and this week we went to a mum and baby yoga class. Theo Prana is generally a very good and happy baby – I feel blessed and I am sure that the yoga and Kirtan has made a big difference.

Honestly the weekend with H was a mixture of emotions – we had to get used to being together again, and then as things started to feel normal, we were once again saying goodbye. I was nervous about seeing him after 7 weeks, and I was nervous about how Theo would react to him but they got really well and I fell more in love with H as I watched him with our son. Hopefully, he will be able to come down again soon so that he can have some more bonding time with Theo and also because I do miss him terribly. I don’t have a problem being on my own, and sometimes it’s easier because I just get on with everything but I do wish that he could have more time with us and I am looking forward to moving in with him and being a ‘proper’ family once I graduate.

Speaking of graduating, I knew it would be but my gosh university is going to be a major challenge! On many levels I am worried about how we will cope but even more than that I am determined to do it. My days usually start at 06:15, I meditate and if I can, express before feeding Theo, or if not, express after he is done. Then we have our days full of feeding, play, poop and sleep, and I hit the sack around 11pm. That said, recently we have had some lie in mornings until 07:30 and then I feel guilty for not starting the day properly but remind myself that my body is still recovering and I need rest too.

I do not want to fall into the trap of wanting to ‘bounce back’ because really, having a baby is no small feat. I know that women have done it for centuries and of course it is a natural process but it is also a big trauma for the body, and I want to make sure to nourish and love my body and mind, nomatter how hard that seems some days. Luckily, I have a good support system and my grounding in yoga does, I think make a huge difference in this.

My support system includes not only my family in Gibraltar but my in-laws too, and my yogi family, and friends here at university. I have my dad helping me at the moment and my housemates have been really great, plus a few of the guys on my course who check in with us regularly and are just genuinely really lovely people. The girl I live with, Rhi, has basically adopted Theo Prana and she has been dubbed Aunty Rhi. She has been a lifeline at points and I am truly grateful to be living with her this year. The boy, Dailen, though not a massive fan of my little miracle has been patient and provides great adult conversations and cups of tea. It seems weird that they are such a big part of life at the moment but in a years time I will live in a different house, on the other side of the country, living a very different life with my family.

Overall, I know that there is going to be some really hard moments over the next few months, and I know that there will be tears, but also that there will be lots of love, laughter and smiles. I keep this knowledge with me, and know that the hard times will pass. At the end of the day, I want to give Theo Prana the best possible, and I can only do that by taking care of myself as well. We will manage, and he will thrive, and when we graduate in July, it will have definitely been worth it.

I wrote about my birth story as quickly as possible, and now, 15 days postpartum, I want to document as much of this as possible too!

I can’t quite believe that the last 2 weeks have happened; even living through it, the experience feels like a dream. My post about my labour ended after the I was given a recovery room, and so I’ll pick up from just before. The photos are of me in the labour room… looking completely washed out, and feeling much the same.

Just before 6am, after H had made me some toast, the midwives came in and asked if I was ready to move. I felt panicky, because I had a catheter in and my legs were stiff; the last thing in the world I wanted to was stand up and walk. Mum told H to go make me a tea, and when he left I consented to getting up. I had not been at all embarrassed or awkward throughout my labour, but I didn’t like the idea of H seeing me so weak. They brought a wheelchair in and coaxed me out of bed which honestly was more painful than any contraction I had experienced!

Once standing, I had the task of sitting in the chair; I ended up only half sitting and being taken to my room. With some difficulty I managed to get into the bed. Looking around the baby wasn’t there – he was still in the corridor with the other midwife; I got a bit panicked again but they brought him in and despite all the pain and exhaustion, I felt better.

Over the next hour I had more toast and got H to remake the tea as it was much too strong! I began to pep up a bit and started doing the rounds of telling people that Theo had arrived at last. Mum and H had done most of it for me, but there were some people I wanted to tell specifically. Mum left to get ready for work around 7:30 and I told H to nap – he was exhausted and I couldn’t sleep but I knew about an hour later I’d need to crash. It was quite cold in the recovery room so H covered himself with Theo’s blanket – not the best idea because baby couldn’t use it until after it got washed but oh well. The midwives came in a couple times to check on us, and then Mum brought my Grandma in at 9 am.

After that, I’m pretty sure I slept for a few hours. My Dad and brother visited… and Mum kept popping in. H did everything for me, including feed me lunch because I had both cannula’s still in and I was being given 3 units of blood. Every time baby needed a feed, someone had to prop him up and position him for me so he could latch – I felt entirely useless, and even though I wasn’t crying, I could feel myself sinking lower and lower. Being told at some point in the day that the haematoma would take around 6 weeks to resolve itself (and being given ice-packs to help the swelling; which really stung as well) did not help matters.

I had the catheter in all day and the next night too. They encouraged me to walk and after the blood transfusion had finished Mum helped me shower. I remember her using the soap sponges and washing the blood off my legs and then helping me dry. It was the first time I had really been able to see the swelling and it made me cringe. I wasn’t really able to move but rather had to slide my feet along the floor because lifting them was too painful – I was shuffling in a half squat because the swelling meant I couldn’t bring my legs together. The midwives told me all this was normal, so when they offered pain relief, I refused it – if I was going to be like this for almost 2 months, and I wanted to breastfeed, I did not want to be drugged up the entire time. Looking back now, it feels like a lifetime ago; I can’t quite believe the transformation.

The next morning (Friday) they took the catheter out which made things slightly better. Without the cannulas in as well it meant that I could hold Theo as long as he was given to me and then taken back to his crib. H still did pretty much everything but I tried my best to stay positive and avoided thinking about more than 1 day into the future. Obviously this wasn’t practical but it was the only thing that kept me going. The midwife told us that Theo looked a bit jaundiced so asked me to express some milk in case we needed to top up his supply because he wasn’t feeding enough – this was not what I wanted to do because my plan has been from the beginning to only breastfeed him for at least the first month and then I would consider bottles of expressed milk. The machine I had to use was extremely painful; I would compare it to a painful nipple twist being repeated over 15 minutes. They did light test after a few hours again and told me that even though he looked a bit yellow still, it was nothing to worry about, so the colostrum stayed in the fridge. I ended up requesting to use it on Sunday evening because I thought I’d go home the day later; we fed it to him with a syringe at 3 am but it wasn’t enough so I ended up feeding him for another hour anyway.

The weekend came and went, and I had some visitors – I stayed in bed, or shuffled slightly because I didn’t want to let on how bad things really were. H wheeled me into the day room once, so that I didn’t have to walk and sit down again… and I asked my parents to buy me a doughnut pillow to make things a little easier, as well as Arnica 30 which was recommended to bring down the inflammation. When people were around it was easy to be positive, everyone was excited by Theo and it was wonderful to watch and listen to them talk about this tiny human that H and I had created. It didn’t feel (and still doesn’t) that it was possible for me to have had him tucked away inside me for so long.

By Sunday, my baby blues hit. I was worried about coping at home and asked to stay an extra day. My midwife was great, and we talked about her son and things I wanted to learn or was unsure about. She never forced her opinions on me, but she was frank, she gave me the medical opinion, the alternative opinion and then her opinion as well. It was the first time I had spoken about Theo’s future since being pregnant. That evening I had my daily bath with lavender oil and milk; it was meant to help reduce the swelling, and lessen the pain a little. I used Theo’s crib as a support system as I walked to the bath and whilst in it, the concoction worked. The room was quite cold though so H took Theo back and I dried off and started to make my way back to my room – I got about halfway and I was in tears. H by this point had come out to see why I was taking so long and helped me back into the room – this time, I caved and asked for pain relief. It felt like instead of getting better, I was getting worse.

And I was right. On Monday morning, my midwife asked the consultant to sign off on my discharge and have a look at the swelling. At first she said there was nothing the be done, but on a second look, she saw I had developed an infection over the weekend and my body had tried to expel it. There was now an opening and so she said I was to undergo general anaesthetic and have it drained.

This was the worst day. 

Despite the pain and the discomfort, I had been “dealing” with it, but general anaesthetic was synonymous with poison for me. The few times I have been under it before, I have reacted very badly, and this was no different. I whatsapped my Mum and H saying that I wasn’t going home and that I had to go into theatre later in the day. Mum called immediately and told me she would come see me as soon as possible, and H arrived a little later. I was already hyperventilating by the time mum arrived and she took a long time to calm me down. Looking back, this was the lowest of lows for me.

I’d had breakfast so I had to fast and they said they’d take me in around 5 pm… it ended up being 2:30 pm which was good because it meant Mum and H had more time with me after – not necessarily great for them but much needed for me because I was a mess. I expressed some milk (by hand, the machine was much too painful) in case I wasn’t able to feed him due to being groggy, and it’s a good thing I did because the cannula in my hand meant I couldn’t hold him. The doctor I had was lovely, and very reassuring, though even still, as I got wheeled to the theatre room I took a picture of Sri Swami Satchidananda and was chanting my mantras the whole way.

Coming out of the anesthetic was even worse than going under. I react so badly that for over an hour I was dizzy, nauseous and a sobbing mess. Not the most attractive I’ve been but an unfortunate reality. At this time, H held my hand a lot but my Mum was the only one who could calm me. It was probably good for H to see me like that, but it was not something I ever wanted him to see.

Mum made me a few very very sweet teas and the midwife made me stand up and go pee. I was amazed – I could actually stand and I wasn’t 4 inches shorter than I should have been. Even better, I could almost bring my legs together entirely! Once the drugs had worn off, barring the fact I was to be on super strong antibiotics, I was like a new person; or rather, I was like myself again rather than the girl I had become. I didn’t have a bath that evening and I requested that they take the cannula out so that I would be able to hold Theo properly – this probably was a good thing for them too because they had 3 births that night so were kept very busy; the last thing they’d have wanted was to be called by me every time Theo needed a feed or change, and I wanted to be able to do it independently.

By morning I felt amazing. He woke up early and I spent the morning walking around and rocking him. I hadn’t imagined being able to do that for months. I was still sleep deprived and I probably should have slept a little during the morning but I couldn’t – I was too excited at the fact I’d pacified my baby by walking around with him in my arms!
I showered, put a little bit of make up on and put on my going home outfit as soon as the Dr came in and gave me the all clear. This was an interesting experience in itself; I had a different Dr from the one who did the surgery and he had a little bit less of a gentle touch. He examined me, and took out the packing that had been left to help soak up the blood, telling me that the wound would heal on its own now, and that I should only wash down there with warm water and no soap. He then proceeded to tell me his advice would be not to put a mirror down there to see what the damage was because it was really quite horrible. At the time, I was rather taken back by this, but now I just think it is such a funny thing for him to have said.

H arrived soon after I had got ready, wheeling in the pram, and he was amazed to see the difference in me; I told him all about my night and morning and that there were 3 new babies. Then the midwife I had that day came in and gave him the Vitamin K, showing me how to do so because the last dose will be at home, and then came the heel prick test. This was torture for me – he cried so much and all we wanted to was cuddle and comfort him. It took forever as well but finally H was able to give him to me and I put him on my breast to calm down. We went into the dayroom and met 2 of the new mums, I had my lunch and took my antibiotic while Mum spoke to the sister of the ward about my experience – apparently she had only seen 3 cases like mine in her 30 years of working in midwifery.

Finally we were ready to go. I had been allowed to leave on the condition of coming back the next day to be checked again, but that was worth it to go home. It was a hard walk, and the pram was very much needed as a support system for me, but being outside, being able to walk home with my baby, and most of all, being able to go home before H left back to the UK.

The 5 days were some of the most difficult of my life so far, and now 3 weeks later I don’t feel like it really happened to me. It’s like remembering a good dream turned bad. But every time I look at Theo, even when he’s been up for 12 hours straight or won’t let me put him down, I would do it all again. He is thriving and I fall more in love every day.

I am 8 days post-partum but this is going to take a while to write- I want to document my birth story as fully as I can … first though, Theodore is crying so I need to go see him.

Back!

H arrived a week before my due date – and I gave birth at 40 weeks and 2 days, 2 days overdue and desperate to have the baby – not because of the pregnancy being a hassle; I think I had a fantastic pregnancy, but rather because we could see the days going by and I wanted to maximise the bonding time H had with his son.

We tried pretty much every natural method we thought safe to encourage – NOT to induce – labour… and for a while sex seemed to do the trick. I had contractions for several hours after sex, and drank a lot of cinnamon tea, but it didn’t really have the full effect. By this I mean, I had contractions for about 6 hours, small ones, and then they would disappear; it happened 3 times! By my midwife appointment on the 26th, I had resolved to ask for a sweep and see if that would work, because if not it felt like H would be saying goodbye to me and my big belly, and would have to wait at least 2 months to meet his baby.

Luckily, I was 1cm dialated when the sweep was performed, and less than 24 hours later Theodore Prana was born. He was and is a healthy, happy little boy, absolute perfection in our eyes, and this is my experience of his birth:

We went in to the hospital with my resolve to ask for a sweep, but with H also knowing if it didn’t work, I did not want to go further and ask for an induction. As much as possible, I wanted a natural experience, but by the 26th, I felt like I needed to have this baby out of me, and I wanted so much for H to be there. Thinking about it, maybe my labour would have started anyway, but I am glad I pushed and got the sweep, it meant that we got a whole week as a family before H had to say goodbye.

Once there, the midwife did a vaginal examination and told me I was 1cm so she agreed to perform the sweep – but did warn us that really this procedure was not done until 41 weeks most times so we were asking for it against normal recommendations. It was uncomfortable but not painful… the amount of blood shocked me a little bit, but she said it was normal and that unless I had bleeding heavier than a period or contractions coming regularly, or my waters broke, I should just ride it out. So we went home, and then decided that because it was still early, we would take a walk to the beach.

By the walk home I had some twinges but I didn’t want to get H’s hopes up again so I did my best to be discreet and just be aware of them without making any sort of faces. This was around 11 am. It worked until we got home and then a few hours later they hit properly. I remember telling mum that this was it – the contractions were making me want to cry so I was hiding in my room with H and napping in between each wave – they were about 10 minutes apart so I managed quite a few hours rest and every time one came, I would wake up, be on all fours and just breathe as much as I could.

I have never been more thankful for doing my prenatal teacher training as I was during my labour. The only thing I wasn’t prepared for was the nausea. Before being on the pill I would get extreme nausea during my periods, and this was exactly what happened, so anything I tried to eat, I would bring back up – not a pleasant experience.
We started my labour playlist of mantra’s around 4 pm and H let me squeeze his hand to distract from the pain. Mum gave me a mini massage on my lower back (H tried but his hands are bigger and heavier than mums… plus I wanted him next to me, even just being able to see him and hold his hand made such a big difference to my mental state). In between contractions I did some crochet, though that didn’t really happen for long. All of this worked really well until at 7 pm I went to the toilet and saw blood, more than I had expected.

We decided that to be safe, we’d take a trip to the hospital, so with me walking slowly, we made our way. On the slope in my estate I had to stop and throw up, which awkwardly was when we met a family friend… but she was quite relaxed and wished me luck and we carried on. In hospital they told me I was 3 cm dilated so to go home, but they gave me an anti-nausea injection which helped bucket loads! That said, I did ask Mum to get my Dad to bring the car round because walking home did not seem like an option by that point – my contractions were 4 minutes apart, and even though I knew my cervix was still relatively closed, it did not feel like it.

By this point I was in pain but still feeling quite controlled. I was worried about H and how he was handling things but at the same time I kept trying to concentrate on what baby was trying to tell my body. I really didn’t want to use pain relief or as little of it as possible so I was quiet and though aware of the other people, I am pretty sure I ignored them most of the time. This is probably partially why H told me he felt useless afterwards but I know that if he hadn’t been there I would never have been so calm. I know I made lots of faces, and I wanted to cry a lot, but at the same time, I was aware that my body was doing exactly what it should and that at the end of it all, I would be glad of all the hard work.

The car ride was awful – or so I thought until later.

At home I took 2 paracetamols and stayed in my room. Mum soaked a cloth and put some lavender oil on it and this stayed with us until I needed to push hours later.
Lying down was not comfortable so I was on my knees for most of the time. Even standing and squatting didn’t really seem to have much of an impact on the pain. H was a gem through it all… though at one point I think I kicked him out because I didn’t want to squeeze his hand anymore and he was making me nervous. I wanted him to have a good experience of my labour, but I wanted to not have to worry about how he felt either.

By around 10:30 pm I decided I couldn’t take any more without some stronger pain relief. Again we journeyed to the hospital and this time, the car ride genuinely felt like torture. Sitting was so uncomfortable!

Thankfully, when we got to the hospital they told me I was 7 cm dilated. I had the option of stronger pain relief or a bath with gas & air.
I chose the bath… and though I absolute hate feeling drunk, the gas & air proved to be just enough for me to get to almost 9 cm before coming out of the bath and going into the labour room.

The labour room is a little bit of a blur. I remember getting onto the bed and being on my knees. I was still using gas and air and I tried holding the metal at the back of the bed, but preferred H’s hand because it meant I had some contact with him. I don’t remember thinking very much at this point, apart from when I needed to breath and I could hear H and mum telling me to do so. I know that I used the lavender cloth to cool down at points, and that mum gave me a massage too.

The midwife I had was wonderful! She came in repeatedly to check on us but mostly just left us to ourselves. I do remember thinking as the contractions got longer and with less breaks that I was crazy not to have taken more pain relief but looking back I am grateful that I avoided it. I do remember being told that I could do small pushes in between contracts if I felt it helped, and thinking that the only thing it would result in was me passing stool – which it did, but it also helped push baby a little.
When that happened mum said not to be embarrassed but all I could think was, why on earth would I be embarrassed, I’ve had multiple people stare and prod at my nether regions today, everyone in the room can handle a little bit of poop!

Unfortunately, the amount of people who were going to stare and poke me down there was only going to increase… but we’re not quite at that part yet.

When she checked me next she told me I was 9.5 cm dilated, and by then I had told her I needed to push. She told me to wait and after being at 10 cm for a while, I asked her to break my waters because I was running out of energy and didn’t know how much more I could handle. I was so tired.
This is where I regret not taking any anti-nausea medication earlier, because if I had, maybe I would have been able to hold off a little. Still, she broke the waters and then I was allowed to push.

Finally!

The pushing took about an hour. I switched from my knees to my back twice, finally giving birth on my knees. I think generally they prefer you to give birth on your back, but he kept ‘turtling’ so I needed the help of gravity. Every push he would poke his head out and then burrow back in. H and mum kept me going, encouraging me and telling me I was almost there. H saw me crowning which was brilliant, and I wish I had been allowed to video it so I could have watched it back.

At one point near the end, when I was on my back, they said I was almost there and I wanted to tell them to stop lying. I felt like if it didn’t happen soon they were going to have to cut the baby out because I couldn’t push any harder. But the pushing didn’t hurt. It felt natural. My body knew exactly what to do when I stopped thinking and let it.

I know H at this point was flitting from watching the baby to holding my hand, but when I turned onto my knees I think he walked back a bit. I can’t quite remember what anyone else was doing, I just remember feeling Theo’s head inch further out and then retract. The midwife, said that once the head was out there would be some stinging, and oh my gosh there was, but she guided me through every mini-push and once his shoulders were through, the baby just slipped out. I turned back onto my front and Theo was put onto my chest. We opted for delayed cord clamping so H cut the cord after a few minutes and Mum took some photos.

Then baby was taken away and they pulled out my placenta. This is where things got scary.

I remember the placenta being pulled and it hurting a lot!
I remember looking at H with the baby and feeling exhausted but wonderful.
I remember him picking an outfit that said ‘Flying High’ and joking that the gas and air made it a fitting baby grow.

And then, I remember them pushing against my stomach and feeling the blood spurt out of me.
I remember feeling sleepy, and I remember looks of panic.
Mum switched to speaking Spanish and kept saying the word theatre.
H told me I wasn’t allowed to sleep – he looked really scared and I could feel the energy draining away from me.
I had a cannula inserted into each arm, and every time the midwife pressed my belly, more blood would spill out. I was at this point in a panic. They called the consultant in, and I kept hearing the word “theatre”, nobody had checked to see if Theo was okay, so H and mum were with him, and I felt useless. I wanted to be able to hold my baby and all I could do was lie there and fall in and out of consciousness.

The consultant came in and ordered 3 units of blood.
She had a little fight about her suture kit and then told me she was going to sew me up. Apparently it was the tear that had caused all the blood, not my uterus which is what the midwives had thought. Whilst she did that though, I remember her criticising my mantra’s as I tried to sing along to them; but they gave me some comfort and at least by then I knew I wasn’t going to bleed out.

I saw H’s face, and remember him saying “never again” and all I could think was that you hear horror stories of babies being fine but labour being too traumatic for mum’s to handle. I was scared that he wouldn’t be able to handle whatever came next, and I was scared that I wouldn’t be able to do anything for my baby. Even writing all of this down brings up that emotion and I am crying. My perfect labour ended so traumatically and I kept wondering what I had done wrong. I looked over at Theo, and told H to take lots of pictures. I didn’t want to miss the first few hours of his life, even if I would have to catch up on them after.

Once the consultant finished she said I had a hematoma that would have to resolve itself. I vaguely remember mum comparing my vagina lip to the size of a pineapple, which she later corrected me and told me she’d said apple. I was scared to move, but 3 hours after Theo was born, after H made me eat some toast, I painfully shuffled off the bed into a wheelchair and got taken to a recovery room which would become my home for almost a week.

My birth experience was wonderful, but the immediate after was awful and the days after left me depressed; though I didn’t realise it at the time. Now, 12 days postpartum I am like a new person, but my postpartum experience is something I will have to write about later.

For now, I am signing off on this story. Every pregnancy, labour and birth story will be different, and I am sure that in the future, if and when we decide to have another baby my experience will shift entirely, but this is what I know for now – labour is portrayed as a big scary thing, but actually it doesn’t have to be. Of course, sometimes things go wrong, but when people ask about my labour I have told them it was brilliant; for me the hard bit came after.
That said, I am loving motherhood, and I am lucky enough to have a lot of help. I look at Theodore and I know that even with all the scary bits, I would do it all again.