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:
Place your bets (again)
Only 5% of births actually happen on their due date. Care to hazard a guess as to when Louisette will arrive?
Some useful facts:
1. Statistically, the most likely day for first time mums is one day after the due date (which begs the question, why don’t doctors make THAT the due date?)
2. My mum was extremely late with all three of her babies – the first two were artificially induced after two weeks (but ultrasounds make due dates more accurate these days).
3. My sister’s baby came four days early. (I shall be drinking much raspberry leaf tea and other recommended birth-inducing things, as she did – although I haven’t aquired any of the tea yet.)
4. Louisette had “engaged” (head down and heading outwards – although in her case, only a tiny bit of the way) when my midwife last saw me, on Wednesday 21st. I think, based on the shift in nausea, that she engaged a week before that. In first pregnancies, birth usually happens two to four weeks after the baby engages. My sister’s baby was fully engaged three or four weeks before the birth.
5. My mum-in-law’s two children were both a month premature (that would be the equivalent of Wednesday last week) – but I don’t think mum-in-laws are any sort of guide.
At present, I’d like to give birth either tomorrow (since my midwife will be just back from her holiday leave) or on Thursday 12th (when my sister will be in town ready to help). My due date is the 18th, and if I’m late I’ll be induced on the 28th (unless for some bizarro reason I ask them to wait a few more days). Labour generally takes around thirty hours (including fifteen hours of uncomfy but not painful “pre-labour”) in my family.
I am not currently in labour 🙂
So, pick a day and place your bet!
Sarcastic Christmas Letter
It was the best of news, it was the worst of times.
January: For our two-year wedding anniversary, CJ and I flew in a hot air balloon over Canberra – and I began writing a steampunk novel featuring a ballooning bushranger.
February: We took a pre-emptive babymoon to Merimbula, and went horseriding for my birthday.
March: Began trying for a baby.
April: Had a chemical pregnancy (a miscarriage so early that I wasn’t even late – at the time, we thought it was a faulty test).
May: Pregnant! Woot! Immediately began eating all kinds of super-healthy food, and prepping frozen meals for first-trimester nausea. First-trimester nausea hit, and hit hard. Went to hospital twice, lost seven kilos, and didn’t eat a proper meal for two months.
June: Very sick. Began taking zofran. Gave up most of my work (all of it casual).
July: Very sick, but improving. CJ subbed in at my remaining jobs. Cats showed sympathy by throwing up around the house.
August: Sick, but able to work four hours a week. A USA agent requested the full manuscript of my novel (but later rejected it).
September: Sick.
October: Sick.
November: Sick. Also muscle pain and sudden intense fatigue as the January due date drew closer. A second US agent requested the full manuscript of the finished steampunk novel.
December: Sick. Didn’t give birth. Note to self: Next time you create life, use cadavers and electricity.
Coming next year: A baby! The ability to brush my teeth without risking vomit! A thrilling adventure to Hong Kong and Beijing! More surprises! Writing success at last??
“The Nomad of Time” by Michael Moorcock
This is the first book in an alternate history trilogy (that is certainly steampunk, although it predates the first use of the term. Suffice to say, there are airships and an exploration of colonialism). I tend to cordially dislike classics because of the slow pacing and lack of character depth, and I did not expect to finish the book.
The rest of this review has been moved to Comfy Chair, where I get paid for it.
Writing and Money
Here is an article on royalties, advances, and making money as a writer. I haven’t actually read it (too tired), but it sounds like useful stuff. My advice? Always get a good advance – it’s often all you ever get.
Obscure Relatives
One of the main side effects of Christmas (along with stretched waistlines and strained credit cards) is seeing relatives one doesn’t usually run into. Pictured here is just one small branch from my dad’s side of the family (and my parents on the right). I’ve actually lost count of how many cousins I have – seventeen or eighteen, I believe. There’s another family of seven on my mum’s side, but they’re even harder to get into one room at one time (presumably because they’re supervillains with secret identities).
This particular group (if you include my parents and I) hasn’t been in one room for seven years. But we managed it on Christmas Eve, and had a rather nice lunch.
I’d like to think there’s some kind of forced perspective happening in the following photo, because I swear I’ve made CJ look smaller.
The near future
Soon I will be un-pregnant. It is three weeks until the due date (and two weeks until both my sister and my midwife are in town, ready to go). I may actually be early (typically – though of course not always – once the baby has descended, the birth is two-four weeks away. According to my personal estimate, it has been two weeks already). That probably means this is the last pre-labour recitation of the peculiar things going on in my body.
Since I rarely leave the house, and do almost nothing (yesterday was a big day: I showered AND brushed my teeth, and wore clothes instead of PJs for several hours – oh, and about half an hour of light housework, too!), my hip and back pain is minimal. I’m physically very weak (I’ve had to stop properly closing my cough medicine bottle, because I’m not strong enough to open the child lock) and very unco (dropped literally ten items yesterday – and yes, I’m actually using literally in the correct sense). Turning over at night is more difficult than ever because of pain, weakness, and nausea at each stage (turning over has had stages for a while now).
Lately the nausea has grown worse, although it’s also changed (mostly for the better). I feel sick longer, and my digestive system is more screwed up than ever (it’s truly peculiar), but there’s less reflux. Clearly, as Louisette moves downwards, there is a 2.7-kilo weight on my bladder and bowel, and a little less pressure on my oesophagus (which is GREAT because I find it deeply insulting to feel so sick and so exhausted, only to feel so much worse when I lie down – and I’ve long since altogether given up ever being truly horizontal). I can definitely feel when she punches my bladder. For a few seconds I suddenly really, really need to pee – and then I don’t.
She is upside down, with her head basically inside my hips (which means that I have a new and different kind of hip pain – very much a pain in the bone rather than the muscles). Her back fills the left side of my belly, and her bum is in the neighbourhood of my belly button. Most of her movement is therefore on the right side of my belly, and I feel much sicker when I lie on my right side.
I have had two more severe leg cramps in my right calf, both of which were excruciating for a short time and then made me limp for two days. Every time I lie down, both of my legs immediately stiffen up. The muscle is incredibly brittle, and it makes me want to stretch – but I can’t stretch, because that is likely to trigger another excruciating cramp and more limping. So I’m careful to never so much as straighten either leg when I’m lying down.
The lower half of my belly has plenty of vertical stretch marks, which doesn’t particularly bother me. In amongst the stretch marks is a bubble of raised skin like a mostly-healed scar from a second-degree burn. This turns out to be a lump of muscle that has “separated”. Gross, hey? It is only mildly painful (much like a mostly-healed scar from a second-degree burn, as it happens – been there, done that), but it does feel rather weird and more painful when A Certain Someone kicks it.
About two weeks ago, my feet and ankles suddenly swelled up, and my shoe size increased by about two sizes in a matter of hours (I can squeeze into my thongs if necessary, but mostly I wear CJ’s shoes or stay barefoot). Sudden, lasting swelling can be a sign of high blood pressure (which can be Very Bad Indeed), but my blood pressure has remained low.
It so happens that I took a photo of one of my feet very early on (to demonstrate my deliciousness to mozzies), so here’s a handy comparison of then and now:
Here are some of the things I’m looking forward to when I’m not pregnant any more:
Erm. . . having a baby.
Lying down without pain or nausea. Particularly being able to lie down and read a book at the same time (for some reason, holding a book makes me sicker).
Turning over in bed without pain or nausea or planning a turning-over strategy.
Drinking water without difficulty. Also drinking soft drink, mint juleps, juice, and even a little alcohol.
Wearing my wedding ring. Wearing all the clothes I usually like to wear (including, someday, jeans). Wearing my shoes. Wearing heels. Wearing boots. Wearing my corset (. . . at some point).
Getting off all the medicines I’m now on – especially metamucil, which is extra hideous when you’re nauseous (I assume the daily metamucil dose will return to my life within a few years; it’s part of being over twenty years old, really).
Knowing what I’m in for, baby-wise (colic? bad health? a determined escapee? someone who wakes thirteen times a night?) Making plans for the near future with some idea of what they’ll involve.
Running errands – any time of day! They’ll be far more complex, but I don’t care!
Brushing my teeth twice a day, every day.
Eating – anything I want to! Bacon! Soft cheese! All the things that currently make me nauseous! Vegetables! Lollies! Nuts! Fruit! Chicken! Bread! Different types of breakfast cereal! Sushi!
Exercise! It’ll be a while, but someday I’ll be able to do more than two minutes of slow-motion exercise a week. I’ll be able to walk! At a normal speed! I’ll be able to lift groceries, and pick things up off the floor without needing half an hour to recover! One day, I’ll be able to swim again! Plus, I’ll be able to do my share of household work!
Less nightmares (although my wacky pregnancy dreams have had some good moments – I particularly enjoyed my crime-fighting dream, which is apparently what my subconscious thinks early parenthood is like).
Christmas (well duh)
This is what Christmas looks like at CJ’s parents’ house, where we spent our Christmas Day:
And this is what CJ and I look like three seconds after the last presents are unwrapped (CJ is reading the latest “Girl Genius” graphic novel, and I’m reading “Ember and Ash” by Pamela Freeman *double swoon*):
What’s a spinster to do?
If your child’s room is cluttered like mad with clashing paraphernalia, they’re not messy – they’re expressing their inward Victorian.
