Mine....

Even though I'm a bit cross with him and think he should feel bloody lucky that he has escaped a massive row...I still feel loved up tonight.

He isn't here.

He is drinking with friends, which is a rarity for him.

I keep looking at Indie tonight in awe, amazed that she is here. Amazed that she was his idea. An off the cuff comment he made mid row, about maybe having a baby. I hadn't planned on any more and wasn't sure.

I have him to thank greatly for her and it makes me love him oh so much.

Sneak

I'm not really sure how to feel other than a little shell-shocked I guess. Part of me wants to cry and part of me doesn't give a fuck.

After the rowing we had regarding him smoking after the baby was born and his promises to quit, I assumed he had.

Strangely, I seem to measure his love for the baby on his success on quitting.

He hasn't outright been lying as such. I haven't particularly asked him if he has caved and had a cigarette, other than asking him what he does now on his work breaks instead of smoking. His reply was to get a coffee. I guess that was deceitful.

The amount of mints he is currently eating is abnormal and I thought it was his way of quitting, replacing nicotine for fresh breath But it all hit me when he was getting frustrated trying to fix something online.

As soon as he finished, he said he was popping to the shop for munchies. It hit me clearly. He was going to buy cigarettes.

I asked him and he admitted it.  The mints have been to hide the smell of smoke and he replied that he had been smoking in his car too, when questioned. He had been acting suspicious about me driving his car recently.

I AM angry about the smoking and feel that he has definitely been misleading, at best. Deceitful in leaving me to think that he had quit. Just because he didn't have to lie if i'd asked him directly.

Now I'm worried. We have struggled with trust issues before. I finally thought it was all pretty much cured. Now I feel like I need to be paranoid and check up on EVERYTHING, just in case!

I hope he understands that his actions have consequences. Now I feel like crap again.

What Are The Odds?

The vision I have of tonight is clear...

Wandering along the landing barefoot after my shower, I will hear the older kids breathing slower as they fall asleep, leaving upstairs peaceful.

Nipping into the kitchen for a bottle of ice cold Magners I will glance over at the dirty tea dishes from the delicious tea that was cooked to perfection.

Through the door into the living room I will stop and gaze at the baby sleeping cosily in her moses basket. My husband will look up as I enter and his eyes will follow me as I walk to the sofa. He will be packing away his iPad and switching off the TV as I flop next to him.

We will both feel tipsy as we continue drinking between debating over what song to play next. Our evening will be filled with affection, curled up on the sofa together and conversation, spoken over Jeff Buckley playing in the background.

Never going to happen!

It's That Time Of Year Again

I had a birthday last week. Normally I sulk during the month of May, the full duration, worrying about becoming old but this year was different.





Distraction for the first part of the month. With the chaos of a new baby, I didn't give my increasing age much thought and I actually planned on celebrating this year with a family unit (my lil' household) meal out, but my plans were scuppered due to the illness. I slept for the days surrounding either side of my birthday and was barely coherent during it.

It was only today, whilst backing the car out of the drive that it popped into my head that I am now thirty-three. I didn't pout, or huff, but smiled??? Why, o why?

Because...last night, whilst driving back from my home town with a car full of kids, I laughed and laughed and laughed.

The usual family gathering had been an exhausting nightmare for me, the black sheep/outsider and I was itching to get back to my OH to bitch, moan and complain. He had escaped my sister's 18th birthday meal in the local pub and I had no one to pull faces to in agony. I love having someone with you, a partner in crime, that understands how you are feeling about what is going on around you, all that is required is a look in their direction and they "get it."

I got into the car and my 10 year old daughter looked at me. It was that knowing look. She got it all! She understood how annoying I found my Gran, how much I didn't want to accept another "carrier bag of crap" and how much I hated the snotty step-cousin for giving me the evils all evening. She understood it all.

So did my 8 year old daughter.

Accelerating out of the car-park in haste to get home, they unleashed their observations of the event.

It was brilliant.

We were all on exactly the same wavelength and we mocked and giggled and sniggered and dissected the evening, the whole journey home.

For the first time I looked forward to getting older, I looked forward to them getting older. It dawned on me that I will have these amazing teenagers/twentysomethings/adults in my life that I completely relate to, all similar and "in tune" with one another.

We shall have a blast.

Sex Is As Good As Chicken Soup?

We dabbled again last night.

No pressure, no planning. It was a surprise as I thought he was tired and would be falling asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.

I'm not sure why things have changed a little, maybe he has taken on board things I have said over the past few months but his extra effort was very noted.I don't feel panicked or apprehensive which is strange. At my most vulnerable sexual time with him, I feel very safe and I think it's concious from him.

For some reason (most likely hormones) I feel teary-eyed typing this and I cannot explain why. I just want him to know how much I appreciated last night and how I absolutely know how he is trying to reassure and please me.

The foreplay was perfect and shall be held as the measuring bar for all other occasions. Kisses would have been lovely and they were very much missed but are beyond our control (throat infections etc.)

I miss kisses so very much.

The sex again was the same as our last post-pregnancy attempt. Like a quick test just to see. "Dipping your toe in" seems a really wrong phrase to use when referring to sex. But it was safe and none scary and exactly what I wanted.

The best bit, which I hope he realises, was the cuddle after. OH thinks I am some form of sex pest and I need high energy and activity. The intimacy is what I crave and just lying resting on his shoulder whilst half asleep made me feel closer to him than I have in ages. I told him I loved him too. I didn't even think about it before I said it, it just popped out. Usually I have a mental debate with myself before I do and end up backing out. I think the only times I have told him I love him, in the past few months, have been during a row.

This morning I felt wonderful when I woke up, for so many reasons and felt cured of my recent "unwellness", like I had been injected with antidote.

I just feel really warm and smiley today, super close to him and re-bonded. His touch and attention has the medicinal healing powers of chicken soup.

So When Did I Become Invisible?

There was an incident in a sports shop a few days ago, when a sales assistant ignored me as I patiently waited to try shoes on. I ranted at him in the end and stormed out of the shop, huffing and complaining to as many members of staff as I could pass on my exit route. I returned to the store briefly, long enough for me to approach the counter and ask if he was inadequate in all aspects of his life, then strop out again.

I put it down as a "one off."

But thinking about it, I seem to have become insignificant of late.

My children ignore me and this I have come to accept. Any instructions I give them, seem never to be heard. My feelings are never thought of in the slightest, which I deem part of the whole "being a parent" package.


My husband can have moments of acting as if I don't exist, particularly if he is in a concentrating zone about something technical. I can stand sometimes in front of him, seemingly making eye contact, yet it doesn't register with him that a) I am talking to him or b) I am flesh and blood and standing in his presence.

For some reason, I tolerate it from them, just quietly accepting it. But I have noticed that it's happening all the time, from different sources.

So last night, I was ignored, twice, in the same pub and that was by different staff! I felt enraged and upset, less important than the other people that got served before me, despite being behind in the queue.

It's happened a few times in various shops and customer service based situations but also with my boss.   She refuses to return any of my texts or calls but I have my suspicions of why she is ignoring me. Sheer jealousy. We started seeing our boys at the same time. I got pregnant and got married, she is blackmailing her's to propose to her. I don't think she can handle speaking to me since having the baby. I can handle being invisible to some people if there is a reason.

Collectively though, all these examples are making me feel small, unimportant and fairly upset. My initial reaction was a confidence knock and thinking how I must be way down on people's list of priorities or too boring to be listened to.

But I refuse to feel low...I'm just going to shout a bit louder and wave my hands in the air as I talk.

Part-Timer? Slacker? Bad Mother?

People have been asking me how long I will breastfeed for and I just respond with a shrug

I have to admit, I shuddered, lots, when watching an article on This Morning last week about someone breastfeeding their 5 year old.

I've never had a set plan for each baby and it has always varied in time-scale (never up to aged five.)


I'm not even a purist, I think the breast-feeders seem to snub me a little because I'm a mixer, a combination feeder and I don't even use breast milk in the bottles!

I admire those that can express milk, but it's just not me. I've tried using various hand pumps, electric pumps and also by hand. I either manage to get an ounce of milk or give up with frustration. The electric pump just making me feel like a dairy cow...a failed dairy cow!

Discussing weaning at a mum and baby group, I was shocked at how many said they express milk to mix with baby's rusk or porridge. I've never done that. I had visions of standing in the kitchen in my PJs, holding a bowl of powdered breakfast for my infant, then just wopping out tit and squeezing some milk into the bowl, before stirring.

I'm a lazy breast-feeder too, I mostly do it lying down, rather than holding baby at a particular angle and getting arm ache. If there isn't anywhere comfy to do it, I huff a little.  I also dislike doing it in the heat or when I'm in one of those claustrophobic moods were I don't want anyone near me, let alone attached to me.


It's strange, sometimes it feels such a privilege and I wonder if my OH is jealous that I have this specific ability to sustain and soothe and bond with our daughter. Other times it feels like a chore and I behave like a stroppy teenager or feel restrained or that I'm nothing more than food.


I don't mind feeding in public and would rather save my formula feeds for at home when OH can feed her and I can run free for a bit. Strangely I felt more comfortable feeding Indigo in a supermarket car-park last week, in view of groups of teenagers and the "trolley men" than I did in the mum and baby group.

I know everyone is different. I'm happy plodding along with breastfeeding most of the time and feeding formula, some of the time...I just don't know how long for?

Advertiser's Dream

From now on, apparently, I shall only be wearing knickers for the school run or when I nip to the shops.

According to the Reebok advertising campaign that I have vigorously bought into, I shall be sporting my new EasyTones, working  my gluteus maximus 28% more, than if I wearing regular, ordinary "non-special" shoe attire, strutting in my knickers looking fabulous.

I've always wanted to be a runner or a jogger but have failed with every attempt. It just looks fun. Well, maybe not fun, but grown up, responsible and a bit sophisticated to inform everyone that I have been out "running."

Previous attempts using the method of "run to one lamp-post, then walk to the next," has always left me purple faced and throat a burning. This time, I'm going to do it properly.

The uniform is sorted as I've got the wonder shoes and some cute little jazz pants, also one of those silky, shiny fitted t-shirts that proper joggers seem to wear. Research has been done and I now have a beginner's running program and I have the aspirations to build up to a charity run or a marathon.

All I need now is some time to do it and the confidence that I won't bump into anyone I know as I pant and sweat along the pavement.

The Day I Smacked A Checkout Operater About The Head With A Bag Of Beansprouts

Okay so I didn't, but I came oh so very close.

The incident happened on Monday and I am still brewing the fume now, not just with the Emo, stupid checkout girl, who started the ball rolling but with the two customer service managers who tried to "fix" the situation.

Baby had been practically force fed so I could venture out and she was handed over to OH, while I took an urgent food expedition to ASDA (Yes, I shall name and shame the store.)
Everyone was starving and it was past tea-time already but I promised not to be too long. Infacol was high on the shopping list as Indie was grotty with colic and I was also in search of super quick food to cook, to combat my shakes and lack of lactation.

For once, I was pleased with my trolley contents. Lots of discounted fresh cream cakes for OH, and pastry/bakery products for the kids. I had taken my time to ensure my tea would be beautiful. I was starving and making an effort to be healthy (I had even completed 4 minutes on Wii Fit before I left!) The beansprouts, mange-tout, water chestnuts and variety of fresh vegetables would be perfect with noodles and sweet chilli sauce and brand new wok even glistened in the trolly.

Avoiding the chocolate near to the till, I unloaded my shopping and faced the most annoying question of the past six months, " Do you need carrier bags or have you brought your own?"

I tried to pack my shopping as the 19 year old checkout operater yapped...and yapped...and yapped.

She told me to look at the customer paying at checkout 29. Ignoring her I packed my shopping anally in the correct bags so similar products lived together on the journey home.

But she was insistant.

"Look at that girl!"
"She was a year older than me and school but a year younger than my sister!"
"She is doing the security guard from the shopping precinct."

I tried not to make eye contact and certainly didn't engage or encourage this drivel. All I could think was SHUSHHHHHHH.

Shocker, she had not being concentrating and had scanned the wok twice. Not to worry though, she would void off one but would need a manager to come and authorise it.  Sighing, with my eyes rolling, I packed the remainder shopping and totally switched off from her relentless blab.
So I missed her instruction about leaving my bank card for longer in the machine after entering my PIN, so she could type in a code.

PIN OK,  ACCEPTED, PLEASE REMOVE YOUR CARD.

Bang, my card was ripped from the machine so I could dash home. A check out supervisor standing behind her who had provided the necessary code TUTTED at me, whilst Emo-girl reiterated her boreness of how the card needed to stay in the reader for longer, it now needed to be completed again.

I had checked the bank before I left and had sufficient fund for the trolley full in that account. On the second attempt at taking a card payment, I was informed it had declined.

Neither of the tools would have it when I said that the payment must have come out of my account the first time, now leaving it empty.

People behind me tutted and moaned, Emo-girl looked smug and supervisor told me to go and withdrew cash from the machine.

I left in tears...

OH was as angry as me when I told him. It was now 90 minutes later and no one had eaten. I now had an empty bank account and no food.  RAGED I was! My bank informed me that the transaction had gone through and gave me an authorisation code.

I headed back to ASDA...with an entourage.

My husband was providing the support and the kids were for effect. I demanded to speak to a manager and two came to see how they could help.

When I explained the situation, they said how the payment would bounce back to my account in a few days. I informed them of how many working days it would take for me to actually get my funds. I work in a bank and know sufficient stuff about payments, complaining and consumer's rights, to competently argue. I also work for an American company, so I know even more about standards of customer service.

I pointed out that my account was empty, I had no tea and most importantly no Infacol! Fuming, was how I regularly described my mood to the managers, who were trying to make small talk about the baby.

I was offered the option of taking the shopping (most of it was chilled and would be ruined) and they would take my card details manually, presumably to take payment again once the funds had bounced back to my account. I declined.

Why should I waste more time replacing the warm food in my trolley? Why should I give ASDA any custom at all? Was Emo-girl going to be receiving harsh feedback about her lack of professionalism and inadequacy?

Manager #1 could appreciate that there were urgent baby products in the trolley and said she could just take payment for the £2.47 Infacol but I declined, informing here that I would rather drive the 7 or 8 miles to Tesco to buy some.

And that was that.

No real apology, no compensation, no funds or no shopping!

She didn't even have the sense to give me  the £2.47 bottle of Infacol as a token of apology.

I returned to the car and cried with frustration. Indie was awake and needed to be fed. Even more humiliation as groups of chavs, that loiter in the carpark, could see me exposed, feeding the baby.
OH returned to the store again, to vent some more I think.

A waste of an evening as the time was now 9:30pm and a trip to McDonald's Drive-thru was required, instead of my healthy tea (It's a good job that I had other funds and had not been left penniless!)

ASDA is now being boycotted.

Every Moment Seems To Be A Parenting Fail

Leaving Indie to sleep on a corduroy cushion....

 

Excitement, I'm Easily Pleased

A parcel arrived...on a Sunday?

When you become a parent, everything you own becomes communal. No one tells you that really, even though I suppose it's obvious. You expect it to ease as the kids age, but it becomes worse. My make-up, has finger dents in the foundation mousse, the lids are broken off all of the eyeshadows, lid marks in the lipstick and all of my mascara dried up a substantial time ago. And this is vandalism from an 8 and 10 year old? They have even started raiding my clothes! Admittedly it's all oversized on them, but they they seem happy enough to steal it. I treated myself to a new tee-shirt to wear for bed, one from a kooky website where you can get them with kooky pictures and slogans. I bought a Jaws tee-shirt, with the classic film cover on it, in an XL size to fit an 8 month preggo bump in. I wore it once before it found its way into 8yr old girl's belonging.
It's not just my possessions, but my food too? Sometimes they have literally taken the cereal from my spoon. I suppose it will get even worse when I have to share a car with them.

It isn't just the children, but OH too. He even "shares" my shower gel/hair conditioner/shaving gel/tweezers etc. Being Mum or Wife is equivalent to abdication. You are suddenly queen of nowhere and no-thing.

I rarely spend money on myself but knowing I face a birthday this week and am not likely to receive gifts (see future blog) I decided that it was time for a treat.

Inspired (I'm so impressionable)by Not such a Yummy Mummy's Book Challenge and the fact I had recently found some time to actually read, I went mooching around Amazon.

Like I said, today, on a Sunday, a parcel arrived.

 Inside are some pure little luxuries... just for me.

Dear Ex-Husband-That-Hasnt-Died-In-A-Car-Crash

Dear Ex-Husband-That-Hasnt-Died-In-A-Car-Crash,                                                                                                              

I have several concerns that I need to highlight with you regarding the time you spend with the children on a Saturday.

Firstly, the week before last,  Girl#2 told me, when she arrived home after spending the day with you, that you had hit her. She told me the events surrounding it, which was reinforced by the other children.  She said how she was dragged into the car whilst you shouted at her. Then as she continued to argue with Girl#1, you lashed out and hit her at the top of her thigh. Girl#2 said she cried all the way to your house, repeatedly asking to come home to me. When I asked what Girl#2 had done to warrant being hit, Girl#1 explained everyone was bickering over a communal bottle of Lucozade.

I find it incredibly distressing to know Girl#2 is upset in your care and concerning that you are unable to remain patient with them during the 8 hours visitation. I understand that children misbehave and how stressful it can sometimes be. After all, I cope with them on a permanent basis and do not need to use violence in order to illustrate acceptable behaviour.  Particularly, as you will know from attending their parents evening, that the girls are of above average academic ability and are incredibly mature. They can certainly be reasoned with and are happy to engage in discussions surrounding  my expectations of them. 

The most confusing thing for me, is in your text, when trying to justify hitting Girl#2, you said, “She didn’t listen to you, end of.”  Being a teacher, you seem to manage to control a classroom of 30 children (usually special needs) and get them to follow your instructions, but seem to need to use physical violence in order to control an 8 year old.

The incident mentioned by Girl#1 and Girl#2 about Boy#1 refusing to get into your car three weeks ago at the park, when he ran off for 20 minutes and had to be collected by Girl#1, is unacceptable. He would never run off from my care, or anyone else he has been left with. It is surely your responsibility to go and collect him rather than Girl#1’s. She isn’t the parent in this situation. I have seen your comment about the event but again, it doesn’t seem to match the identical stories of the kids.

Boy#1 has said several times that he no longer wants to see you on a Saturday as I told you via text, months ago.

I also have concerns that your upset surrounding my new marriage and new baby seems to be directly affecting your attitude towards the children.  This was emphasised to me by your 2 threats towards my marriage/husband and your negative comments about the baby/my pregnancy made to the kids.

I genuinely believe that in your mind, some of the things I highlight, you interpret differently and see as no harm, but you should look at the collective perception of the children. You may be joking sometimes, but they don’t see it that way.

Feedback from anyone who has contact with the kids is really positive about their behaviour and it seems to only be yourself that has issues with it. Could this be more of a problem surrounding your relationship with the children rather than them simply being naughty?

Perhaps you could focus on having a nice few hours with them rather than shouting or hitting them all day?

Boy#1 is willing to still see you at the moment. His comments about seeing you are mostly made about the activities and treats you provide, which although is lovely and I am grateful for, shouldn’t be the sole reason he is prepared to have a relationship with you.

Girl#2 is now adamant that she no longer wants to be in your care but is still happy to pop and see you when the other kids are dropped off or chat to you on the phone. I hope you respect her decision as I certainly have. If not, I will take even further measures to prepare to go back to court, if need be.

Hopefully this incident with Girl#2 and her reaction to it, will make you think twice about how you respond to Girl#1 and Boy#1. It would be a shame if they all felt the same way and didn’t want relationships with you. I know they are currently supposed to under the court order, but time goes so quickly and they are getting older. Soon it will just be their decision. I hope they want relationships with you as they grow up, because they benefit from it and enjoy it, rather than being forced to by court.

Maybe Girl#2 may change her mind with time, possibly depending on whether she hears negative or positive feedback from the others.

With regards

Hoax Caller

P.S Please die in a car crash. 

It's All A Bit Ting Tings

They call me girl...They call me Stacey...They call me her...They call me Jane

Well, not quite, but we do call her, Indie, Bindi (always said in an Australian accent), Bindi the Jungle Girl, Binda Binda Tatva, Baba, Windy, Windy Indie, Hindi, Hindigo, Indi-glowstick or Little Girl.

Or sometimes, just "the baby" (Finn)

However she is officially Indigo!

No middle name though as I felt weak for some reason tagging in one of my favourite unused names. I've never actually understood the point of middle names unless it's a tribute to something or a family name. It's always seemed like indecisiveness or being greedy?

Can't decide between two names for your baby? Sod it, let's have them both!

I realise that I have probably offended many...

My name isn't particularly unusual, but then, it's not overly common. I don't think I have ever been in the same room as someone with my name. It can be a boy's name too but is mostly a surname. Any guesses yet?

I've never particularly liked it and as a child, HATED it (I've no idea why though) so adopted a different "play" name when I was with my friends...Beverly (shrugs.)

It grew on me a little when I found out that I was named after a "Charlie's Angel" that my Dad fancied. I suppose it gave the choice some kind of vague meaning, even if slightly pervy. But then was put off when I found a news article clipping on my desk at work, rating my name as slutty.

Yes, I topped the chart. Apparently, if you come across a Kelly, you are guaranteed a shag.

An Old Low Point

Being eighteen and full of it, I replaced the petrol cap on my car and strutted through the garage flicking my blonde hair, knowing that every other customer there was male.

My wedge heel caught in my wide leg trouser.

Sliding down the garage forecourt on my front like I was competing in the skeleton bob, I convinced myself that no one would have noticed.

I stood up, blinking back the tears pretending not to be in agony, to realise that my black vest top had come down and my now grazed breasts were exposed.

At least I got a round of applause.

Another Low Point #2

After looking down and realising that I had smeared margarine across my clothed breast (must have leaned too far forward whilst buttering the toast,) I have just lifted my backside off the sofa to feel uncomfortable wetness. I have been sitting on a sick covered babywipe.

Sulking

Arghhhhhhhh

I badly wanted to go and watch Flight Of The Conchords in Manchester but couldn't get original tickets when they went on sale.
Very tempted I was to get them from touts off Ebay but simply couldn't afford them so OH suggested we could try touts on the night.
Secretly I hoped that OH had gotten me some for my birthday but when I realised I was buying myself half an IPad for that occasion I finally let the idea go.

I WOULD KILL TO GO AND SEE FLIGHT OF THE CONCHORDS!

Someone has just posted on my Facebook that they have spare tickets for tonight.

a) I have no money
b) OH is on lates (finished 30 minutes after the gig starts)
c) I have no babysitter (family live 30 minutes away)

It starts in 3 hours and it's an hours drive away.

What's a girl to do?

Another Low Point

Unfastening my bra to feed...out falls a half eaten Oreo.

Evil...And Proud Of It

The 15 minutes between my six year old boy and my older girls being released from their classrooms is a nightmare. Particularly since having the baby. I wonder aimlessly around the playground followed by a string of five and six year old girls. I'm like the pied piper. Not an adult in sight as I'm a newbie and they rarely speak to me.

I took shelter in the pagoda today armed with a Charlie Brooker book and tried to be dismissive as endless little girls prodded and poked my newborn daughter in her pram, relentless with their daft repetitive questions.
Over the past few weeks, one child in particular has been annoying me. She is one of those children that always has a green slug hanging from her nose and has yet to learn volume control. I was irked when she pushed me out of the way, lunged threateningly into the pram and woke up the sleeping baby that had taken me hours to pacify. My son told me her name was Georgia. The same girl that had been annoying him in class and calling him names. Most of the surrounding children ran out of the pagoda and Georgia remained alone. Two other mums were huddled together gossiping but were out of my earshot. Georgia's dad called over, reminding her that it was time to go home. Before she left, she leaned close to me and whispered..."How did she come out of you?" I was considering ignoring her but just couldn't help myself...

"I had to squeeze her really hard out of my vagina...Go and ask your Dad, he will explain."

Pregnancy Test Response...

Below is my response to a guest post on a particular blog that I am finding impossible to comment on, most likely due to my lack of skills. So once again, here is my reply...



Original post www.methemanandthebaby.com "Guest Blog - Little Blue Lines"

Comment
You are concerned about doing a pregnancy test three days early because you promised your husband you wouldn't? Scrap that! I think your husband can pretty much guess that when It comes to a woman trying to get pregnant, all rationality will go out of the window. It's inbuilt, it's natural, it's compulsion that you will do a pregnancy test whenever the notion pops into your head and it will eat away at you until you do. He should learn this early on in your reproducing career.

Husband also needs to understand and accept, that regardless of the result, you will do more tests...just to check! Just in case the first, second...tenth was inaccurate.

I remember promising not to  buy any more tests until next month (as I had clocked up about £120 within a few days all on negative tests) but at the same time, my mind racing as I crossed my fingers behind my back.

Even after the twentieth test of a positive result, you still may need to do another. A flat dip-stick type of test, so when it shows the two blues lines, you can glue it into a scrapbook/photo album, rather than attempting to cellotaping one of the bulky digital tests. This could just be me, rather than the "norm."

If you do the test early and get a negative result, you will still retest on Friday and repeat your heartache all over again.  Husband should definitely be there to hug and squeeze tight and remind you that you can keep trying.

Your comment "I am such a patient person, normally - what is it about babies that make you (or, well me!) like this?! Its ridiculous."

Pregnancy testing is only the start...just wait until you are 30+ weeks pregnant and you are counting down the days until you go into labour, it's like you have suddenly lost your mind.

I think it's safe to say that you should concentrate on testing when you feel it's necessary and don't make any guarantees to your OH that you will wait until such a date. Explain that it's a compulsion, blame your hormones! Give him a taster of the nutter you are hoping to become, because when you get pregnant, he best brace himself...you become one of the loony gang.

P.S - I know it may seem bizarre but for some reason, I find it IMPOSSIBLE to get pregnant when I want to. I can never time it so I can pick their birthday month. The more desperate I become and the more I focus on it...the more my body defies me. I even tried meditation once, to try and "tune in" to my womb, hoping to will my lady bits into working...blah. I tried being super healthy too, stopping drinking alcohol featured in this. NOTHING!

In sheer frustration, I thought... fuck it!

Booked a holiday in the day then went out and got drunk that night...BINGO!

Baby 1 was conceived.

Feline Violation

So angry am I, at the event I have just witnessed.

Several weeks ago during the wee small hours, there was a cat based commotion. Our male tomcat Charlie charged up the landing yowling and banged into our bedroom door. OH and I had been drifting off to sleep but both definitely heard two cats scrapping. When OH opened the bedroom door, Charlie ran in and hid behind the curtains. We had assumed initially that he had been fighting with Dude.

Dude is our female cat. She is a beautiful, slutty, Persian cross and seems to have the attention of every male cat in our road. We have a massive amount of cats in our road and they are seemly all male. Our garden is the equivalent of a meat market nightclub. They all seem to be vying for her affection and we regularly find "gifts" of dead mice about the place.

After further investigation, Dude was nowhere to be found and couldn't have been in the house fighting with Charlie. We suspected another cat. Dude had just had her third litter of kittens. Could another cat come into the house to attack them?
The kittens had been moved from their nest in the living room and placed behind the sofa. Dude eventually came in through the kitchen window. We decided that she must have chased off another cat.

A similar thing happened again. Commotion during the night.

We have always had the odd bout of cat yowling and howling during the night outside our bedroom window followed by scuffling, but it seemed to increase that week.

I have never been a massive fan of Charlie and find him incredibly badly behaved but two weeks ago when I came downstairs to the living room and inhaled...I could have literally killed him.

On a day that the midwife was due, as were two of my friends from home to visit the baby, the whole house smelt of urine. He had sprayed everywhere! The hall, downstairs toilet, landing and living room. All the baby's stuff (carseat, moses basket stand etc) had to be taken away and aired. OH and I had to move every bit of furniture and disinfect it all. We used a full bottle of Dettel on the living room. I had 30 minutes before my friends arrived.

I was totally devastated. The smell is still here 2 weeks later. It's faint, but it's here. I have to apologise and explain to everyone that comes to the door. Charlie and Dude have been banished to the conservatory and as punishment the day after the house spraying, I took them both to be neutered.

The conservatory now stinks of cat urine. My OH and I have been bickering over the cats and If I'm honest, I have come very close to rehoming them. OH has suspicions though, that something untoward is going on. He investigated the origin of the smell in the conservatory and it is coming from his desk. The two PC monitors have sticky stains on and have been sprayed on. I was repulsed.

Sat here Tweeting I have just glimpsed through the patio window into the conservatory and seen Charlie wandering across the computer desk. Then I saw him squat near the monitor and his leg slowly rise. As I feel the rage building in me (I cannot move to chase him as Indie is asleep on my knee) It dawns on me that Charlie is looking usually chunky.

It wasn't him. It wasn't him that has just violated my home with that disgusting smell. It was his doppelgänger. A cat that we have seen floating about every now and then that looks incredibly like him.

I sit in shock and just watch as the cat mooches out of the conservatory door into our garden. 5 minutes later, Charlie and Dude skulk in and sniff the area that has just been sprayed. They look at each other then flop onto the cushion on the floor in a deflated fashion. They must feel so violated too.

I feel so guilty!

I shall make it up to them!

I feel so angry!

I shall get revenge and halt this doppelgänger!

Ex-husband-that-hasn't-died-in-a-car-crash

I feel that I need to justify the nickname...

Sometimes it's the fate I wish upon him.

Other times I feel guilty and think I'm a bitch.

Karma will decide what happens to him :)

Reply to Methemanandthebaby

After following a fair few new folk on Twitter and realising they all have Blogs, I spent most of my weekend browsing them and getting up to speed.

I read a post that I really empathised with and absolutely wanted to comment on but

a) for some reason, couldn't due to lack of technical ability and

b) had so much to say that I wasn't sure how to condense it down.

www.methemanandthebaby.com "online-friends"

The inspiring article is linked above.

There is a certain stigma about online relationships of any sort and have always felt slightly embarrassed to admit to "real world" friends that I have cyber ones. After giving birth 4 weeks ago, I was astonished that the ladies following me,  on my fairly new Twitter account, were more interested, more supportive and more engaged about my pregnancy/newborn than any of my "real world" friends on my Facebook or than my family.

Mingled in with the "real" ones on FB are a few of my oldest "cyber" ones. The cyber ones being the "friends" that I can actually be myself with and say WHATEVER is on my mind. They have moved with me as my choice of social networking has developed, starting out as a random in a chatroom, moving to Myspace with me then finally committing on a proper friendship on FB! I have met some in the real world, but Facebook comes pretty close I think.

I remember feeling strange when I first accepted a friends request, from someone with an actual name (fore and sur) rather than RHChillibabe79  as I had previously known her and then ransacking her profile to see pictures of her family, friends and colleagues. All her anonymity vanishing within minutes.

I'm straying far from the point I wanted to make but in agreement with the lovely lady I have linked you to up there *points towards top of post,* I too have moved to a new town where I know very few people.
 I also lost a majority of friends when I left my ex-husband-that-hasn't-died-in-a-car-crash. The remaining few either live in my hometown and they are not the type of friends I can 'fess anything to or are newishly acquired from returning to work after ex-husband-t-h-d-i-a-c-c and are young, free and single. They too are super smashing and I am grateful they are in my life, but I can't talk relationships and babies etc with them.

But this wonderful world wide web gives me the ability to befriend to my hearts content. But best of all, it gives me access to such a variety of people that I wouldn't necessarily have in the real world.

I already feel a slight panic that one of the ladies who I enjoy reading on Twitter is actually on a secret account and may revert back to her normal one shortly. What if I never get to read her Tweets again! I feel connected to her now after following her life for the past few months and her interacting with me and commenting on mine.

So to all the scaredy-cats out there, who dismiss the validity of net friends because they don't understand the value and think they have sufficient "real world" friends, I put to you...That you are not yet lucky enough to have discovered a random font that makes a difference to your life!

After all, a few years ago, receiving a random, (slightly pervy) email on FaceParty resulted in baby 4!

I met OH on the internet :)

Not that we tell anyone, well I don't. None of my friends or family know we met online. When asked by strangers last Friday during the Peter Kay gig, neither of us had the nerve to admit the truth and told them we were introduced by a friend.

Yes, our friend the Interweb!

I guess I am lucky to have an OH that understands my usage of the net and doesn't ridicule my interaction with nameless individuals who's opinions I look forward to and rely on.

Con-Artist

I think I have just been conned.

The IPad is available on pre-order from tomorrow and OH, who is a massive technology geek,has been talking about it for ages and read every review and article with excitement.

He made reference to it again when he arrived back from work, saying he was unsure about whether to order it or not.

For reasons unknown to myself, I then sold the idea to him and even handled his objections???

When we moved in together, I accepted that anything electrical was his domain and that he would probably spend sufficient finance on keeping his/our technology current. I also appreciate that he doesn't go out much or spend his money on other luxuries. When he said he wasn't sure if he would have enough money at the end of the month to cover any emergencies, I reassured him that I had spare funds and he could use my money to pay half if he wanted.

He looked chuffed, almost relieved. Perhaps he thought he would struggle to convince me that we needed an IPad but I had done all the hard work for him?

Yet I was pleased that he was pleased.

After high-fiving me in excitement, he informs me that obviously this means that he won't have enough money to buy me a birthday present (I'm 33 this month) but that we could share the IPad (even though I'm paying half anyway.)

Hmmm...It's a good job I love him!

Tiredness

Why do I feel guilty for feeling tired and needing to snooze?

I have day-time napped through out my pregnancy due to hyperemesis gravidarum and felt slightly mean that I was curled up all snuggly whilst OH was at work.

Knowing how much he hates working on a Sunday, I am reluctant to go sleep.

I have done some housework and looked after 4 children (okay, well three are pretty self sufficient,) I have been bleeding for nearly 4 weeks after giving birth, I am breastfeeding another human being and also had a late night... surely that justifies forty winks?

Only Another Sex Post Isn't It

Technically, I had sex last night.

Well, maybe I am being overly generous when I call it sex, but it was a gentle, non scary, much appreciated start.

Lying in bed watching a dire horror film that got abandoned early, we snuggled up. It was a type of cuddle that I hadn't had for awhile. Completely turned into him with my face nestled into his neck, his arms around me and his legs encasing mine. It was super cold last night and he was super warm.
The best cuddle I have had for AGES. The type of cuddle that you can't really breathe too well during, but you don't want to move. The type of cuddle that you are not overly comfortable during, as your neck is slightly cricked and your hair is smothering your face, but you don't want to move.

We started doing "stuff" and I could feel the anxiety building. Where is this going to lead?

Normally, you are supposed to wait until your 6 week doctor check before having sex after giving birth, but according to most of my friends, it's taken them months to get back into it. The six weeks has always been enough for me but this time, I'm more terrified than hesitant, plus, it was only 4 weeks since she was born. Could be my age, or could be the fact she is my fourth attack on my pelvic floors or it could be my current relationship and not wanting to frighten or disappoint him.

Such an internal debate was going on.

This is me, I NEVER turn down sex! I am not one of those females, who isn't in the mood, can't because it's "time of the month" or has a headache. Even during a row, I would happily take a "time out" for a fuck. The day I say no to sex, is the day that there is a serious situation.

But I was too frightened and not ready to face the devastation of not being my usual.

The effort from my OH was great. Doing stuff that I LOVE, stuff that he hasn't done for AGES, stuff that I slag him off in my blog for not doing! So how could I say no after that? It would be like a huge slap in the face and could possibly prevent him doing that particular stuff any time soon again.

I finally gave in. He knows how I feel about the whole sex issue so I trusted him.

We dabbled and he didn't pressure me. I slowly relaxed and enjoyed it. There was definite contact between body bits, even if it wasn't for long. I was going to be explicitly blunt...but I have changed my mind and instead will be vague. He enjoyed it more when our body bits came into contact for a minute or two and I was pleased and finally chilled, so enjoyed it more when we were back to dabbling.

In my eyes, that was success. It wasn't too scary and I didn't burst into tears during it. He didn't react with shock or disappointment. We both got to cuddle and orgasm...happy times :)

Spaniel Fury

Sister In Law and her husband have just turned up unannounced to see the baby. She lives 90 minutes away and is pregnant herself so it's been her first chance to come back home.

It's always the way isn't it, when you are topless because you are feeding your baby and happen to walk past the window and see your SIL in the front garden? You have seconds to hide your modesty and try to tidy the living room.

She brought her Spaniel puppy with her. It's the equivalent of Angelica from The Rugrats. It's a spoiled little brat. In the hour it was here, it has recovered my laminate floor with a coating of black hair, left muddy footprints on the moses basket, bouncer chair, sofa and window ledge. It's upset the cats, charged around the house (including upstairs where I have not had chance to assess the damage) frightened the kids, stolen breast pads, stolen bread from the kitchen work top and brought in used sanitary towels from the bathroom bin. I was so relieved to intercept that and pick the towel from it's mouth before it brought it's find, proudly into the living room for SIL to see.

The icing on the cake was after her licking the baby's ear and hand, it jumped sideways into a mop that had been used to clear up it's spilled drinking water. The mop handle came smashing down into the baby's face. She now has a bruise on her forehead.

I really wanted to kick that dog sharpishly across the room.

Bed-Sharing

It's so naughty and highly advised against and I remind you of my previous blog stating that I don't know best and not to follow my advice.

I currently have a leaflet next to my laptop highlighting the dangers I place my babies in, but there is something that stops me complying.

I love her sleeping in my bed. She sleeps between myself and OH and she wriggles between us and snuggles up in the middle of the night.

I always thought of it as a reward for breastfeeding. The ease of not having to move when she wants feeding in the early hours and we both stay cosy.

I understand the risks, that I could smother her in my sleep, she could overheat or she could manoeuvre out of the bed. But there is something natural and animalistic about it.

Dude (the cat) slept with her kittens. She drifted off to sleep as they fed until their bellies were full and nodded off themselves.

I think of my bed as my nest, somewhere safe and sacred. I love feeding my young in bed with my partner lying next to us.

http://www.babyfriendly.org.uk/pdfs/sharingbedleaflet.pdf

Novice

Even though I have just given birth for the fourth time, please don't assume I know what I am doing.

It could be the age gap between baby 3 and baby 4 or my ever decreasing brain cells allowing me to forget, but I feel like a first time mum again.

I almost grabbed the Health Visitor as she was about to leave, to plead with her for more information, more leaflets and more support because I didn't feel she gave me her all, her very best, during my first home visit.

She was fairly dismissive with my questions and regularly made reference to the other three monkeys that were building a den* in the garden.

* It was the most fabulous den made with sheer brilliance and I was so proud of them.

I pointed out that everything changes and guidance given ten years ago from my previous lovely helpful Health Visitor was now either dis-proven, extinct or further developed.

Even the Midwives seemed to all be reading off different hymn sheets.
Midwife 1 advises me to breastfeed from both sides.
Midwife 2 (weighs baby regularly due to weight loss) advises to just feed off one side for up to forty minutes, as the best fatty milk it right at the end.
Midwife 3 says in shock..."Sandra really told you that? Because we all attended a session which said that was absolute rubbish and you can feed off both sides. The milk is all the same."

Smashing.

I have a confidence about me, that I don't think I had for awhile with baby 1. More so, the knowledge that I have no reason to panic about everything and that although she is super tiny, she won't break when I try to bend her arms into the babygrow or her little body doesn't need to be wrapped in layers and layers of warm clothes before swaddling her in twenty blankets. I'm also more relaxed with allowing other children to manhandle my bundle of joy, knowing again, they won't necessarily drop and smash her.
I also think I have a slight better understanding than a first time mum of the different types of baby cries. I know there are some that don't need split second attention.
I still don't want others to think that I am 100% in knowing what I am doing is right or that any guidance or advice will be rubbished. It's all welcome.

She is OH's first baby and he is doing remarkably well. Completely relaxed, he seems to know exactly what he is doing, like he has secretly been reading every parenting handbook on the side. He definitely doesn't act like a first time parent. Maybe he has confidence knowing there is a (clueless) fourth-timer in the household?

I like that I don't feel arrogant, that I don't feel that I have "been there, done that!" I don't think that attitude would be fair to OH.

I have been reading booklets this morning on topics that I should really know tonnes about and am nervous about attending a breastfeeding group next week. Fancied somewhere that I could get a cup of tea amongst friendly mums and know that I could get my knockers out to feed the baby in safety. But the Midwife told me that the woman who runs the group will be so pleased when I go, a "breastfeeding pro," she referred to me as. That Barbara will be making me attend all the new parent/parent to be sessions to teach them all the tricks.

Arghhhhh, was she not listening to my thirty questions on breastfeeding baby 4 because I wasn't sure I was doing it right?

So please, anyone reading this, don't take my advice, don't assume I know it all. By all means, I am happy to tell others how I manage things IF THEY ASK! But I am definitely not one of those mums, that force their ways onto a newbie.

Carrier Bag Of Crap

Finally a post that doesn't complain about the state of my relationship or wallow in self pity.

Inspired by the parcel that arrived this morning, I have decided to blog about my Gran.

I could see the parcel on the laminate floor lying at the foot of the door. Snuggled up on the sofa with the baby sleeping across my legs, I was reluctant to move. I wasn't expecting any delivery of newly purchased goodies, but there was still a spattering of gifts arriving through the post from people I have never heard of, let alone met, wishing congratulations on the new arrival.

Encouraged by the people of Twitter, I left the sofa and picked up the packet. The disappointment was instant when I saw my Gran's handwriting.

The contents spilt onto the sofa -

A white cotton mop cap/bonnet
Knitted pink mittens
A hand written note
4 photographs

I was slightly disappointed that I had allowed myself to get briefly excited that something good had arrived through the letterbox but was amused when I read the note.

"Just a hurried note to let you have the bonnet and mitts, if the mitts are not needed, they can be used for mobile phone covers, good thinking eh?"

Not really Gran. Can't see OH stuffing his IPhone into a tiny pink knitted mitten?

The photo's were also a hoot. She is shocking when it comes to taking pictures. Firstly, she is obsessed. Her camera is there at every visit and she orders whoever is present to lean in and smile. Two of the pictures contained my children and baby (part of heads were missing and my elbow and legs only made it into the scene) and the other two gems were out of focus cakes.

One was 10yr old girl's Liverpool FC birthday cake and the other was our cheap wedding cake (delicious Cost-Co marshmallowy jam gooey cake.)

Maybe it's her age and she needs to have a record of pointless memories. In 30 years we will remember the cake, but there are no photo's of the people on that day?

Whenever she visits, she comes bearing gifts. Even when it's someone else visiting, she has sent one of her carrier bags for them to give to me.

They are not Supermarket carrier bags, but usually plain blue plastic ones or red and white stripy ones, that you get from the market or a take-away.

In it will be a random assortment of fruit bars or chocolate from various European countries, that taste foul and only found discounted in some "Home&Bargain" type shop.

I can usually guarantee that there will be some socks in the bag. She rotates the purchases between me and the kids. They get school socks, I get nasty coloured trainer socks. Those type that just go over your heel. They are uncomfortable mother-fuckers and I don't even own trainers to wear them under. All socks are bought from Primark or the market and have the printed price scribbled out and sale price hand-written on.

Cheese heavily features in the carrier bag, most likely some form of cheese slice (those ones wrapped in plastic that you put on burgers) or soft cheese triangles. Again, these are not branded and have a short expiry date.

Meat sometimes makes an appearance as she has an obsession with Gammon at the moment. It comes vacuum-packed from the market and when you open the seal, a nasty smell omits. I did give the gammon a chance and cooked it once. Only OH was brave enough to eat it.

Bread is another staple product of the bag. It will have been purchased from Kwik-Save on the last possible date it could be sold, so it has a marked-down price on it. It's then quickly frozen and sent to me. She reminds me of one of those frozen sweetcorn adverts, frozen, packed and at your door before the day is out.

Then there are the surprises. It could be absolutely anything. From a home-made material carrier bag dispenser, to household cloths, old Christmas cards for scrap paper or scarily, an item of clothing for one of us to wear.

I have been receiving these carrier bags for about 15 years and have actually told her several times not to assemble them. The lady has such selective hearing though. I still get a chocolate orange every few months as "a treat" because she knows how much I love them (every single one going into the bin as even the kids wont entertain them.)

It gets out of control sometimes, for example when she came to look after the kids while I gave birth to the baby. I could tell by the expression on Dad's face that I should brace myself.

3 bin-bags came out of the car. One even contained her bedding so she could "stay for a few weeks."

I won't even go into detail about the nightmare she was when I was in hospital giving birth and she was rearranging my house.

She fretted as she unpacked her bin-bags and didn't find the missing bacon. Dad found it a few weeks later, warm and smelling on the back seat of his car.

I know she means well and I know that I am an ungrateful bitch but I struggle so much to show gratitude for 15 years worth of "out of date" dark chocolate digestives delivered in a blue plastic carrier bag.

Church Of Buckley

My eyes are a baptism
Oh I am filth
And sing her
To my face
Oh phantom elusive thing oh

All flowers in time bend towards the sun
I know you say that there's no-one for you
But here is one,

One that can never be known
Either all drunk with the world at her feet
Or sober with no place to go

All flowers in time bend towards the sun
I know you say that there's no-one for you
But here is one.

We could go
We can travel round
Fading farther from me
With your face in my window call

When will you weep for me
Sweet willow

It's okay to be angry
But not to hurt me
Your happiness, yes, yes, yes
Darling, Darling.

All flowers in time bend towards the sun
I know you say that there's no-one for you
But here is one, here is one... here is one

Dilemma

Need advice really. OH isn't really vocal on it and best mate doesn't know what to say either.



Brief history
Left ex husband in late 2005/2006. Took me 9 months to get him out of the house as he refused to leave.
He became controlling and aggressive the last few years we were together. It got worse after I told him I no longer loved him and it was over.
A tense awkward relationship followed. He had been violent with me when we were together and it continued after we split and he had hit the children too.
After 2 yrs it got to the point where I thought he would
a) kill or badly harm me
b) harm the kids
c) run away with the kids
d) kill himself

... So I went to the police then a solicitor.

To cut a long story short, I ended up representing myself at court. Access was never in question. I'm not even sure what the case was about I just wanted help and someone to tell him he couldn't behave like that. Even his barrister said he didn't understand what the judge was trying to achieve. His barrister also disagreed with the judge, who would absolutely not let the kids (my only witnesses) give statements or evidence.

Anyways, I lost. On every one of the 11 counts, despite the ex admitting two. Supervised visitation for 6 weeks followed by regular 8 hr contact on a Saturday. That's been the case since last August.

Present Situation
I hate him! I don't trust him for a second!
We have had a few issues, in January after he found out I had gotten married and was pregnant. He made a vague threat towards my new marriage via text. A couple of cases of him trying to assert his authority over me. Stuff I can't even be bothered going in to. Another threat in person towards me a few weeks ago but I found out that last Saturday he hit my daughter!
He dragged her into the car then a few minutes later whilst she was arguing with my other daughter, hit the top of her inner thigh. All because they were bickering over a bottle of lucozade.

It's always her that he has hit. The time he punched her in the stomach because she was nagging to go to the shop (raised in court and not believed) then the time he threw her across a hotel room then started hitting her, because she wouldn't get her pj's on (witnessed by other 2 and raised then disbelieved in court).

Angry exchanges of text followed by me telling him he couldn't see them this week.

I don't know what to do???

Technically I am breaching the court agreement. But if I try to go back to court, the judge won't believe me again?

when I asked the judge to put in the court order that he doesn't hit/smack them, he said I had no right to say that as I had lost the case.

I absolutely cannot afford a solicitor.

I cannot allow my children to be treated like this.

I have no clue what direction to go.

I just wish the ex would die in a car crash :(

Losing

I've pretty much cried every day for the past erm, 6 weeks? Maybe more, maybe less.

My eyeballs hurt and I can barely see any more. Infact, I can't really hear too well either. Think my senses are shutting down.

Will have to ask for help tomorrow. The health visitor is coming for the first time. I shall have to unleash on a stranger and beg her to try and fix me. Between sobs and wiping away the snot, I shall try to convince her that it's not post natal depression, but the result of a difficult few years.

I can't find a way to correctly ask my husband for help in a way that he understands and doesn't feel threatened by.

Can't get a word in edgeways to ask my friend for help.

I'm not even sure who can help me.

I just want to feel safe and loved. No doctor or health visitor will be able to do that. Only my OH I guess. He doesn't want to and doesn't know how to though.

It's an epic fail of a situation

The Indigo Process

Finally I have a spare 20 minutes to share the gruesome details of becoming a mummy for the fourth time.

This is the first draft as it takes a few weeks for me for little details to come back.

So the last few weeks dragged! Nervously I over interpreted every potential sign of labour. Never before have I had the necessary bodily skills to send myself into contractions and this time, had tried everything to ensure that for once, I was going to do it naturally. I had earned it surely? For once, I would know how it felt to rush excitedly/nervously to hospital.

So from 35 weeks onwards, every twinge I thought was the real thing. Convinced one night that my waters had broken I ended up at labour ward being monitored to find foolishly that they probably hadn't. Every pain was timed using an IPhone application. I refused to pack my hospital bag convinced that if I was unprepared, ironically, I would need it in a hurry. I popped Raspberry Leaf capsules like they were sweets, ate curries, had regular orgasms, took walks and bounced faithfully on my newly purchased exercise ball.

I had a date at 39 weeks for a stretch and sweep, controversially given to me by the consultant, much to the disgust of the midwife who disagreed with the procedure before term date.

It was our d-day. I firmly believed that on that day I would attend the hospital and the registrar would tell me that I was 4cm dilated and that they would just give me a nudge. I would go home in slow labour ready for a trip back to labour ward in the early hours.

It was hard to control the tears as the consultant told me in the most casual of fashion that I wasn't even the teeny tiniest bit ready to go into labour and that he would be leaving me until 41 weeks for induction. Also just to kick me whilst I was down, that the baby would be a whopper, most likely the same/bigger than my last 10lb 8oz porker.

The only ray of sunshine was the doctor saying I could ask the midwife to check me in a few days for another attempt at a sweep.

I sulked for a few days. The only thing I could think of was my cervix. It became my only topic of conversation.

I started having a show the day of the hospital appointment. It could have been due to the internal examination, or the sex the day before, but I started loosing goo.

Of course it was captured on a tissue and brought into the room for my OH to investigate and interpret with me. Over the next few days, the goo changed colour and amount and for a spilt second, I was so sure that something was happening. Then I googled...

Every time I searched a pregnancy/labour based topic, I saw something I didn't like. Such as a million articles on how you could have a "show" six weeks before the event.

Pah!

Even the regular contractions/really strong Braxton Hicks every evening seemed to vanish just as I thought things were happening.

Hopes were built once again for 40 weeks when I had managed to persuade a midwife to come to my home and sweep me, even though she protested. The experience wasn't a pleasant one. She was more than miffed at being in my home on a Sunday with her fingers prodding my cervix at the request of a consultant. She reminded me again on how I shouldn't be having the procedure done yet, then broke my heart by confirming that no progress had been made and there was no way I would be going into labour within the next week at least.

My mood was black and I hid in my bedroom for the rest of the day, followed by most of the next day too!

I was no longer going to listen to my body. It was fraudulent. It was teasing me.

I didn't get too excited when my goo was bloodstreaked that day ( but still took a sample to show OH) and I ignored the evening dose of contractions. I finally accepted that I would have to wait to be chemically induced in a weeks time and would plan to keep myself constantly distracted.

We went to bed and decided to play Bubble Bobble on the XBox in bed. That stupid dinosaur platform game I used to adore when I was younger. It kept me busy and it was nice doing something with my OH.
I ignored the Braxton Hicks and the feeling of the baby pushing down. Even though I thought I could feel my pelvis separating, I dismissed it as more teasing.

I fell asleep around 1 am

I awoke at 4:30am. I was uncomfortable. My hips hurt and my pelvis felt broken. I had dreamt that I was giving birth to 5 kittens and they were all fighting against my pubic bones to escape (the kitten dream wasn't so obscure as my cat had kittens a few weeks before and our world was turned into chaos by her 5 babies.)

I went to the toilet and felt I needed to poo. Constipation pain followed by pains in my lower back and under my bump. The same pains as I had every night.

I wasn't sure. I couldn't decide if it was time...Or maybe I was just constipated?

I went back to bed and tried to get comfortable, the pain in my groin was getting stronger. Well maybe not stronger, but it certainly wasn't going any where.

4:50pm The OH was woken up. As he blinked at me, trying to come around, I told him I was hurting and possibly in labour, but then again, I wasn't sure. I left out the consitpation theory.

Another 20 minutes of the same and I decided it was time for a bath. I was definately sure they were getting stronger but the cause was still unknown. Warm water would surely make me go to the loo? Or it it was time for baby, then I needed to be clean and bathed anyway.

I was moaning and groaning aloud now as I lay in the bath on my side. OH was in the room too, chain-smoking out of the bathroom window, half-asleep maybe, but very quiet. We couldn't decide what to do next.

It was impossible to hoist myself out of the bath, but OH managed to partially drag me. It was hurting to do anything other than freeze up in silence during a contraction.

I phoned the labour ward and told them that I thought, that maybe, I may possibly be in labour? But I wasn't sure. The woman seemed unamused by my nervousness and advised me to come in anyway. But we had three little problems...

What to do about the other three sleeping kids.

MIL was called to come around and babysit until my father could make it from my home town as OH loaded up with bags. The pains were really getting strong now. I was mildly distracted by chatting to MIL but I couldn't wait much longer. We needed to make the 20 minute journey to the hospital.

Every bump in the road hurt! I was hanging from that rail thing, gripping it really tightly, closing my eyes, huffing and puffing and tensing my body as he drove.

Another problem, no change for the carpark at the hospital. As ridiculous as it seems, we had to go to two petrol stations for cash back and change.

I was counting now... I must have looked autistic, like a Dustin Hoffman/Rainman, counting forwards and backwards to take my mind off the pain. I think I was doing in my head for some time, to hide it from OH, for fear he would think I was crazy. But the pain got too much for me to care. Randomly starting at the number 19 each time, I would count down to zero, then back up again until the pain passed.

The lift was broken at the hospital and the labour ward was wisely on the second floor. So I braved the stairs. Huffing and counting with each step.

We finally made it around 7:30am and buzzed at the ward door. A midwife spoke to OH as I sloped agains the wall counting.
We were lead into a small room and waited until THE midwife arrived (the lovely lady that delivered Indie.) She asked questions that I found difficult to answer so OH became my spokesperson. I couldn't sit in the chair and was kneeling on it instead, slightly twisted to face the wall behind, clinging on to the chair back to stop myself falling, counting.

I shuffled oh so slowly in my socks to the toilet to try and get a water sample for the midwife but it gave me a chance to try and poo again. The pain and pressure on my bowels was intense. It was a no-go situation and I finally accepted that it was the baby and not constipation.

The monitor was switched on and I was hooked up. I hoped to see the graph making massive mountains for each contraction but they didn't. I started to panic that it was super early and that even though the pain was huge, I wasn't really in established labour. The midwife added to this by saying she would examine me and if my waters hadn't gone, I could possibly go home.

MORTIFIED! The pain was making me breathless, I couldn't focus on anything. All I could do when I felt the stabbing wave was close my eyes, try not to tense my body and start to count.

I had always believed I had a fairly high threshold for pain but in my old age, I must be really feeble and weak. I was desperate to ask for pain-relief but in the next few minutes, I could be sent home instead.

She waited until my contraction passed, then looked at my cervix. Good news, she could see pools of water, implying that my waters had broken. I exhaled. HA! I wouldn't be going home now. Then she changed her mind.

It wasn't pools of water, but infact my waterbag bulging?? I was nine centimetres dilated and my water sac was BULGING!

I was so relieved I wasn't going to be sent home, I felt so brave that I had made it to 9 cm, I was so proud that my body was working without intervention.

All I could say was, Am I okay to have gas and air now?

The three of us moved to a labouring room and she fitted a mouthpiece to the gas and air. Bliss.
It all starts flooding back, the level of pain, the taste of the gas and air, the waves of sickness until you get used to it, the instant drunkeness, the noise of the mouthpiece sounding like Darth Vader.

It was taking the edge off and I was relaxing a little.

Midwife quickly started jotting down a birthplan. I said I would like some Pethidine as I had that with the other three. Diamorphine is all they give now? They changed things a few years ago and decided pethidine wasn't strong enough and that women just prefer Diamorphine.

Not I! I didn't want to feel sky high, I didn't want to be too off my face to remember things. Pethidine was just enough. Blah, I decided to stick to gas and air.

A cannula was put in my wrist and it hurt, LOTS. More so than my contractions. Apparantly it is procedure for previous c-sections or blood pressure people. I can't really remember what she said but I was to have one.

Gripping my OH's hand, running from 19-0 out loud, then 0 to 30, that was how long the contractions were now.

I'm a little hazy with the order of things now and will have to check with my OH. Blame the gas and air.

I was examined again. I felt a teeny pop and my water gushed everywhere. As I looked up, I could see the look of horror on Midwifes face. She said it was a lot of water and it had flooded the place. I didn't even notice that I was soaking wet. She told me to lift up whilst she removed some of the sheets beneath me, but the pains were too much for me to get my backside off the bed.

The gas and air was wearing off now, It was definitely not enough for me to get through labour. I wanted the Diamorphine. Midwife left the room to get some.

I got the urge to push. I shouted for OH to press the buzzer and she seemed to appear instantly.
She had the needle in her hand with the precious pain relief in. I moved the G&A mouthpiece for a split second, just enough to tell her that I needed to push.
She rushed past the bottom of my bed, looking between my legs and scrambling for rubber gloves. Telling me not to push yet!

Luckily I could control it. I had three urges when I could have pushed but didn't. It's the strangest of sensations and impossible to describe to another person. Fear was hitting me again now. The G&A was not taking the edge off any more and Midwife was telling me I could push when I was ready.

Well I wasn't ready! I knew the pain that was about to come and I wasn't close to being prepared! I told her so. I told her I needed the Diamorphine and she said no, it was too late. The next urge to push came and I couldn't fight it this time. My body convulsed and my moans turned into the strangest noise.

It's a very out of body experience. I can hear my breathing, emphasised by the mouthpiece. I am aware that I am practically growling like an animal with each contraction but could care less of what anyone else present thinks.

The 4th urge now and I pushed again. This time I got the whiteness.

The whiteness I have never mentioned to another person before. It probably won't make too much sense either. It's when the pain gets too much for you to physically cope with any more. It's happened with each baby at the point of the head being born. It for me, is the point where the pain is that intense, that it is no longer painful. I first haze over and my vision blurs. I think I can only see white, or maybe I am just gazing at the hosiptal ceiling at this point in a drunken world of my own. The pain burns then eases and usually I am getting a shout from a midwife to stop pushing as a baby's head has arrived.

Well, this was second or third push and I had the whiteness. I was still coherent enough to realise that this was far quicker than normal. That I would normally be pushing for about 20/30 minutes before the whiteness.

I listened to the midwife carefully. She was telling me to make small tiny pushes then to pause for a few seconds, then to repeat it again. My teeth were clamped around the mouthpiece and I was gripping OHs hand so tightly. I vaguely remember telling my OH to look as his daughter's head was being born and I'm sure the midwife said she was born with her eyes open.

As the white haze faded I was told that one more push was all that was needed for the rest of her to be born. I tried to protest and say I needed to get my breath back first. The Midwife said, no, come on, one more push...My body agreed with her and I convulsed uncontrollably again and out she slipped.

It's the loveliest feeling. After the pain of the baby's head, the rest of the body seems to just slop out quickly.

She was born at 9:20am about 5 hours after the first mild pains.

She was wiped a little and placed on me. I think I was chatting away at this point but trying to hide my shock of not being prepared for the baby yet. I didn't feel that I deserved her to be born yet. That I had to work harder with the others.

OH commented lots about how quickly I seemed to recover from the birthing mess I was. The G&A drunken effects wearing off instantly.

I felt the midwife tugging at the umbilical cord and pulling out the placenta. Again, that's a lovely feeling. Gungy and sloppy, it almost soothes the grazing pain I was feeling after delivery.

Then the after pains kicked in. AGONY!

The mouthpiece was back in use and I was huffing and puffing away.

She was weighed and dressed and in my OHs arms.

I became suddenly aware that my stripy socks were soaking with amniotic fluid.

She wasn't the most beautiful of babies born. She was blueish (congestion due to fast delivery) and her eyes were so swollen and puffy. She looked like a cold alcoholic. But the love was instant and in my eyes she was perfect.

The most scrumptious tea and toast is usually provided after giving birth. It's like a prize/reward and it is the best tea and toast you will ever taste. Then I was hurried into the bath.

We were wheeled up to the ward for a few hours, where we the three of us got to spend some bonding time alone...