Ready!

I feel a bit like a microwave that has just gone 'ping'! I am, whisper it, ready for baby. Followers of this blog will have read my hopes, fears, anxieties, rants and confusion. But here I am, less than two weeks from the due date, and I cannot wait to meet my daughter. 

It hasn't always been an easy nine months, but both R and I know it has been worth it. The bag is packed ready for the birth centre. The car has petrol in. I've stopped drinking so I can drive any time. We have a cot, clothes, pushchair, nappies, moses basket, toys and much more. We've done antenatal classes, breast feeding classes and practiced hypnobirthing and active birthing yoga. 

There is just one thing left: labour. 

Wish us luck!

Reasons to be fearful: 1, 2, 3

I've written about fear before, but now, two weeks from our due date, the fear is very different. It's the fear about how our lives will change. 

Yes, we chose this baby, we want and love her more than anything. But when she arrives everything will be different.  Forever. Every time we go past the theatre and see a play we'd like to go to we say "oh we must book tickets" and then realise that we won't be able to go out at the drop of a hat anymore. 

And whoever said "hell is other people" had a point. Or perhaps it should be "hell is mother people". Everyone seems so keen to tell us horror stories of screaming babies, sleep deprivation and life being fundamentally altered. And yes, if course I know that these things will happen from time to time. But I am desperately trying to keep hold of the love we will all share, and the wonderful things we will do. They don't tend to be the stories people tell so much though. 

We're engaged!

Yes, it's true, baby's head has engaged according to our midwife (and the shooting pains Rachel's had in her pelvis). My mum was thrilled when I told her, and reminded me that she dropped her shopping in Finefair when my head engaged with her tiny pelvis. 

What is less encouraging is that this is no guarantee of a timely baby. It just means she's ready as and when the contractions start. To R's credit, she is doing everything she possibly can to usher her oxytocin levels into overdrive, including drinking raspberry leaf tea, eating dates, doing yoga and hypnobirthing us all into oblivion. 

In other news, is it just me or is the TENS machine a teensy weensy bit scary? It made me squeal when I tried it out...

Jealous of maternity leave...

R started her maternity leave yesterday and if I'm honest, I'm quite jealous. I'm trying hard to be a supportive partner and prepared parent-to-be while carrying out a demanding job effectively. R is now able to focus herself totally on the baby, and I really wish I could too. I definitely have moments currently where I feel I'm failing in all of my roles of mum, wife and employee. 

I am so glad that R is now able to relax a bit more now. Our little baby is definitely fully baked as we have reached the 37 week mark. So now, she can put her feet up, let the Oxytocin flow, and wait for things to begin... Hopefully I'll start to relax a bit too as we approach the due date in two and a half weeks. I won't hold my breath though. Life is about to change dramatically, as everyone keeps telling us, and I am somewhat concerned about the impact sleep deprivation will have on us. 

I am trying to keep my mind focused on taking our little bundle for a walk in the local park in her pushchair when the storm has died down. 

The dominance of dads...

Dads are great. I love my dad, and I am really enjoying my relationship with him as I grow older. Talking to him as I prepare to become a parent has been really helpful and enriching. It is odd though, as I travel ever deeper into parenthood, that I am beginning to resent the word 'dad'. I shouldn't really, but on Saturday R and I went to look at the birth unit we hope to have our daughter at in (whisper it) around three weeks time. It was a gorgeous centre, very patient focused, more like a spa than a hospital, and culturally sensitive in almost every regard. The one regard that seemed to be overlooked was the fact that even though R and I were holding hands and talking about our baby, the woman showing us round continued to talk consistently about 'mum and dad'. 'Dads will be able to...' etc. I'm now used to the odd inevitable slip of the tongue in antenatal classes, but it is always followed by an apologetic glance and then the reinforcement of the words 'parent' and 'birth partner', which reassures me that I have been acknowledged.

At this birth centre though I may as well have been invisible. We were only a small group, maybe five couples, and we were inevitably the only same sex couple. However, it seemed truly odd that a centre that prides itself on person centred care and cultural diversity should ignore me and R completely in so many ways. I have no doubt that as and when we arrive there ready to give birth, the midwives will be brilliant, and I am glad we have chosen the centre. But, surely it could be made more welcoming to the 'others' like me?

Alongside this, all magazines have 'daddy' pages, which I actually find really useful to read. They offer really handy tips about supporting someone who's just given birth. But once, just once, wouldn't it be nice if there was another mother on one of those pages too?

I kid you not - the things you learn as a mum to be

No one tells you about perineal massage...

...yes, that's right, it's a thing. 

And there's a handy demonstration video too: 

 2:05► 2:05

www.youtube.com/watch?v=DK2P8Ziqc6Y

Eight months pregnant: how did that happen?!

Oh how time verily flies when you are busier than Father Christmas during the Festive season... Yes, that's right, R is now eight months pregnant and we are just four and a half weeks from the due date. 

What have we been up to? Where have we been? You may well ask... (Actually you may not, but I'll tell you anyway.)

We have explored the delights of being the only same-sex couple in our antenatal class. I must say though, it was well worth it. What I don't know about the three phases of labour (yes, count them, three) isn't worth knowing. We were then the only same-sex couple in the breast feeding class. Scratch that, we were the only couple. I felt for the rest of the mums to be, all alone. I got to practice with a doll and everything! That bit was good. The slightly fascist breast feeding teacher was a bit much to take. The general message seemed to be 'breastfeed or die'. Now while I agree that it is ideal, it really isn't the be all and end all. 

We have also (whisper it) moved! Yes, that's right, seven weeks before R's due date we moved out of our two bedroomed flat into a three bedroomed house. It has been hard work - see image to get an idea of what I've mostly been doing - but it has been well worth it. We now have a garden and a room just for baby. 

The birthing bag is now packed and we are, sort of, ready. Obviously I realise that no one is ever really ready, but we've done all we can.