Isn't she lovely?

*POSSIBLE TMI INFORMATION CONTAINED BELOW - NOT FOR THE FAINT HEARTED!*


Well, she's here- two days old and perfection personified from her mop of dark hair to her pink bow lips. She does have a hairy back which is hilarious given the topic of my book four and my slagging of Anton (he's bringing hairy back) Du Beke throughout my pregnancy. God has a cool sense of humour.
So anyway here are some of the details - I have omitted some of the more sensitive words like tearing, spurting blood and some of my more colourful language for the sake of more sensitive readers.


A few months ago the boy predicted his baby sister would be born on the "threed of March". Now Joseph is sometimes known as Pyschic Joe round these parts as he does have a certain ability to predict future events (he predicted a rain shower on my sister's wedding day and told us very confidently that his most recent baby cousin would be a boy). So as the threed of March approached I started to get nervous.

The thing is, the threed of March (and forever shall it be known as the threed now and not the third...) is the anniversary of the death of my beloved Granda - whom Joseph was named after. I had mixed feelings - first of all wanting to bring a happy memory to a sad day and second of all feeling nervous that a day which had devastated our family could maybe just be an unlucky day chez us.

As it happened I woke in the very early hours of that day with sharp pains which continued and mounted til about every 5 minutes until around 5am when they died off. I slept for a bit and woke in foul humour and set about a cleaning extravaganza - mopping floors, hanging washing, cleaning skirtings. I did everything short of hoover the stairs.

I went to my mum's in the afternoon and sat with a face on me like a cat's arse before needing - with every fibre of my being- to go to Matalan and buy some new scented candles. I needed them THERE and THEN and my brother accompanied me - standing nervously by as a few pains hit me right beside the St. Patrick's Day balloons.

I had been feeling increasingly nauseous all day so didn't eat at tea time and came home to put the boy to bed. We lay snuggling and chatting when I felt a pop.

It was an ominous pop.

The pop of doom.

The same pop I remembered from 5 years before just before amniotic fluid trickled down my legs and heralded the start of Joseph's arrival.

Now this was awkward. Here was I, lying in bed beside my five year old, aware of a trickle starting to flow down below - heart thumping like a good 'un, and trying to keep calm.

Eventually I said that mummy just needed to go to the loo and I stood up to a larger trickle, called for my other half and told Joseph his baby sister was coming. (I was mildly hysterical despite my plan to keep my demeanour composed).

I then did what every good Derry girl does - and phoned my mammy. She came over and hugged me while I sobbed like a loony in a "Idonwannadothis" snivelling way and we agreed to wait a wee while and see how the pains went. I had a shower and sobbed throughout and then went and hugged Joseph and assured him I was fine and sure wasn't it all just grand and lovely that we were going to meet his big sister.

Pains had kicked in at that stage and were very ouchee although anything from every 7 minutes to every 4 minutes apart and they weren't lasting terribly long. Within an hour hubby had developed an ashen faced look of panic about him while I went into a mild hysteria (this was a frequent occurence during my labour... just so you know) because I couldn't find MY hairbrush to brush my hair. And yes I knew there were other hairbrushes I wanted MY brush and grew very distressed. (In the end it was on the sofa, where I'd left it... but hey, we won't talk about that...)

So after an hour we phoned the hospital and they told us to come in. I arrived, heaving and holding onto my hubby, and my tummy, for dear life. As I walked, at a painfully slow rate to the maternity unit I received the sympathetic glances of many and I felt like crying on them and saying "Yep, yep, I know. It's dead sore" etc. (By now you may have realised I have no pain threshold worth talking about).

So we reached the new unit - I was assessed as being in "early, non-established labour" and I cried (again) and was given Gas and Air which I sucked on as if my life depended on it. About an hour later they took pity on me and sent me to the labour ward, where - four hours in - I was only just in the established labout guidelines. (It's all about dilation and cervixes and as I said, I'm coating this as nicely as possible).

Two hours later I was assessed again - now moved on a further 2 centimetres with another five centimetres of fandango fanning to go. This was at 4.30am.
And here is where it got interesting.

The midwife stepped away from the bed and I had another pain. And felt the baby start to come - and fast. I started shouting like an eejit (Think "Oh God, Oh God, Oh God, help me help me help me!" - I am still cringing when I think about it now) and the midwife ran to the bed, pressed a panic button while trying to open a birthing kit and I felt as if I might actually just die. (Or poop... or both...)
With 10 minutes our little lady was born, and lying on my chest- a complete look of "What was all that screeching about?" on her face.
Looking at her, I couldn't help but feel slightly the same.

Her birth was 10 times more painful that her brother's. I didn't have an epidural, relying on gas and air, tens and pethidine for pain relief. It was a lot less controlled at the end - with him I rested a while before pushing, with her that was never going to be an option.
But it was a million times more positive an experience. And now I'm a very, very blessed mammy with two gorgeous children who complete me body and soul.

But thank feck I never have to do that again.
I will say several things about it all though -

• I did not say any bad swear words. Although I prayed a lot. (Polite way of saying I took the Lord's name in vain.)
• Throwing up during a contraction is not fun.
• I cannot say the phrase "scintiliating conversationalist" while high on pethidine - I tried, and failed. I did mean to say "Sorry I'm not a scintilating conversationalist" to my hubby but it came out only as a random "sinfulating convosayshun" followed by a mutter of "dry wit". He didn't laugh. He should have.
• Hyperemesis does go away as soon as the baby is born.
• Natal Hypnotherapy helps up to a point - that point is generally when things started tearing (Sorry, I did promise not to mention that..) Then no amount of imagining a golden light caressing your uterus will make a shag of difference.
• The nicest cup of tea you will have in your life is the one just after you have pushed another human being into the world.
• I can sound surprisingly like a real life cow when having a contraction.
• I am very glad the new labour wards in my local hospital are sound proof.
• Paracetamol doesn't really do much for labour pains.
• It was worth it.