Sunday, 2 December 2012
Labour Wards & rug rats
It's been a bit of a busy month so thought I would catch up on what's been happening
The day before bonfire night my eldest daughter went into labour, pretty scary. Not the thought of her going into labour, but the fact I was going to be a grannynannyoldfekker
She had asked previously if I wanted to know when she started in labour so of course I said let me know. She started 6am in the morning and I got the 6 text messages and 3 missed calls on my phone when I got up at 9am (I'm not great at answering my mobile, and the majority of time it spends its life on the car dashboard)
So 6pm I was summoned as things were moving pretty rapidly.
Her OH (Andrew) phoned the hospital and we all traipsed to the labour wards
I loitered and offered to wait outside but found myself in the labour ward for the duration (Im not sure birthing partners and stuff was ever mentioned but it now seemed I was here for the premier performance)
Her original 'plan' was birthing pools, soft dolphin music and a painfree idyllic birth. 5 hours into it she demanded 'all the f*&kin drugs you can give me' and the birthing pool remained bone dry throughout. Had Homer been her birthing partner choice he would have been devestated, he's never one to miss the chance of a paddle
Around 10pm she was checked and gutted to find out she was the perfect size to give birth to a small ferret, but a human creature was going to be in there for a while yet.
So she opted to stay on the ward for the night with her OH and I went back to their flat for a few hours sleep. They had omitted to mention the flat had no heating on and was bloody freezing, so after sleeping in my jeans, jacket, 3 pairs of socks and andrews underpants I gave up and went back to the hospital first thing
Expecting her to be a wreck she was amazingly bright and cheery and said so happily 'They stopped!!! Haven't had one for ages!!'
I did try and mention the fact that unfortunately if they had stopped, they actually had to be restarted or Rocket Banger would never come out (for privacy sake I feel her real name should not be mentioned - but the real reason is I cant get my head round calling her by a human name. So she is 'rocket banger' as she was coming on firework night)
Happy interlude in the labour ward....I have no idea why any woman would want to do her gym exercises on the ball at a time like this
So back to the labour wards and a drip was hooked up to start the contractions again. A couple of hours of this and I was impressed with the number of swear words in my daughters vocabularly - I thought I knew some good ones
So she had the pethidine, the gas and air and finally said GIVE ME AN EPIDURAL NOW!! So Mr Pincushion came and set it all up for what was supposed to be a pain free experience. 2 contractions later and it seemed the epidural was bloody useless.
Nurses changed shifts again (I think we met them all) and we were given a gormless replacement who looked about 9 years old. She played in all the cupboards for a while and just had an inane grin on her face. My daughter wanted to kill her.
Thankfully the nurse from the last shift popped in and things seemed to be moving rapidly. So Andrew and I stood either side of her, being strong and giving her the re-assurance she needed. When she declared in tears 'I can't do this anymore!!!!!!!!!!!!!'.. Andrew cried. I cried. What a team....
And so offering the words of support that you need at this time, not the 'this is the most amazing thing in the world and you will forget this as soon as you hold her and will look back on this amazing experience'....I told her 'to push like you are shitting a football!!!'
A few bloody curdling screams (apologies to anyone in MK labour wards on Bonfire night she wasn't being murdered and yes they are real words in the 'urban dictionary') and I gave her the brilliant news...'She isn't ginger!!!'
Rocket banger finally popped in to the world to a load of weeping adults singing at the top of their voices... 'Baby your a firework!!!!!!!!!!!!!'
Camera out straight away...I think she was unattached by now..!
Bloody amazing, wouldn't have missed it for the world. You don't get this on Orange Wednesday
And so the last few weeks have been spent visiting the daughter, driving to Plymouth to see the other daughter, knitting (yes yes I am the classic grandmanannytweedwearingpisssmelling parent now) and life generally revolving around Rocket
Obviously I'm not knitting pink delights of girlyness, I think everything i have made/bought so far revolves around the gruffalo
Just as well the daughter is on the same girlyness level as me. Unfortunately due to well meaning and generous friends/relatives she already has a wardrobe of clothing with every adaptation on the word 'Princess' you can imagine, pink sequins, sparkles and feather boas, and a few kitten prints. However Rocket is unlikely to be seen in anything that isn't
1. Furry like a small animal
3. Non Girly
Barley is particularly impressed. Homer is a bloody nightmare. Nothing surprising there then.
Happily she is the most miserable little baby I have ever met. She hates everything. Baths, nappys, getting dressed, getting undressed, waking up.... Her only glimmer of approval is when a bottle is stuffed in her face or she is asleep. Pretty easy to bond with at the moment, I like her dissaproval of the world in general. Just got to hope I dont notice the transformation into a smiling bratty brat...
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