The birth of Imogen Emily
By hissychick | January 15, 2010
It’s hard to believe miss Immyjim* has been with us for sixteen days already and I haven’t yet had the chance to record the story of her birth.
(Oh that’s right, husband having gallbladder surgery and older children not sleeping in addition to meeting newborn 24 hour needs. Pathetic really).
Sometime after midnight on December 30 I awoke in a wet bed. After crying like a big scaredy cat at what was ahead ringing the hospital we decided to head down the hill and see if the 40 minute drive would bring on some action.
Upon arrival it was confirmed that I was leaking amniotic fluid and having a show, however thirty minutes hooked up to the monitor revealed that nothing of substance was happening contraction wise and bubs was in a blasted posterior position. So the husband and I settled in for some rest.
Sunrise….nothing. The next six hours or so saw us walking around a lot, trying to get the show on the road. All we had were some irregular pissweak contractions, with little miss merely descending enough to block off the leak.
And so it came to pass that a midwife entered the room at around midday with a syntocinon drip and I promptly burst into tears. I simply couldn’t believe that I was facing what I dreaded most, an induction. I’d been there and done that with miss Abi, and the ineveitable cascade of intervention and lack of control was what I feared the most.
I started signing the permission paperwork for an epidural…and then stopped. I wasn’t about to let history repeat itself. I demanded to see my obstetrician.
An hour or so later, after much tearful discussion with mr hissychick (who simply stated tha he would support my decisions, bless him) and Dr J arrived. Here I will shamefacedly admit that at first I begged him for a caesar, to which he calmly responded that with bubs so well descended and everything looking OK it would be a bit frivolous to perform unnecessary surgery when an epidural was an option when the time came.
And then he examined me. I cried like the big sook that I am was found to be 3cm dilated, and so a stretch and sweep was performed (did someone saw owwww?). My doctor boldly declared that there was no leak as he could feel the forewaters bulging, and told me to go home until something started. Bubs was still posterior.
My midwife, her face a passing storm of thunderclouds during the examination spoke up as soon as my doctor had left the room. “You were definitely leaking amniotic fluid. Do you have someone you can visit locally, because if I were you I wouldn’t go too far from the hospital…”.
Those sage words of advice saved me from a motorway birth peoples.
The husband and I headed off to my parent’s place at around 1:30 pm, a ten minute drive from the hospital. Already I was starting to get the type of crampy pains that signal the start of something, and the snappy attitude that precedes and remains when labour is inevitable.
Upon arriving at my parents place, my sister, her husband and my niece who had been visiting for a swim took one look at me and hastily bade their farewells.
A cup of tea later, and I started to get to my feet when the contractions started, marching back and forth as I rode each wave. These pains were localised in my back.
Rapidly they stepped up a gear, and I started to add the chant of “left right left right”.
And then out came my new BFF, my mr happy stress bell. Here he is:
I started out by squooshing him around, using the noise to distract myself. This quickly progressed to tapping him against the wall in time with my march/chant, and the tapping rapidly became thudding as the pain intensified.
Within the space of an hour the pain had moved from my back to both my lower abdomen and back, and then suddenly it was all in my abdomen. Contractions were still irregular, but starting to get closer.
At around 3:15 pm I could see my mother starting to get concerned, and she called mr hissychick who had just popped out to a local shop to grab some supplies. By three thirty she had ushered us both into the car, as I had had four contractions within the space of fifteen minutes. And all the while I kept telling anyone who would listen that my contractions weren’t regular and that the epidural was going in no matter how little I had dilated.
Again a woman’s intuition saved me from a road/home birth.
The seven minutes it took us to return to the hospital are among the longest of my life. Contraction started slamming into contraction…and we kept hitting red lights. At one intersection I found myself in tears and slamming mr happy against my window, much to the horror of the people in the car next to us who I swear must have thought I was being kidnapped.
At long last we arrived, with mr hissychick driving the wrong way into the underground carpark to spare me the agony of speed humps. As I dealt as best I could with a contraction that hit me upon clambering out of the car a nearby mother wheeling a pram apparently grinned and told mr hissychick that it would all be worth it. The carpark security guard heard the commotion, and as I stamped my feet, chanted and slammed my stress ball against a column timidly suggested a wheelchair, to which my response was a very impolite “NO!”.
By the time I was engulfed with another excruciating contraction in the lift I no longer gave a flying one what passersby thought, I just wanted something for the pain.
And why is it that you are greeted with grins and a calm “So something is happening, come in” as you bellow chant and stamp and stomp your way back into the birthing suite you left a mere couple of hours earlier?
Somehow I found myself standing at the wall adjacent to the door to the bathroom, where I stamped my feet, chanted and slammed mr happy against the wall. I have no idea why that spot suited me at the time, all I knew was that I was not budging.
One midwife told me I needed to go to the bathroom to provide a urine sample. I ignored her.
And then my angel midwife arrived, surveyed the scene and promptly took over. I am not sure how she convinced me to leave my spot and walk the three steps to the bed for an exam, but she did.
When she pronounced me 8cm dilated and that it was a bit late for an epidural, she did it in such a way that I found myself trusting her that I could get through this (although having said that she did step back as she announced this to me).
She promptly got on the phone to my obstetrician and it vaguely occurred to me that he was not going to make it in time. Strangely enough this did not concern me, as I implicitly trusted my midwife, even though we had never met before.
As I went back to my spot at the wall and immediately entered transition, it was her calm and supportive voice that I listened to, telling me that I could do this, but perhaps I might like to just try and lean over the bed before I felt the urge to push.
I made it back to the bed in the nick of time, and as mr hissychick rubbed a heat pack hard against my back the urge to push hit me.
“I can’t do thi….GRUNT!” as my body overtook proceedings. “Yes you can!” said angel midwife in my ear. “You’re a warrior woman!”.
And so I made it through a very rapid pushing phase by visualising that my diaphragm was a coffee plunger and I simply went with it, bearing down when I could, alternating with a combination of a type of birth roar, pounding my fists on the pillows in front of me…and on a couple of occasions even biting them (spare me the jokes people).
Not once did my midwife tell me when to push, nor did she try and force the wretched gas on me. As a rapid birther with no resting phase to speak of she kept me calm. In fact, I was dimly aware that as I pushed she was organising a caesarian for another patient and the fact that she was doing this as I birthed reassured me that everything was going OK for me.
And then suddenly there was the burn of crowning, a futile attempt at panting to slow down while my midwife tried to stop my newest daughter’s hand from coming out alongside her head.
With a final heroic push (I wanted the pain over NOW!) and Imogen was here, passed between my legs for me to catch. It is a most incredible way to focus a mother, scooping up her slippery newborn and gently cradling her without pulling too much on the cord still connecting us.
As Imogen and I both howled with the enormity of what had happened, and mr hissychick clamped and cut the cord, the syntocinon shot was put in my leg and I clambered up onto the bed and promptly delivered the placenta (and they initially wanted to induce me?!).
My third daughter, our miracle child was here, all 3.6 kilograms and 50 cm of her. It was 5:04 pm, no more than an hour after I had arrived back at the hospital.
The flood of endorphins and oxytocin was, and still is overwhelming.
About an hour after she was born, my littlest miss finally stopped crying enough to lie down with me for a feed. She latched beautifully, and I am blessed to say that we have had no troubles with feeding ever since.
What an amazing birth experience. I am truly in awe at what my body is capable of in spite of my control freak mind. And I owe it in large part to Juju Sundin’s Birth Skills.
(I should also add here that my obstetrician did turn up after I had delivered the placenta and in time to do the necessary stitching that is the legacy of yet another rapid birth. He was rather sheepish about it all but when I asked for a discount told me only if I go for number 4!).
Imogen Emily. She’s here and I cannot imagine life without her. I am so deliciously in love with her, as are her devoted sisters and father. I am truly blessed.
* How miss E pronounces miss I’s name…so gorgeous.
Topics: Birthing ahoy, I'm a Mum, Immyjim, what to expect when you're expecting #3 | 8 Comments »
And so that was Christmas but we’ve only just begun..
By hissychick | December 29, 2009
Those of you that endure my status updates on Farcebook will already know that Christmas 2009 chez hissychick was not quite the festive and relaxed affair that I had hoped for.
Instead, the husband decided to get out of Christmas lunch with the inlaws and opening/assembling any further craptastic plastic toys by developing pancreatitis and, rather scarily, drivibg himself to the hospital at 7am. Leaving a certain heavily pregnant wife to deal with Santa present opening, car packing, getting the troops ready and doing the hour long drive to my parents’ place solo. No mean feat.
I do not apologise for the fact that my children had chocolate and lollies for breakfast, nor for the fact that getting out of the house necessitated a lot of screaming and some tears on my part.
Anyway.
Long story short, mr hissychick’s gallbladder was found to be the cause of the pancreatitis (much, much less scary than the other possible causes), the kids survived and enjoyed Christmas Day blah blah blah fishpaste.
The husband was discharged yesterday morning after a three night stay….and his gallbladder removal surgery scheduled for next Tuesday. The day before my due date.
Fast forward to today. I woke at 5:50 am this morning after another totally relaxing late pregnancy night’s sleep (think waking three times between 10 pm and 12 am to go to the toilet, 1 am with night sweats, and everytime I needed to pee or roll over thereafter) and I felt….like I had dropped my bundle.
After a shower and managiing to nick my pink bits when I stupidly decided to give the ladygarden a tidy up sight unseen I sat on the edge of my bed and cried with exhaustion and frustration. Perhaps it’s was the last of the adrenaline of the last few days leaving my body…but I don’t think it’s that.
Yes people, I’ve reached that point where abject fear of childbirth is outweighed by the desire to feel semi human again.
And it seems Bertramina is sympathetic to my cause. OB checkup this morning revealed she is well engaged and good to go, with the lovely and calm Dr J reassuring me all was well and that he would be seeing me before the husband’s little surgical jaunt.
My feeling is soon, very soon.
So on that note I am off to eat fresh pineapple and watch as many episodes of Mad Men as I can.
Until next time….smooches. Scared smooches.
Topics: Going bogue, Labour and birth, Ouch, Unexpecting, mr hissychick, my charming husband, what to expect when you're expecting #3 | 2 Comments »
Living by the Yo Gabba Gabba creed
By hissychick | December 22, 2009
Think happy thoughts, happy thoughts
That’s what you gotta do
Think happy thoughts, happy thoughts
And a smile’ll come back to you
Thanks for all of your kind messages everyone. I’m pleased to say that mr hissychick has started the ball rolling in terms of appropriate treatment and has been making a concerted effort in terms of his own behaviour. No it does not take away the pain of what I discovered but it helps somewhat when action is taken rather than platitudes mouthed.
Bertramina is doing well, she has decided to recommence the whole lock and load procedure, so much so that I spent a large portion of last night somewhat panicked about the possibility of a pre Christmas birth. However I am keeping my legs dutifully crossed on the sage advice of Simone, who reminded me that a post Christmas birthday would be far more cost effective as I could purchase presents in the sales.
Miss A and miss E are their crazy unique, intelligent, gorgeousi yet exasperating selves, who are each expressing unique and challenging reactions to the impending arrival of their sister.
Our youngest imp has been ensuring that we do not get cocky enough to enjoy an unbroken night’s sleep before Bertramina arrives (hey, why start after two and a half years?). Apparently only Mummy in Mummy’s bed will do and right now I just can’t be arsed dealing with it. That honour shall fall to the husband while I am in hospital. Thing is…she gets away with this and murder in general because she disarms us with a smile and a cheeky comment rather than an argument. Little minx.
My mini me is as fragile as a delicate flower wanting so much attention but rewarding us with some of the most vile behaviour yet, which I won’t share with you readers because the parents of threenagers and the like in case you lose the will to live don’t need to know just what is in store for them just yet. There has also been a hell of a lot of incessant whining about being last, and ultra competitiveness that would do an Olympic athletes head in.
I try to hide a lot, which is not easy when you truly are a Christmas pudding.
Anyway I’d best get back to using my last two daycare hours (ever for Miss A and until late Jan for miss E) to do nestingy stuff so that I don’t have yet another panic attack about the whole birthing gig.
Smooches.
Topics: Mummy's little monsters, Secret hissy business, moody blues, mr hissychick, what to expect when you're expecting #3 | 1 Comment »
Terms up
By hissychick | December 16, 2009
We have reached the magical milestone of 37 weeks. Instead of celebrating I am quietly hoping that being full term is enough to spare Bertramina from the pain and stress of a sickening discovery that I made yesterday.
And the dreadful realisation that I am no longer entirely sure just who my husband is anymore.
Words cannot describe how vulnerable I am feeling right now. This. Is. Not. Happening.
Topics: Unexpecting, what to do? | 10 Comments »
No.
By hissychick | December 13, 2009
I am slothing around here at home. Alone. Which for those of you who have done the whole almost full term gig before know is sheer bliss. Necessary space when you already have two other boisterous non day sleeping kidlets.
While my two ratbags are enjoying Santa photos and treats with the grandparents and mr hissychick is not quite enjoying multiple messages from me re Christmas and hopsital bag purchases that he is too terrified to get wrong I am perched on my disturbingly wide behind doing two fifths of bugger all. Too lazy to put washing outside on a sunny day (it’s in the dryer-ahem)…hell, I’m too irritated by the rib flare to even break up this post into meaningful sentences.
So it’s not too hard a stretch to understand that I am over the Christmas season…and more importantly I am over all non necessary social engagements and the like.
There are two people in my life who do not seem to get this right now and if they don’t let up I will explode.
No. A simple two letter word, with a powerful and unambiguous meaning that babies understand and toddlers have mastered well before they are two.
No. The simple answer and all the justification necessary that is the right of every heavily pregnant woman when faced with invitations to endure crappy ‘community’ carols led by annoying evangelical types in insufferable summer heat.
No. I do not want to provide assvice on plumbing and home maintenance matters that might be of importance to you but can and should be solved with your own husband, thereby avoiding crowding into what little brain matter I have left that is firing on all neurons. Especially when you don’t seem to want a solution, just an excuse to ramp up your own stess levels and therefore mine.
No. I do not want my child joining in with you at whatever trivial sugar fuelled outing you condure up at a moment’s notice to avoid spending time alone with your own. Funnily enough I do not need the ensuing meltdown triggered by the persistent and erratic bad behaviour meted out on my daughter by her friend. Behaviour which should not be excused on the basis of a condition which requires firm and consistent boundaries and the need to learn that you cannot expect others to continue to play with you if you physically and verbally lash out at them all of the time.
No. I should not have to endure repated calls/text messages to convey that I won’t be participating in either the event or the issue. That I am this close to snapping, and instead of humming Little Spanish Flea in my head I may very well scream at you to
eff off.
No.
(And yes…now that I am all vented out I will be back next time with a belly shot and a much happier lala post about fluffy bunnies or the like).
Topics: Going bogue, hissyfit, what to expect when you're expecting #3 | 2 Comments »
Conflicting desires
By hissychick | December 7, 2009
Kidlets are at daycare today. So do I go with sleep or nesting or blogging properly for a change?
Gah. Brain melting.
Nap wins for now……
Topics: a bit of fluff, what to expect when you're expecting #3 | 2 Comments »
On the brim
By hissychick | November 30, 2009
“How are you?” my lovely obstetrician Dr J asked as I waddled into his rooms for my latest checkup.
“Irritable is an understatement, and I’m not ready for this” I replied.
“And why would you be ready, you’re not quite 35 weeks!” he grinned.
“Well unless I’m going crazy I’m sure I felt her drop yesterday. I had the wierdest back pain….” I ventured.
“Let’s take a look shall we?”
Cue palpation, my doctor’s expert hands doing the telltale headlock check low on my abdomen.
“OK let’s do a quick ultrasound…would look at that, she is down low, her head is on the brim. What are your plans for Christmas?”
“Hahahahahahahahahahaha…(oh fuck)”.
And so after a BP check and urine sample check I was on my merry way…in denial and disbelief.
“See you in two weeks…I think you’ll still be pregnant then. Maybe”.
Although I profess surprise, I really shouldn’t given my non existent fuse and panicked final Christmas shopping of late, as well as last night’s frantic attempted fitting of a baby seat in our car.
Guess I really should start washing some baby clothes and packing a hospital bag then. You know. Just. In. Case.
Gulp.
Topics: Unexpecting, what to expect when you're expecting #3 | 6 Comments »
The prodigal blogger
By hissychick | November 20, 2009
Hi there, remember me?
I know, I know, I have not been the bestest blogger of late. It’s just that I don’t do the third trimester well.
More specifically, I don’t do the sleep deprivation from flailing around in bed like a beached whale coupled with mood swings from massive hormonal surges at all.
I have been a total bogan fishwife mother of late…and the main target of my less than desirable parenting by screeching approach has been miss A. I am not trying to excuse myself, but let’s just say a totally bored and ready for school intelligent daughter with a sassy mouth combined with a less than patient equally hot headed mother is as explosive as…I don’t know…a nuclear warhead. I do not exaggerate.
Miss E has learned quickly to escape my wrath by continuing to emanate the kind of adorableness that will see her exonerated from charges relating to burning down the school, even as she stands there lit match in hand.
Bertramina is not forgotten in all of this, continuing to grow and kick and stretch and hiccup, hands up around her face as if to ward off the chaotic world she will soon enter. It is frightening to think that in around five or six weeks there will be another little person joining the hissychick family.
Guess that means I should, um, actually start washing clothes, packing hospital bags and organising a place for her to sleep, instead of buying yet another new pram and having to list several others on ebay.
Told you I was nuts.
Enough of the crazy lady rambling. Here is a belly, bits and all shot from last week to distract you from the crappy writing.
Off I go. This hastily snatched blogging time has come at the cost of a poo filled nappy to change and newspapers strewn across my entire loungeroom. And no neither of those was me. This time.
Topics: B to the busy, Going bogue, Mummy's little monsters, a bit of fluff, hissyfit, moody blues, what to expect when you're expecting #3 | 8 Comments »
Thankyou and goodnight miss E
By hissychick | November 8, 2009
“I luff Daddy, he’s not too ‘sgusting”….
Enough said.
Topics: E is good, a bit of fluff | 3 Comments »
And you wonder why I spend so much of my non existent me time in the foetal position.
By hissychick | October 22, 2009
So the girls found one of the husband’s band’s CDs from about 15 years ago. E’s reaction to the picture of her Dad on the back cover, resplendent in leather jacket, long hair tied back and shot glass in front of him? “I want that …Daddy not mines!“. A’s reaction to the music? “I like the naughty words music. That man said suck my…thumb didn’t he Mummy? Rock and roll!“.
Hold me for I am afraid.
Topics: Mummy's little monsters, a bit of fluff, my charming husband | 2 Comments »