…and no more. At last my nine month project has come to fruition.
It weighs 6lbs (2.72kg) and is a girl called Robyn. She arrived on Saturday, 19 June, at 3:37am and has kept me busy ever since.
My contractions started before 6am on the Wednesday morning. Irregular, hurting a bit and more annoying than anything else. They carried on…and on…and on. As time progressed the pain got worse. By Friday afternoon I was getting fed up. One of the most annoying questions the hospital can ask you when you phone in is “How regular are your contractions?”. They want to hear between three and five minutes before they tell you to come in, otherwise you run the risk of being sent home and that’s the last thing any pregnant woman wants to do. My problem was that they were never regular. Eight minutes, three, fifteen, two in a row. Friday evening my response to contractions weren’t “owowowowowowow” anymore but escalated to “ow&!*$ow&!*$ow&!*$ow&!*$ow” in a rather loud manner. Early Saturday morning I told Neil: “That’s it. We’re going to hospital whether they like it or not because I can’t take it anymore.”
We arrived at Southend-on-Sea Hospital at 2:30am. At 3am the midwife measured me between three and five centimeters dilated. When we asked how long she thought before it will all be over she said within a couple of hours. I think she was slightly shocked by how quickly Robyn came. With a little help from my friend Entonox (happy gas) and nothing else I got through it. All I remember was that the last two contractions were excruciatingly painful and the hospital had to get handymen in for roof repairs afterwards. Strangely it is a liberating experience to yell at the top of your lungs – it is MY vagina tearing in two and I can scream as much and loud as I like, thank you very much! On numerous occasions in my dreams I had screamed and worryingly no sound came out whatsoever – so I am happy to report my lungs are in perfect working condition. 🙂
Apologies that this post is not food-related. The only thing I can think of is the placenta. Who of you are willing to eat it? Apparently it is majorly nutritious. Although I consider myself to be an adventurous eater I think I will pass on it this lifetime. Of course, before eating another woman’s I’d rather eat my own…. but that would be auto-cannibalism, won’t it? Gross.
I am proud to say I limped out of the hospital at 10am on the same day and have recovered much quicker than the first time round. Here are some pictures we took…
Only eight hours old and in desperate need of a bath, Robyn looks a bit bloody here.
A little angel when she sleeps, which she has done a lot of the first week or so…until she got colic the past two days…
…which means we wind her a lot for what it’s worth. But boy, I mean girl, can she fart!
And how has Gabriel reacted to all this? Better than expected! He immediately took on the role of the protective big brother and constantly checks up on her.
So much so he sometimes wakes her up by trying to hold her hand!
When “Poepies Slaapkous” isn’t sleeping she looks around her in awe…
…and practises her best tortoise impression.
Now I’ll have to love and leave you guys because I have a little gourmet to feed. Recipes will resume soon…ish!