How time flies.  The truth is that having a baby and working full time doesn’t leave much time for blogging.  I say baby, but she’s almost eighteen months old!  She has a sister on the way, too, due in May, so we’ll be in for double trouble very soon.

I’ve mentioned in previous posts that I intended to talk about feeding.  This is a topic that became very important for us because, as you will see below, our path from breast to bottle to weaning wasn’t a straightforward one.  I, like a significant number of mothers, intended to breast feed.  I said I would try it and see how it went.  I was prepared to persevere to a certain degree, but not averse to using formula if that proved to be the best option for all of us.  I like to think that I was pretty open-minded.

M was a big baby.  She was almost ten and a half pounds, chubby-cheeked and big all over.  Like all newborns, her weight immediately dropped.  I kept breastfeeding her and waited for her to regain her birth weight.  She was a fairly regular 3-hour feeder.  After over three weeks, when she still wasn’t gaining, the midwife suggested that I top up her daytime feeds with formula.  That would make it easier for us to monitor how much she was eating without disrupting my milk production too much.  Four weeks passed, then five.  Towards the end of that week she finally managed to regain her weight.  I was signed off by the midwife and put under the care of the health visitor.

Not long after this we started to notice that things weren’t quite right.  She was hungry at her usual times, and would signal that she wanted feeding, but after a couple of minutes would arch her back, scream, and refuse to eat any more (breast or bottle).  Because she was miserable and still hungry, we would try again and again to get her to eat, all with the same result.  We switched to Dr Brown’s anti-colic bottles.  Nothing worked and her daily intake of milk decreased steadily. I downloaded an iPhone app and recorded every diminishing feed.  My life started to revolve around millilitres, ounces and feeding lengths.  It was miserable.

I went to the weigh-in clinic.  M had dropped from the 95th centile to the 25th.  I looked around at all the big, bouncing babies and then at my long, skinny waif.  I felt awful.  She was totally reliant on me to keep her clean, comfortable and fed, and I was failing.  The health visitor told me that I wasn’t feeding her regularly enough and instructed me to feed her every two hours, even if that meant waking her throughout the night.  In fact, she went as far as to say that I should change her nappy and splash her bottom with cold water to wake her if she was groggy (which I point blank refused to do).  I was made to feel that it was my fault.  I went home and cried.

Against my instincts I tried to implement the 2-hour feeding plan.  It was disastrous.  Now I had a confused, tired baby on my hands as well as a hungry one.  Her natural pattern of sleeping and eating was totally disrupted, I was exhausted and strung out, and still she refused to eat.  Her skin became blotchy and flaky and, for the first time, she seemed genuinely unhappy in herself.  Finally I took her to see the doctor.  It seems stupid now, but I was so conscious of being labelled with the ‘neurotic first-time Mum’ tag that I felt nervous about going.  I didn’t want someone else to patronise me, or to make me feel even more of a failure.  I really wasn’t thinking clearly.

The doctor was absolutely wonderful to us.  For the first time I felt as if someone actually believed that M had a problem and wanted to get to the bottom of it.  She listened kindly to everything that I had to say while I sobbed in her office.  She diagnosed two things: a likely milk allergy and silent reflux.  M’s little insides were inflamed, due to the allergy, and causing her burning pain every time she tried to eat.  Her priority was to alleviate the distress being caused to both of us and to get her eating again as soon as possible.  She prescribed Neocate for the allergy and a combination of Ranitidine and Domperidone for the reflux.  We were told that it would take up to two weeks before we saw any effect but that things should improve.

She also diagnosed something that my mother and husband both already suspected, that I was in the grip of post-natal depression (again a topic for another post).  At her insistence, my husband was asked to take a fortnight off work to supervise the feeding. I was not allowed to feed M at all, or even be in the room when she was being fed, and the endless monitoring of how much she was consuming was forbidden.  We were told that it would take up to two weeks before we saw any effect.  I expressed milk during this time, to keep my production going, but really this signalled the beginning of the end of breastfeeding for us.

Slowly and surely, she improved.  Within a week she seemed more comfortable.  Gone were the screams and the arched back.  Her complexion got better, her smile returned and, importantly for me, so did her chubby cheeks. By the time we returned to the doctor a fortnight later, she looked as healthy as any other baby.  Still long and lean, but healthy.  It felt like a black cloud had lifted.

We were lucky, I know we were.  Our doctor recognised that there was a real problem, rather than a minor bump in the road that the baby would ‘grow out of’.  Thereafter, her approach was to diagnose the worst-case scenario and treat it accordingly.  She didn’t make us wait, or go through a lengthy process of eliminating certain things (tricky, to be honest, on an all-milk diet).  She told me to wean her as soon after 4 months as I felt comfortable (which I did, and I’ve never seen a baby vacuum down baby porridge like she did) and later on to introduce dairy products as part of the normal weaning process; small and infrequent quantities of yoghurt and cheese, no actual cows’ milk.  At around one year we started replacing the Neocate with soya formula, one scoop at a time, and by about 15 months she was drinking soya only.  Other than the fact that she’s still not had actual milk (we’re going to introduce that under the doctor’s supervision once she’s past 18 months), I’m pleased to report that she now has a good appetite and an adventurous palate.

Other friends of mine have been fobbed off when they’ve had problems with feeding.  There’s the pressure to keep breastfeeding at all costs, as if that will solve everything.  Then that unhelpful word ‘colic’ gets bandied about (there are some medical practitioners that suspect that all ‘colic’ is actually a symptom of some underlying allergy or intolerance).  More often than not, the whole thing is attributed to the mother/father being neurotic.  I honestly think that we need to dig our heels in more and demand to be taken seriously.  Surely the priority absolutely must be to get the baby feeding and thriving?  Once that’s been achieved, it’s OK to gently experiment with different formulas and foods, not before.  Our babies can’t speak to us and tell us what is wrong … they can only signify that they are in pain or distress and they need to be listened to.


A couple of good friends at work are expecting their first babies in the next few weeks, and we’ve been talking about buying those all-important baby essentials before the big day.  It’s possible to spend an absolute fortune on every baby gizmo and gadget known to mankind, like a friend of mine who bought everything in one toe-curlingly expensive spree at John Lewis a week before the birth, but that doesn’t have to be the case.

Please bear in mind that this post is based entirely on my own opinion (with a bit of received advice thrown in) and there will be parents who disagree with me wholeheartedly.

So, where to shop?  We bought most of our new stuff from (by far my favourite retailer), (especially great if you join their Parenting Club), Marks & Spencer, (if you can forgive them for their tax-dodging, then their ‘subscribe and save’ scheme is good value for ongoing bulk items like nappies and wipes) and Mothercare.  Mothercare are really good for clothes, offer great customer service, and will price match most of the major retailers on high-ticket branded items.  For example, we spoke to their car seat specialist in-store, chose the model we wanted, and at the till they matched the price shown on  We are also lucky enough to live near a Fara secondhand baby shop, and have purchased some really lovely clothes from them.  I know other parents who swear by local NCT secondhand sales, too.

Now, on to the essentials.

It’s worth bearing in mind that people are extraordinarily generous when it comes to new babies.  We were inundated with gifts of new and nearly new things when she was born.  So unless you are particularly wedded to, for example, the fetching green tartan knickerbocker and cardigan set that you’ve seen in JoJo Maman Bebe, you might want to wait.  All we really needed for the first few weeks were some long-sleeved and short-sleeved vests and some babygros/sleepsuits.  Not to put too fine a point on it, everything gets covered in sick and poo anyway.  Personally I really like the packs of M&S vests and sleepsuits because they’re great value, good quality and survive multiple washing.

You can never, ever have too many muslins.  I’d say ten at a minimum, twenty if you don’t want to be forever searching for a clean one.  Not only are they perfect for endless mop-ups, but a friend told me that they’re one of the best things for teething babies to gnaw on.

Nappies are astonishingly expensive.  I had lofty ideas about using the washable ones with liners, but must confess that after a day or so of using disposables I conceded that it was one more hassle we didn’t need.  For this I apologise unreservedly to the environment (and have redoubled my recycling efforts to compensate).  We tried a few of the branded and non-branded ones and, in my opinion, Pampers are by far the best.  By contrast, my favourite wipes aren’t from a major brand (‘Little Bundles’ sensitive wipes) and are a fraction of the cost, with Sainsbury’s ‘Little Ones’ coming a close second.  Bear in mind that you don’t need wipes to start with and cotton wool pads and warm water will do (unless it’s poo-mageddon, of course, in which case you’ll have to bung them in the bath anyway).  Good quality olive oil is great for any sore or dry patches on their skin.

Unless you love the smell of stale baby faeces, a nappy bin is a great idea.  We were given a Tommee Tippee Sangenic one.  OK, it’s probably not an absolute essential, but I’ve been mighty grateful for it.

You will need a changing bag and mat for when you are out.  There are zillions of branded changing bags on the market.  My issue with those is that they tend to be very expensive and very girly … I like to think that N has ‘new man’ credentials but it’s rather mean to send him off to the loos with a large bag covered in daisies.  We bought a simple satchel-style canvas bag (pockets are useful) from M&S and it’s served us very well.  That said, I’ve just bought a pair of ‘hamster bags’ which can either be carried over your shoulder or clipped to the side of a buggy which may supercede our current bag.  If they’re good, I would probably have used something like that from the outset.

Probably my favourite and most useful item is my Skip Hop Pronto changing mat.  It’s a mat with a removable nappy pocket and wipes pocket attached, with an additional external zip pocket that could hold, say, a wallet and mobile phone.  When rolled up it’s not much bigger than a large clutch bag.  It will hold about six nappies, which is enough for a normal day, and we never leave home without it.  Bearing in mind that a lot of venues have inadequate or dirty changing facilities, it’s great to have something clean and comfortable that can be rolled out almost anywhere.  I love the design and practicality of this and can’t recommend this more highly.

For feeding, I bought a Tommee Tippee set that had several bottles, a steam steriliser and a bottle warmer.  The steriliser is brilliant and we still use it now.  With a bit of creative thinking it will fit other bottles too.  The bottle warmer seemed a luxury at the time, but turned out to be incredibly convenient.  Heating bottles in the microwave isn’t advisable (you can get hot spots) and faffing about with boiling water is a pain (and quite tricky if you’re holding a baby that you’d rather not scald).

We used the Tommee Tippee bottles to begin with, but quickly ended up getting Dr Brown’s bottles (the anti-colic ones) because poor little M was taking in so much air that she was in a lot of pain.  These bottles are a bit fiddly to wash, but the milk flow is beautifully smooth and bubble-free.  Again, we still use them now, although over time we have migrated from stage 1 teats (perfect for the first few months) to Boots’ own-label wide-necked ‘variflow’ teats that fit perfectly and allow for faster flow as their consumption increases.

I’m going to write a separate post on the subject of feeding, because we had some issues with that, but I’ll just make a quick observation about formula.  You may intend to breastfeed exclusively for as long as possible.  I certainly did.  However, it makes sense to have some formula at home, just in case.  You can get little cartons of pre-mixed Aptamil, if you don’t want to buy a huge tub of powder, and having a couple of those in the cupboard will prevent a midnight dash to the chemist when you’re exhausted, you have no more milk and the baby is screaming blue murder.  70p well spent, in my opinion.

I mentioned in the previous post that I found the whole issue of sleep very nerve-wracking.  That fear was alleviated by a few purchases.  Our baby monitor is excellent.  It is a Tomy one with a sensor pad that goes under the mattress and monitors the baby’s breathing.  I think you can get the pad to fit with any of their monitors (and I’m sure other brands make them too).  For me this was a better choice than a video monitor (I would’ve sat up all night staring at it).

Sleeping bags are a truly wonderful invention, and the Kiddicare ‘Funky Friends’ and ‘O Baby’ ones are fabulous.  They’re comfy and cosy, wash really well, and mean that the baby can’t slip under the covers.  If you need additional covers, go for cellular blankets.  Ours came from Mothercare.

I wasn’t going to buy a Moses basket (I thought the pram bassinet would suffice to start with) and then we were given one.  As it transpired, it was brilliant to be able to carry her around without waking her up.  She slept in it really well.  I also realised that our pram bassinet wouldn’t sit flat anywhere apart from in its own wheel base, so it would have been impossible to move around indoors with ease.  After a few weeks she was already getting too big for the basket, so we migrated her to a travel cot which we set up beside our bed.  Given that the recommendation is that they stay in your room for 6 months, you need something fairly substantial.  We went for the Graco Contour cot that has a bassinet that fits in the top for when they are small.  The bassinet makes all the difference (trust me, your spine will thank you).  It was fantastic while it was her permanent bed, and it’s still great as a travel cot.  You can get a very fancy one that vibrates, but we didn’t bother … she’s a baby, not a cocktail.  The only thing to be wary of is the mattress.  It’s like a thin piece of lino and I wouldn’t dream of putting her on it.  I bought the mattresses for her travel cot and cot-bed from and am delighted with both.  They are good quality and really comfortable.

We decided on a cot-bed rather than a cot as it lasts until they’re a few years old.  I strongly recommend that you get one that has three mattress levels, and a drop side (think of that spine again!).  We got a Saplings Stephanie pine one from and I have absolutely no complaints.  It was even easy to assemble.  Please remember that cot bumpers are not recommended as they’re dangerous (they’re also unbearably twee, but that’s just a personal thing!).

I’m sure entire blogs have been devoted to the subject of buggies, prams and travel systems.  We looked at a few models and eventually bought a Bugaboo Cameleon secondhand from a friend.  It was wonderful while she was in the bassinet (for which I bought a new mattress from from because it’s so big and sturdy and safe.  Increasingly it has become too bulky and unwieldy for my liking, and I’ve contemplated pushing it into the Thames on more than one occasion (minus the baby, of course), but it’s all about personal preference.  A lot of people go for the Bugaboo Bee which is smaller, lighter and more compact, so it will last much longer, whereas I have conceded defeat and ordered a Maclaren Techno stroller.

Some brands come with a footmuff already (Bugaboo don’t, and their branded ones are extortionately expensive) but, if not, Buggy Snuggles are lovely and fit most buggies.  Our little monkey looks so cozy in hers that I get actively jealous.

We bought the Maxi Cosi Cabriofix car seat (rear-facing) with the FamilyFix Isofix base.  Both are easy to install and simple to use.  My only gripe with the car seat is that you cannot move the carry handle forwards or backwards with one hand; you need to release the clips on both sides do to it.  If I ruled the world, all baby items would be required by law to be operable with one hand only!  Other than that it’s brilliant, and she is very comfortable in it.  It’s also very straightforward to secure it with a seatbelt if you’re in a taxi, for example.  Because our M is quite a little baby, we’re only thinking about replacing it with the next model now.

I mentioned Gina Ford and Tracy Hogg books in the previous post.  In addition, Dr Miriam Stoppard’s ‘Complete Baby & Childcare’ is a great one-stop reference guide to the early months and years.

I think that’s about it in terms of essentials.  I could wax lyrical about baby bouncers and inflatable play nest rings (both very useful if you want to, for instance, go to the loo), bath seats (not very helpful in the bath but useful as a kind of ‘towel seat’ in which to plonk the baby afterwards and wrap them up), bumbos (M loathed hers) and all sorts of things, but I’d be here all night.  Happy shopping.

Our lovely little girl celebrated her first birthday at the weekend.  On the one hand I’m staggered by how quickly that birthday has come around and yet, on the other, it’s hard to remember a time when she wasn’t part of our lives.  Watching our great big girl tucking into her birthday cake gave me cause to reflect on how far she (and we) have come in that first year.  However organised or prepared we thought we were, nothing really made us feel ready for that terrifying walk from the post-natal ward to the hospital car park.

I think that sums up the early days for me: the fact that we had this vulnerable, fragile and terribly precious person in our care.  Of course we were delighted with her, and over the moon to be parents, but it didn’t alter the fact that we arrived home with that all-too-familiar sense of ‘what the hell do we do now?’  Well, we did what every new parent does, we got on with it and learnt as we went.  Some things were immediately successful, some quite the opposite, but we got there.

I should say that I was lucky to have come out of the birth relatively unscathed (apart from some minor internal grazing).  This meant that I was in good physical shape for the challenges of the early days.  A word of warning, though.  I was told ‘you will bleed for a few days after the birth’.  That translated as ‘you will be like a leaky bucket for several weeks’.  Not a problem, and easier than dealing with, say, a caesarean, but I wish I’d been a little better prepared for that.  Other than feeling a little woozy sometimes in the first week, and having to retreat for a warm bath and a lie down, I was fine.

I knew I wanted to get her into some sort of routine.  I personally think that if you have no routine at all, you will go stark raving mad.  Several friends had waxed lyrical about Gina Ford, and an equal number of them had spoken of her as some kind of parenting antichrist.  Personally, I found a lot of her advice very useful (especially in terms of baby essentials and items to avoid), but her actual routine is far too didactic for me.  There are also a few things that I have to disagree with; she insists, for example, that a baby is always put to sleep in a pitch black and silent room, whereas I’m rather pleased that our baby will happily doze off in a noisy pub in broad daylight.

I actually found Tracy Hogg’s ‘Secrets Of The Baby Whisperer’ much more helpful.  Her ‘E.A.S.Y.’ schedule is more of a pattern than a routine, and it really worked for us.  To be honest, we didn’t have to try very hard.  M’s natural pattern seemed to match the ‘E.A.S.Y’ one very well.  It gave our days (and nights) some structure and made us feel that we had some semblance of control.  I don’t think chaos would’ve been good for M or for us.  The way we approached it was by getting the evening routine sorted out first.  After a few weeks we were bathing her regularly at 7pm and putting her down by about 7.15.  Having a regular bedtime led quite quickly to regular waking (1am and 7am, eventually).  Daily bathing did dry her skin out, however, so we now bathe her every other day.

The scariest thing of all, for me, was sleep.  I’m certain that the fear of SIDS means that all new parents are concerned about the potential hazards of putting a baby down, whether for a quick daytime nap or at night.  In the first few weeks she either slept in her bassinet (if we were out) or her Moses basket (indoors during the day and beside our bed at night).  For her night-time sleep we had (and still use) a baby monitor with a mat that goes under the mattress to keep tabs on the baby’s breathing.  At the beginning I would barely take my eyes off of the monitor but now I simply keep one ear open for its reassuring ‘tick … tick … tick’.  We also put her in a sleeping bag from the outset (having decided against swaddling) because that eliminated any issues with her becoming tangled in sheets or blankets.

It’s easy to become quite agoraphobic with a newborn.  I think there are two reasons for this.  Firstly, going out requires lots of preparation (gone are the days when I’d just check my pockets for wallet, keys and phone before leaving the house).  Secondly, it’s much easier to deal with problems (leaky nappies, wet clothes, vomiting, endless crying) if you are safely behind your front door.  The first issue can be dealt with on a very practical level.  We bought a bag (a very plain and unisex one, so N wouldn’t feel daft carrying it) and kept it permanently stocked.  It was always in her buggy and contained a changing mat, nappies, wipes, a change of clothes, a muslin, a pre-measured bottle of water, formula and hand sanitiser.  As she’s got older, it now contains things like snacks, a drink, suncream and Calpol.  This means that you can leave the house at five minutes notice.  That leaves the second issue and, frankly, there’s no easy fix.  You just have to take the bull by the horns and get out there.  N noticed that I was staying in a lot and he would ask me every morning what my plans were for the day and encourage me to go out.  Also, one of my NCT friends set up a Whatsapp group for all of us and we would constantly chatter about what we could do, where we could go, when we could meet.  It didn’t have to be anything major.  I made a point, for example, of always taking M for a long afternoon walk around the Common.  That was our routine for months, and I really enjoyed it.

Very soon, and relatively easily, everything became second nature.  As she has grown her routine has changed (she now only naps twice a day, for example, and I think that will decrease to one nap quite soon) but a lot of the basic principles we employed at the very beginning still hold true.  We tried to tread a line between her needs and our wants.  Did we get it right?  She’s a happy, contented little thing, so I like to think that we did.

I arrived home last night and asked N whether he’d seen my new blog post.  He said that he had and remarked, rather huffily, that he felt he warranted more than a brief mention at the end.  I said that he would be the subject of the next post.  I don’t think he believed me, so here I am, proving him wrong.

It must be a peculiar thing, being the partner of a pregnant woman.  You’re part of the pregnancy, and yet you’re not.  From the moment that I knew that I was pregnant, I felt both mentally and physically different.  It was impossible not to.  And yet for N, life continued much as normal.  He said to me that the turning point was our first scan.  I thought that it would take several minutes for the sonographer to find the baby, but she put the wand on my stomach and bang, there she was.  A grainy but distinct face on the screen.  N grabbed my hand.  He said that was the moment when it all became real.

Our little monkey, however, wasn’t interested in inviting her Daddy to the party.  As time went on she began to move around and kick.  I would point to the strange lumps and bumps she made, and they’d instantly disappear.  I’d grab his hand to place it where she was kicking, and she’d become perfectly still.  She was not prepared to perform for anyone.  We laughed about it but I wished that he could have been able to join in a bit more.

That said, he did have a free chauffeur for nine months.

It was when we went to our series of ante-natal classes (we did hospital ones as well as NCT ones) that it became clear just how vital a role he could play in the late stages of the pregnancy, the labour and the birth itself.  Not for him the ‘sit in the pub and have a cigar when it’s all over’ scenario of our own fathers and grandfathers.  I think it’s a credit to both the NHS and the NCT that they were both so keen to inform and involve the partners.  He was the one busily taking notes about contraction timings, hospital bags, pain relief options and potential complications, because he knew that he’d be the person best placed to deal with all of those things as and when the time came.  I was both amused and delighted when he came home one day with several copies of our birth plan, illustrated and laminated, for us to take to the hospital with us (I didn’t want to think too hard about why the lamination might be necessary, to be honest!).

When it came to the crunch, he swung into action like a trooper.  The bags were packed, the car was full of petrol and he orchestrated the to-ing and fro-ing from the hospital without a hitch (he also paid the eye-watering parking charges at the hospital, but that’s another story).  He knew what our preferences were, he knew what options should be available to me and, importantly, he kept my head high and a smile on my face when our carefully constructed plans took a 180 degree turn.  I think that, secretly, he was a little disappointed that everyone in the hospital was so fabulously accommodating because he’d wanted to play the role of Superhero Husband a little more, but I could be wrong.

He bought lots of food for me, only to discover that I wasn’t allowed to eat any of it.  Undeterred, he stocked up on jelly babies and tactfully ate his own lunch in a corner when I wasn’t looking.  He breathed with me.  He held me steady while they put needles into my spine.  He cracked jokes.  He lifted me into the bathroom when I couldn’t walk any more.  He spurred me on with encouraging words when I was at the absolute end of my tether.  He got closer to a lot more gore than he really wanted to.  He told me that he loved me when M was finally born.

And, of course, he got to do all of that wonderful father-y stuff.  He cut the cord (tougher than he thought it would be, apparently) and, while I was busily dispensing of the placenta, he took off his t-shirt and hugged his little baby girl to his chest.  I’d been a bit worried about how he’d bond with the baby (having been told how one of his friends had really struggled to do so) but knew in that moment that he was smitten.

I’m also obliged to say that as soon as the midwife was out of the room he was begging to have a go on the gas and air.  Which, of course, he did.

In the blissful calm after the birth, while I munched on a warm scotch egg (don’t ask … I was ravenous) and contemplated a nice hot shower, I felt immensely proud of him.  I genuinely couldn’t have done it without him, and for that I am eternally grateful.

Well, it’s been just over a year since my last post, and several months since I sat down to start this one, which gives you some idea of how time consuming a baby can be!

Baby M arrived, slap bang on her due date, on Friday 3rd August.  Here she is, not very long after she was born.


So … how did it go?  Well, the first thing I should say is that absolutely all of our plans went straight out of the window.  We’d said all along that we were prepared to be flexible, but it was still difficult to let some things go.  I’ll walk through the labour and birth step by step (so those of a sensitive disposition should definitely look away now!).

My waters broke at 1am on Wednesday morning.  Not the crazy torrent I’d been expecting, just a weird trickle.  At my most recent check, the midwife had told me that the baby’s head wasn’t engaged so I should get in touch with them if this happened.  So, after a couple of phone calls, we found ourselves at St. Thomas’ at 3 in the morning.  They alerted me to three things.  Part of the waters had indeed broken (I didn’t realise they don’t always break all in one go), I had 24-36 hours to go into labour naturally before they would want to induce me (there is a risk of infection once waters break) and I was measuring very large, indicating that the baby would be big.  They couldn’t agree on the measurement, bizarrely (44cm – 48cm depending who you asked), but all agreed she was likely to be a whopper.  Clearly it wasn’t exactly what I wanted to hear, and I wasn’t entirely sure what I was supposed to do with that information.  They then sent us home and told us to encourage labour (no sex, though, not with broken waters!).

So, slowly, our plans evaporated.  I wouldn’t be able to attempt a waterbirth, would have to be in the hospital birth centre not the home-from-home, would need constant monitoring of the baby’s heartbeat and would be placed on an antibiotic drip.  All this in addition to the likely induction.  I have to be honest, I struggled to get my head around this. I’d become more wedded to my plan than I’d realised.

My labour encouragement activities included a long walk on the Common, a Thai curry and a large G&T.  By about 1am Thursday morning I was starting to contract (like mild period pains) and was optimistic about labour.  While my husband slept, I bounced on my Swiss ball, watched crappy TV, and waited. I started to make progress.  However, when we arrived at the hospital at 9am as requested, everything ground to a halt.  It was incredibly frustrating. I was admitted, and told that they could give me until 1pm before inducing me.

So we waited. If ever a woman willed labour to start by sheer force of the mind, it was me.  I didn’t want to be induced.  But, no joy.  Shortly before lunchtime the midwife, Jess, came and told me that we needed to get going.  She also asked me whether I was considering having an epidural.  I was quite surprised by this, given midwives’ general antipathy towards epidurals.  She explained that an induction will bring on labour very quickly (from 0 to 60, if you like) and it can be quite overwhelming.  Because of the baby’s size, I was also warned about something called shoulder dystocia.  This is when the baby’s head is delivered but one of the shoulders gets stuck behind the pelvic bone, and can lead to some fairly extreme measures being taken in order to get the baby out.  For all of those reasons, an epidural would be a good idea. We agreed. The hippy-dippy waterbirth dream was well and truly over.

I was hooked up to the induction and antibiotic drip, via a very uncomfortable canula in my hand.  I remember complaining about that bloody canula all the way through the ensuing hours.  I think it gave me something to focus on!  The anaesthetist came shortly afterwards and administered the epidural.  That was a very strange experience.  As they inserted the needle, I felt a powerful electric shock down my left leg.  Not very helpful when you’ve been instructed to remain absolutely motionless, I can tell you. I was connected to the heart monitor, and we were off.

I’d been told by many women that I would forget about the labour and, to a certain extent, it’s true.  It’s not that I don’t remember it, but that it seems to be condensed into a series of events.  If I think about it now it’s like I’m watching it on fast-forward and pausing for the important bits!  I’ll try and share those with you.

We had fun and games with the heart monitor.  During the pregnancy, M would wriggle away and hide if you tried to get someone to feel her kick, or scan her, or listen to her heart.  She was no different in labour.  Every time I got into a position where we could hear the reassuring ‘tick…tick…tick’ of her heart, she moved.  Jess told me that they would rather attach a monitor internally, via a clip on the baby’s scalp, so that this didn’t become a real problem later in labour.  I was horrified by the idea of this, and it took considerable reassurance (and some tears) before I agreed.  Thinking back now, had we not done this, it would have been a nightmare trying to monitor her later in labour.

The epidural didn’t work.  Well, it half worked.  I found that it would take effect in certain areas, so at one point I was numb down my left side but could feel everything on my right.  It was most peculiar.  Bear in mind, I had no idea what a contraction was supposed to be like, so I couldn’t measure its effectiveness very accurately.  However, having watched enough episodes of One Born Every Minute to see women sleeping through labour after an epidural, I knew that something wasn’t quite right.  I was given a local anaesthetic in my back, the dose of the epidural was altered, and we were up and running.  The whole dosing procedure of the epidural was weird.  It wears off, and I could press a button to release more anaesthetic (only effective once every twenty minutes). However, it’s also cumulative, so over time the lower part of my body became increasingly numb.  Within a few hours my legs were totally dead.  Being bloody minded, I didn’t believe this was true and it took quite a severe tumble in the bathroom before I conceded that I could no longer walk unaided.

My immobility meant I had to have a catheter.  By this point I had so many tubes attached to me that I was ceasing to care.  As it turned out, the catheter did me a favour.  Despite the induction and the broken water and the general poking and prodding, our little monkey was in no hurry to arrive.  After several hours I was barely dilated and was told not to expect much to happen before the early hours of the following morning.  Then, just before midnight, I felt a strange liquid sensation. A quick check showed that M had suddenly decided that she wanted to arrive and had descended in a hurry.  She’d pushed the catheter out on her way.  I was told to rest as much as I could and that in roughly an hour we would be going for The Big Push.

Jess had finished her shift and Sylvia, another one of our local midwives, had taken over.  She came in around 1am with a steely look on her face and said, ‘Right, we’re going to get this baby OUT’.  I didn’t know this at the time, but the team were fairly certain that this labour would end in a caesarean section, based on the size of the baby and the fact that epidurals can make pushing quite difficult.  Sylvia had other ideas, and came armed with a plan to get me into every position imaginable in order to facilitate a natural delivery.  I’d read a very useful book that suggested visualising pushing down the plunger in a cafetiere, and that’s exactly what I did.  The three of us in the room were going to make it happen.

I don’t remember pushing for an extraordinary length of time, when in fact it was around two hours.  I do remember becoming increasingly tired.  Stupidly I’d not had anything to eat that morning, and on arrival had been told not to eat (with the possible caesarian in mind) which meant I’d existed for the entire day and most of the night on jelly babies.  The sugar was making me jittery and nauseous (in fact, I don’t think I’ve had a jelly baby since).  I remember very clearly getting to a point where I just thought ‘enough is enough’.  Sylvia assured me that I was almost there and told me not to have any more epidural.  For some reason my husband had hold of the drip and there was a comic moment where he decided that it was better to go against her wishes than mine.  He gave me one final shot and I mustered all of my strength.  Sylvia kept asking me if I wanted to touch the baby’s head, and I really didn’t, so N had to oblige (so much for staying away from the ‘business end’ of things).  I remember another midwife coming in (in case of shoulder dystocia) which was my signal that it was almost over, remember her barking at N to take hold of one of my knees and jerk my legs backwards, then remember something warm and slippery being placed on my chest.

For months I had wanted to meet her and been desperate to see her face.  I’d expected a crinkly newborn, eyes closed, sleepy and curled up.  Not M.  She was staring straight at me with big blue eyes in a great round, chubby face and yelling the place down.  It was a truly amazing, unbelievably emotional moment.  We were no longer two, we were three.

Well, we’ve got to that stage where the baby’s arrival feels very close indeed, so much so that we packed our hospital bags at the weekend.  We’ve had loads of advice about what to take, from the sublime (‘biscuits and big knickers’) to the ridiculous (‘plenty of booze’), so I thought I’d share it.

I’ll start with the star of the show … the baby.  I’ve not had a particularly weepy pregnancy, but I have to confess that packing stuff for her did bring a lump to my throat.  I picked up this tiny babygrow and thought ‘we’re going to bring that back with little person inside it’.  Strange, magical, emotional and slightly scary all at the same time!  So, for her, we have some babygrows (in a couple of sizes, some full-length and some short); scratch mitts; socks; a hat (we were told they like a newborn to wear one for about the first four hours); a sleeping bag and cellular blanket (who knows how hot it’s going to be?); cotton wool and a bag of nappies; a hooded towel (we’re hoping for a waterbirth so I’d like to have something soft to wrap her in).

Then there’s me.  Clearly I’m much easier to cater for in the clothing department!  It does make me laugh, however, that all the recommendations say ‘comfy clothes’, the implication being that you might accidentally turn up in a corseted balldress and six-inch heels.  I discovered several weeks ago that maternity yoga trousers are a pregnant woman’s best friend, so that’s what I’m taking.  Then there’s the whole issue of what to wear during labour itself.  From what I can tell, most people just strip off (especially because it can be incredibly hot in a maternity department).  Given that I might actually want to walk around the hospital without terrifying anyone, I have a nightshirt and a set of nursing pyjamas.  That should cover all eventualities.  I also have some socks because apparently your temperature drops after the birth, and I’m not a slippers kind of a girl.  For the waterbirth, rather than opting for a bikini/tankini or similar I’m just planning to go in as nature intended.  Something tells me I really won’t care by that point.

For managing the labour itself, we have a tens machine (apparently brilliant for the early stages, but do remember to take spare sticky pads as they lose their stick quickly); hot water bottle; aromatherapy oils (lavender, clary sage and peppermint to be precise … apparently the hospital keep some too); a wooden back massager.  Sadly we’re not allowed candles.  The hospital have swiss balls, so we won’t be attempting to pack one of those, but apparently can be short of pillows so we have some on standby.  Comfort, as we know, is going to be key.  Again, given the warnings about the temperature on the ward, we’ll probably take a handheld electric fan and some water spritzers (but only if I manage to purchase them in time!).

Absolutely everyone has mentioned food and drink.  The recommendation is high-energy foods, and plenty of liquids (preferably in a sports bottle or with a bendy straw because you may be in a strange position for most of the time).  I’m planning to take some powerade-type still energy drinks (a very dry mouth can make eating difficult, apparently), some snack bars and fruit, and maybe some biscuits.  There is food available in the M&S at the hospital, but not around the clock, so we’ll have some change for vending machines too in case it’s needed.

Then there’s the whole host of other things you’re told to take for use after the birth: nursing bra and breast pads; paper pants (although with hindsight I wish I’d just bought cheap cotton ones); maternity towels (the less said about those the better); nipple balm; toothbrush, lip balm and toiletries (a good idea to do this in advance … a friend described decanting shampoo into minature bottles during full-on contractions  at 2am and doesn’t recommend it).  This is too much information, really, but I’ve also been advised to take some Fybogel immediately after the birth to make any subsequent, er, ‘movements’ as easy as possible.  Sound advice, I think!  And while we’re in the toilet, a couple of friends have suggested taking toilet cleaner or cleaning wipes because cleanliness can be an issue.

I think that’s about it.  My husband, N, is taking shorts and t-shirts (again, conscious of the heat) and a spare change of clothes in case I throw up on him.  Now there’s a lovely thought.  It sounds like we’re packing for a month, but I can assure you that all of this fits into one small wheelie case and one equally small holdall.  OK, except the pillows!

So now we really are ready and the waiting game continues.  The midwife came to visit me this morning and confirmed what I thought … the baby has moved down, her head is in my pelvis (although not fully engaged) and everything is as it should be.  Tick tock, tick tock!

Since the last post I’ve found out that two of the six women in our NCT group have had their babies, two little girls.  I’m really delighted for them both and it’s really making the whole thing feel very real (and, for us, very imminent!).

I was planning to write a post about the NCT, so this seems as good a time as any to do it.  It’s one of those default topics among mothers-to-be … are you going to go, or not?  Is it all a bit too worthy?  Is it worth the money?  Do they have their own agenda?  Is it horrendously middle class?  Everyone seems to have an opinion about the NCT, but the prevailing feeling seems to be that the connection you make with other new mothers in your area is invaluable.  We’d already attended a series of free ante-natal classes at St. Thomas’s, so felt reasonably clued up about what to expect, but felt that there was no harm in learning some more and, if we met some people we got along with, so much the better.

We signed up for two all-day Saturday classes and a half-day breastfeeding session during the week.  I was, I must be honest, a bit cynical about what it would be like.  I imagined being lectured about the wonders of natural childbirth, how to cook your own placenta and the evils of formula feeding.  The good news is that I was a long way off the mark.  The woman who led our sessions was brilliant.  Not only is she an NCT counsellor but a doula as well, so she’s attended oodles of births of all kinds.  Her point of view was refreshingly objective, and just on the right side of hippie craziness.  I really enjoyed listening to her, and her impersonation of a woman in labour is something that I definitely won’t forget in a hurry (nor will any of the men in the group, I’ll bet).  Importantly, she kept stressing how much of a bond we would form with each other and how this would really benefit us in the future.  There’s something toe-curling about saying ‘you will become friends with this group of strangers’, but she carried it off and really helped us to get over that initial awkwardness.

The only part I was a bit ambivalent about was the breastfeeding session.  The counsellor was one of those women that a friend of mine hilariously refers to as the ‘breastapo’.  I know there are benefits to breastfeeding, for both mother and baby, and genuinely believe that people should at least try it.  I also know, however, that for some women it simply isn’t an option (it’s too hard, the baby isn’t responding or getting enough milk, it’s too limiting if they need to go back to work, etc.).  I’ve heard some absolute horror stories from perfectly sensible friends and colleagues of mine who have put themselves through hell because they equate formula feeding with failure.  There’s an incredible amount of pressure on women to do it, there really is.  I’ve kept quiet while I’ve been told a long list of pro-breastfeeding claims: less ear infections, reduced risk of gastric diseases, less likelihood of obesity or diabetes in later life, higher IQ, world peace (OK, not world peace but not far off!).  I did, however, get annoyed when we were told that formula feeding is A Bad Thing.  It’s apparently unsuitable for human offspring because it is based on cow’s milk and their physiology is different from ours.  Not only do I think that is absolute hogwash, but there is a very real chance that some (or all) of the women in the group will need to feed their baby formula at some point.  All the counsellor has achieved, therefore, is to add another layer of guilt to that decision.  I don’t think that’s helpful or constructive.

That small issue aside, I would firmly recommend the NCT to anyone.  Not only have we met a fabulous bunch of people, but we really did receive some excellent advice and had fun to boot.  It’s yet one more step towards us both feeling confident and comfortable about the prospect of the birth and beyond.