Are we there yet?
It’s not quite 2am on Saturday 14 January, and I don’t think I’ll be sleeping tonight (but I’ll dutifully try a few more times).
At 11am yesterday morning, I noticed a “pink show” happening (if you don’t know what that is, you probably don’t want to – fundamentally, it means the cervix is dilating). According to the books, labour “usually” begins within 24 hours after the pink show begins. . . or it could be weeks. But I was very much encouraged, especially after such a stupid night.
It’s fifteen hours later, and my usual evening of contractions hasn’t faded as it usually does. The contractions are more painful than they’ve been at any time in the last ten days of pre-labour (enough that they alter my breathing), and they’re roughly ten minutes apart. Louisette is moving extremely vigorously until a contraction prevents her, and I’m having a lot of those burps that are the body’s way of saying, “I haven’t forgotten how to throw up, you know” – especially when I lie down.
If the contractions get to five minutes apart, lasting a minute each, and a little more painful (and that pattern is consistent or increasing for an hour), I’ll wake CJ. At that point I’d be pretty darn sure that tonight really was the night Louisette was on her way to meet us.
If I have three or four properly painful contractions every ten minutes for at least an hour, I’ll call the midwife – but probably still stay home for a while.
I’m still more scared of another day of pregnancy than I am of labour. The thought of a C-section is truly awful, however. CJ really can’t afford six weeks of leave – and the recovery could be especially nasty, since coughing or sneezing can break the stitches – and I’ve had a cough since first trimester (I’ve been taking heaps of durotuss, which keeps it under control but doesn’t fix it completely – my body is too screwed up to heal itself).
I’ll blog again sometime between now and noon to say whether I’m off to the hospital, still not sure, or going to bed after another false alarm.
It’s Saturday, so although I doubt I’ll be linking you to an article today, here’s the traditional picture of a cat:
Interpretive Economics
[Pre-labour report: Nothing interesting to report. Bah.]
Some of you may recall that I decided not to spend a single penny on baby items (in a gesture of control over our finances, since my income was halved by nausea this year). Reader Stuart foolishly claimed that when hormones and cuteness were combined, I’d be unable to resist buying at least SOMETHING baby related. This of course made my quest far more satisfying.
I had several advantages:
1. Two sets of financially stable, affectionate grandparents-to-be.
2. Friends who don’t take offense when I STRONGLY suggest a particular present for them to buy me (including brand and model).
3. A first-baby baby shower (and the general community thing of “Clear out your baby stuff and give it to the nearest pregnant lady”).
4. Christmas.
5. My birthday (which will happen only weeks after Louisette’s arrival).
I can now say with confidence that we are good to go. We have (or will soon have) a lot of high-quality brand new baby items (almost all of which I chose myself) including a cot, stroller, two car seats (one is a capsule – great for transporting a tiny baby without waking it up – and the other will last until she is four), a portacot (secondhand but high quality), and a nappy bag (I have a weakness for handbags, so this was particularly cool for me, and I picked it out myself).
We have a ridiculous amount of clothing, blankets, linen, towels, lotions, nappies, and so on. We also have most of the ingredients for motherly feeding independence (pump, steriliser, etc).
The only items that we’d really like and don’t know for certain that we have yet are a floorless playpen (that we can put around the baby, heater, or TV depending on the occasion), and a few more bottles. It is very likely that those items will magically show up (my side of the family hasn’t done Christmas yet, because it doesn’t happen until my sister and her family are in town, and they’ve just arrived). In any case, we don’t need them until several months after Louisette is born, so there’s no hurry.
I spent $65 on maternity clothes myself, and my mum bought me another $100 worth for Christmas. The “interpretive” part of my economics is that I did technically buy certain baby items myself, and I didn’t technically receive enough cash to cover them all (namely, a $25 change mat and about $33 worth of Huggies brand nappies, which I’ve been told emphatically and vividly are the only ones that actually work for newborns). So I’m choosing to interpret my Christmas maternity clothes as “credit” on my baby-specific “account” (since maternity clothes aren’t technically a baby expense, but I saved money on them by waiting until late November to acquire most of them).
I therefore declare myself a winner.
Tales from the Front Lines
No particular change with the contractions. I generally get one or two an hour, and flu-like fatigue most of the time. As a rule, going to the mailbox is too hard, and so is sitting in a normal chair for more than about twenty minutes. The relaxin hormone (the one that relaxes muscles) is doing its thing again, meaning more reflux, more back pain and more hip pain. Bones crunch in my back when I walk. When I turn over at night, I bite my lip to keep from crying out in pain.
The thought of another 24 hours of pregnancy – a whole long day and a whole long night – fills me with such depression that it borders on a panic attack.
It’s possible I still have over two weeks to go.
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Here are some true stories of early childhood – a perfect cocktail of humour and horror for your Wednesday afternoon.
My friend’s four-year old daughter was playing happily in their living room with toy cars. She drove them on a variety of different surfaces – the floor, the table, the chairs, and the TV. She is just old enough to entertain herself – what an exciting developmental milestone! Unfortunately, the TV was a brand new flatscreen and the cars had magnets in them. Thus endeth the flatscreen.
The following stories are all about my nephew, who is now six years old. To protect the guilty, I’ll call him Fred.
Fred is an unusually clever child, particularly regarding mechanisms. If you operate an electrical item – TV, laptop, phone – in the same room as him even once, he will know how to use it from then on. When he was about 18 months old, his mum was hanging out washing with him in the backyard. He wandered inside, and cheekily closed and locked the back door. Knowing that she always left the front door open, his mother was unconcerned. She hung out the rest of the washing quickly, and walked around the house to let herself back in. Fred had already locked the front door, opened the safety gate barring his way into the kitchen, and was “cooking” with large quantities of milk and flour on the kitchen floor. His mother was forced to smash a window to get in.
Demonstrating his remarkable independence and the ability to plan ahead with remarkable sneakiness, Fred ran away from home more than once, and was apprehended by the police (via neighbours) twice before he was three years old.
Last year (age six) Fred found a photo of his other mum (his birth parents divorced and his dad has remarried) that he liked, so he cut it out to put in his craft box.
Let’s pause here, dear reader, to imagine what the worst possible scenario could be, based on the above paragraph. I can inform you that Fred showed clear awareness of guilt, hiding the pieces of the photo and its surroundings inside his craft box where he thought they would remain undiscovered.
I bet I know what you’re thinking: wedding photos. That was my first guess too – but no. The reality was so much worse. Fred had destroyed his mum’s passport.
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These stories teach us two things:
1. Use contraceptives.
2. Don’t wish for smart children.
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CJ and I are currently working on teaching our cats what shiny new baby items are off limits (baby bouncer, stroller, bassinet, cot). It’s a lot for them to learn, especially since so many of the places they’re suddenly not allowed to go are extremely appealing (soft, and just the right size). We’ve left a certain amount of space for them inside Louisette’s room (not that they’ll be allowed in there with her for a good long time yet), and set up a pair of comfy boxes for their exclusive use. Here is Ana modelling both the open space and her towel-lined box (looking shifty because she’s not yet sure where she is and is not allowed to go):
Bonus Niece
This is just a random test blog to check that our capability for portable internet is, indeed, both portable and internet-y (so when I go to hospital I/my minions can still blog periodically).
[No, I’m not in labour right now.]
Look! My niece!
Men Make Fix
I come from an academic family, so my father-in-law (trained as a carpenter) is quite an exotic creature to me, and I love to see him and CJ (also most definitely an academic first) working together. You may remember that part of our ceiling collapsed many many months ago. There were delays as tradesmen and insurance representatives ummed and ahhed. Finally my father-in-law couldn’t take it any more, and begged to be able to fix it (in a temporary-but-secure fashion). My landlady said yes, and CJ and his dad did their manly thing. I mostly kept out of their way, but I still enjoyed the whole experience.
Oddly enough, the finished result is curiously beautiful – like a mosaic. Best of all, the parts of the ceiling that hadn’t been temporarily fixed (and were thus ready to collapse at any time) are now secure.
Also, the wooden squares match our light fittings. Just saying.
PS No changes contraction-wise.
Signs you like the “Lord of the Rings” trilogy a little too much
1. You can tell all the hobbits apart.
2. You consider the non-extended movies no longer canon once the “real” versions are released.
3. You name your pets after LOTR characters.
4. You’ve already watched the trailer for “The Hobbit” multiple times.
5. At a certain point, you began accidentally picking up Elvish.
6. You’ve had crushes on at least half of the members of the Fellowship: Frodo, Sam, Legolas, Aragorn, Gimli, Pippin, Merry, and Gandalf.
7. You’ve watched both commentaries all the way through – more than once.
8. You sometimes watch just the second movie on its own – because it’s still better than almost any movie out there.
9. You’ve participated in at least three all-day LOTR marathons, and know there will be more.
10. After hearing the cave troll in “Fellowship” described by the writers as someone who fell in with the wrong crowd, you dream that he finds a nice lady troll and settles down.
11. You name your pets after LOTR characters.
12. You accidentally quote LOTR in your own writing, as well as in ordinary life.
13. You plan to watch the movies as part of your “natural pain relief” strategies for giving birth – because they’re JUST THAT AWESOME – epidural awesome, if you like. Because you might be in labour, but at least you’re not. . .
-being turned evil by your macguffin.
-running after a band of uruk-hair for three days.
-a dwarf woman.
I’m 13 for 13. How many of these apply to you?
Pre-labour report: More contractions yesterday and last night, and then they calmed down again today. Bah! Fortunately my sister is now in town, and on her most distracting behaviour. I have now had contractions from 3 minutes to an hour apart for a week. Last night I wasn’t able to sleep for more than an hour and a half at a time. Gee, it’d sure be nice to have a baby about now.
Sherlock Holmes: A Game of Shadows
[Contraction report: Yesterday eased off by a lot, and in a sudden flash of energy I left the house for the second time since Christmas, and went and saw the new Sherlock Holmes with CJ. Today the contractions have been happening a fair bit since 4pm – it’s 10pm now – but I think they’re slowing down again. Stupid things. It’s a strange state, to be wishing for pain to hurry up.]
Some of you are aware of how very much I loved the first “Sherlock Holmes” film. The two films are close enough to steampunk that I’ve tagged this accordingly.
Sequels are a difficult thing to do well. Here’s four reasons why, and my comments on how successful this particular sequel has been:
1. The stakes must be greater than in the first movie – but not so great that they are either laughably ridiculous or disconnected to the hero’s personal goals.
In terms of general plot, the stakes are certainly larger. But the winner here is that the stakes are more personal. Full marks.
2. The villain must be more powerful – with the same caveats.
Moriarty is a MUCH better villain than Lord Blackwood (not that Lord Blackwood wasn’t a perfectly good villain – he was). He is the perfect opponent to Sherlock (and even more evil than Blackwood).
3. All the aspects that made the first film great must also be present in the next film – but without being repetitive or unoriginal.
There is still plenty of humour (particularly witty banter between Holmes and Watson) and plenty of action. Still quite a bit of Holmes-style deduction, but perhaps a smidgen less of each.
Much of the humour and character of the first film came from the odd domesticity of Holmes and Watson’s living arrangements, which often cause squabbles while the two men are otherwise busy having a fight scene. That juxtaposition of bickering and near-death experience is certainly still present, but the second movie deepens both their individual characters and their relationship. The actors became, if anything, even more charming and watchable than before. I was VERY impressed once again by the writers’ characterisation work.
One of the clever things about the first movie was the fight scenes, which happened once in slow motion in Holmes’ head, and then again in real time. Fights became (a) comprehensible to the viewer (unlike all too many modern fight scenes), and (b) incredibly intellectual (and all the more savage for it).
I was disappointed by the first fight scene in this movie, but it turned out I should have been more trusting. Each fight scene improved on the last, riffing on the slow-motion-in-Holmes’-head idea in a multitude of original ways. Each one was better than the one before. Again, I was seriously impressed.
The Victorian/steampunk feel is still present, although there are less devices and more gypsies.
If you enjoyed the supernatural thrills of the first movie – sorry, they’re gone (I say that’s a good thing).
There was one other aspect that I really enjoyed from the first film that is barely present in this film, but I can’t say what it is without ruining things for you 😛 I think the writers showed courage in the choices they made, and ultimately it paid off.
4. And the film must have its own unique X factor that makes it special in its own right.
The X-factor here is all about the three new characters – Moriarty, Mycroft (Stephen Fry!!!! Squee!), and the gypsy girl (whose name I can’t remember). The writers managed to introduce new spice to the existing cast without being indulgent of their own previous favourites or of the exciting new talent. That balance is extremely rare in a sequel (“Pirates of the Caribbean” became stupidly top-heavy due to having too many big names, each of whom had to have their own special scene), and I was impressed once more.
The film had two very silly scientific moments, but I forgive it, because they were very much played for laughs.
Contractions
Things roughly as painful as these contractions:
A light slap on the hand.
A child poking you to get your attention (sometimes slightly too hard, so you say “Ow” even though it doesn’t actually hurt).
Baby movements.
Things that are more painful than these contractions:
Sitting down/standing up (shifting three kilos of weight that’s already squashing my innards).
Turning over in bed (ditto, plus relaxin and stomach muscle issues – play along at home: try to turn over in bed without using your stomach or leg muscles because they’re not working right. You may not straighten your legs).
Leg cramps.
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After very few contractions overnight and on Wednesday (yesterday) morning, I had plenty during the day, but all minor. One of the best things about knowing they’re not fake contractions is that I don’t need to bother doing any timing or to worry about the fact that they tend to ease off when I go to bed. I know they’re real; that’s enough. Until they actually hurt, the best thing for me to do is to ignore them. (It is pretty annoying getting slapped – metaphorically – every five to ten minutes for days at a time, but it’s worth it.)
Last night I had some stronger contractions between 3 and 5am – just enough to wake me up – but right now I’m getting the mild ones again (but a lot of them).
Conclusion: the fact that they’ve never really stopped bodes well for the next 3-7 days. In my opinion.
Go into labour
Heh. Just kidding.
OR AM I?????
Here’s what I wrote at 5am on Tuesday morning (yesterday) – keeping in mind that I’m using the normal-person’s definition of “labour” as including “pre-labour” (hours or even days of mild contractions – for my sister, it was fifteen hours, I was there, and it was fun for everyone, even her):
I seem to be in labour. Probably. Either that or it’s just one more really crappy night of pregnancy. But probably labour.
Last Thursday I thought I might be starting down the road of labour. I had a few cramps each hour from 2am until 11pm. That’s 21 hours. And I felt nauseous in between. Then. . . nothing.
One problem is that there’s been so much going on in my belly for so long that I hardly know what’s what. Is that painful stretching sensation the baby moving, or Braxton Hicks, or the beginning of the end?
I THINK I’ve got it figured out now. Cramps are just nausea or Louisette punching my innards. When my skin feels really stretched and has starbusts of mild pain (less painful than a slap on the hand), it’s either Louisette kicking outwards (which I can feel or see easily enough), or it’s a contraction. The only difference between real and false contractions is that real ones occur fairly regularly for hours, and get gradually worse. And contractions actually, you know, DO stuff (inside).
I reckon my accuracy is at around 85%. (Or somewhat less, if this is another false alarm.)
I’m using a contraction timer app on CJ’s iphone, and I seem to be having contractions of around 1 minute in length every 3 and a half minutes. This is the point at which I can call the hospital if I want – or I can choose not to. Given that it’s not yet 6 in the morning, and they rarely hurt at all, I’m going to wait a bit. I’m also not posting this – not yet. Not until I’m more sure.
I’ve had quite a lot of cramps yesterday and today. Yesterday I felt really nauseous too, and totally exhausted by sitting up (not that I could have fallen asleep if I’d tried – the fatigue is entirely hormonal). Around 6pm I was getting a few proper contractions, but not at all close together. From about 11pm I felt there was a strong pattern of contractions (not cramps) about ten minutes apart. I’ve tried to sleep a few times, and failed.
For most of the night, I felt pretty good between contractions (enough to think I’d imagined the whole thing). Now my stomach never stops being squoofley, but it’s only as bad as a normal day’s nausea. The contractions are still not very painful. Every half hour or so one will hurt for a second or two, and I think, “Ah! This IS real.” But I could still be wrong.
I intend to blog another time or two during labour, and shortly after Louisette is born (oh! what a delicious thought – having her in my arms instead of my belly!)
Don’t call me or CJ, even if you happen to have our number. We’ll be busy for a long time – probably another twenty hours from now. So sit tight.
Also, don’t call us for the first week after the birth – and DEFINITELY don’t drop by our house unless you’re invited. We will need time to recover (without getting woken up unexpectedly) and get a teensy bit used to Louisette. If you really want to know more, or see Louisette, and you’re someone we know in real life – email me. My address is fellissimo at hot mail dot com.
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It’s more than 24 hours later, and no baby. So here’s what happened next:
At 7am yesterday (same day as the above), I called the backup midwife (mine was on leave until 8am) hoping she’d tell me “Yes this is pre-labour. In a few hours you’ll be in real labour. Tell CJ to call his work and start his maternity leave.” (Nothing had changed since 5am, but I wanted to know whether CJ should go to work or not.) I’d called the midwife the previous Thursday as well, and she was a lot warmer and more sympathetic last time. Embarassingly, my contractions seemed to stop the instant I spoke to her. She said it didn’t sound like I was having contractions at all, but would I like my visit with my usual midwife to be moved onto Tuesday (that day) instead of the next day. I said yes.
CJ went to work (his first day after a holiday break); I went to bed. It’s been a long time since I felt that disappointed, or that stupid. I’d stayed up all night, quite uncomfortable, and all I’d been doing was psychosomatically giving myself imitation contractions – and apparently not very convincing ones at that. I know what a huge cliche it is for a pregnant woman to think she’s in labour over and over again, and basically act hysterical and stupid. I thought I was more rational, more self-aware, calmer, and just generally smarter than that. Apparently not.
I slept a bit, and couldn’t help noticing my contractions weren’t nearly so frequent, and were milder – now that I’d proven I was an idiot. Pathetic.
I timed the “contractions” again later and they were back to being one minute long every five minutes, which made me hopeful again (with a side order of annoyance that my hypochondria was apparently more tenacious that I’d thought). My sister reckoned I was in pre-labour, but the kind that goes for days rather than hours. I thought it was nice of her to say so.
Eventually my normal midwife came over (the parking at the hospital is so bad that home visits are quite common). I felt more dignified immediately when she exclaimed in concern at my giant feet. I’d pointed them out to her two weeks ago and she wasn’t that impressed then, but apparently they’ve grown quite a bit (and yes, the skin hurts a little with the stretching – no big deal). She poked them a bit, and noted that my blood pressure is still fine – but she asked me to do a urine protein test all the same. This was the first time I’ve ever seen her concerned, and it was terribly gratifying. (My protein is fine, as I thought it was.) I also managed to have a contraction or two while she was here, and she felt my stomach and said, “Yes, I can feel it stiffen” – a genuine sign of a contraction (or a false contraction, but at least it wasn’t imaginary).
The only way to know for certain if I’d had any real contractions was for her to do an internal examination. She didn’t want to do one, and warned me that (a) It could prove that absolutely nothing was happening internally, after all my hundreds of supposed contractions, and (b) If I asked for an internal exam every few days, she would refuse.
I had to know, so she did it. (Apart from anything else, this means I know what an internal exam feels like, which will be useful when I do go into labour – familiar unpleasantness is always less scary than new unpleasantness.)
Here’s what happens, in order, before real labour begins: The cervix moves forward, softens, shortens, then begins to dilate (open). It’s usually at about 3cm before you go to hospital. (Then it opens to 10cm, then the pushing starts.)
My midwife told me later that she hadn’t expected any change – she’d thought, based on my description, that my contractions were false. It turned out that my cervix had already moved forward and was in the process of softening (technically it had dilated about a millimetre, but in medical terms it is still 100% closed).
So yes, I’m in pre-labour. It’s official. I’m neither an idiot nor a hypochondriac – in fact, since it was my descriptions that made two midwifes believe nothing was happening, I’m actually calmer and more stoic than the norm. Excellent.
Best of all, these contractions DID STUFF. I’m at the beginning of the end.
The down side (which doesn’t matter to me at present, because I didn’t expect any better) is that it could still be two weeks or more before I give birth. This might be the end, but it’s like the end of the “Lord of the Rings” trilogy. . . it’s the end that keeps on giving.
Today (Wednesday morning) the contractions have basically stopped. It could be days before anything else happens. And that’s fine for now.
Interestingly, I’m still not scared of labour. I’m scared of further nausea and the depression that comes with it on bad days, and I’m mildly dreading the experience of breastfeeding (but I do expect it’ll be okay when it happens – I just wish I could start the attempt sooner rather than later).
The three main types of labour pain relief are (1) gas and air (which sounded like a lot of fun until I discovered the side effect can be nausea and vomiting – no thank you). (2) Morphine (which can diminish the baby’s sucking reflex, making breastfeeding harder – no thank you). (3) Epidural (which can make labour longer, and increase the likelihood of a C-section* – for me, this is the best option of the three, but of course I’ll be aiming to do things the hard/safer way).
*C-sections have a reputation for being the easy way out. They’re so not. They’re major surgery, involving seven layers of stitching up afterwards, and six weeks of recovery time (with “normal” birth, it’s more like two weeks, and even that two weeks is not as severe). They’re sometimes necessary, however, and that’s just the way it is.
Free Stuff
CJ’s study is turning into Louisette’s room, but his desk is honestly too heavy to move upstairs. We wrote “computer desk” on our Christmas list and marked it as important (so he had someplace to put his computer, which is indeed important). A few days later, my sister-in-law called – she had a desk in her garage, and would we like it? We would indeed. It turned out that she herself had picked it up from the side of the road (traditional haunt of unwanted furniture), so it was free twice over. Definitely the best kind of recycling there is. And since I’m about to give birth to a bodily-fluid factory, I’m glad it’s not new or shiny.
Here it is, before getting taken over by CJ’s stuff:
Felicity Banks 