It was a pregnancy similar to the first.
Boobs so sore that it brought tears to my eyes just laying down. Horrible “all day” sickness and the instant aversion to coffee and cigarettes. My two favourite things. Gone for the next 9 months. I knew even before the test came back positive. Those two little pink lines only cemented it in my brain. Now to break it to Handy Hubby. We hadn’t been trying, but we also hadn’t been safe. He wasn’t ecstatic and let’s face it, neither was I. I told him to get over it and get used to the idea, because in 9 months we would have another baby in the house.
We headed off to our dating Ultrasound and there it was. The tiniest little Smudge. Almost a peanut but not quite. More like a cashew. Yolk sac and strong heartbeat insitu. I cried. Relieved. Handy Hubby who had been fidgeting the whole time, relaxed. There was just one and it had a strong heartbeat. Back to the GP for a referral to an ante natal clinic and then I was off.
I booked in to the hospitals ante natal clinic and I had my first appointment at 16 weeks. I was given some pamphlets to read through, signed a consent form for the baby to have its first vaccinations of Vitamin K and Hepatitis B and a request form for my Morphology scan at 18-22 weeks. I’d booked in for my morphology ultrasound and Handy Hubby organised the day off work.
I was 19 weeks on the dot. I waddled to the scan, trying not to pee myself. Handy Hubby followed and giggled at my predicament. Why they make 18-22 week pregnant women drink a litre of water before-hand I don’t know. It’s a cruel and unusual punishment. We were excited, finally we would get to see our little Smudge. And there it was. 10 fingers, 10 toes, good size, all the essentials where they were supposed to be and a little tiny PENIS. We were having another boy! I was excited! Mainly because I wouldn’t have to go shopping for baby clothes again. That shits expensive! Handy Hubby was happy, although I could see the disappointment in his eyes. He’d wanted a little girl. The radiographer suggested we try for a little girl next time round and I just smiled. Inside I was screaming “FUCK NO!”
You see, I appreciate that pregnancy is amazing and wonderful. Your growing another person. I get it. But the world is a much happier place when Nursey Mum is not pregnant. My body and pregnancy just don’t agree. I’d had a problematic pregnancy with Hurricane Boy and this one wasn’t shaping up to be any better.
I was admitted with premature labour when I was 27 weeks. I was sitting at work, it was 3 am and we were quiet and my Braxton-Hicks contractions were becoming regular and painful. I apologised to my boss and told her what was happening. She sent me upstairs to the Birthing suite and told me to call her when I knew what was going on. I was admitted, given medication to stop the labour, steroids to boost the baby’s lungs and told to rest. I spent 4 days in hospital and ordered not to go back to work. I was officially on maternity leave.
I then failed my glucose test and was diagnosed with Gestational Diabetes. Could this pregnancy get any better??!! I had an education session and would have to check my blood sugar four times a day until i delivered. I managed to keep my blood sugars under reasonable control, and was progressing well. I had made it to 36 weeks and looked like an elephant. I was swollen, uncomfortable and was just plain over it. I made my next appointment for 38 weeks and secretly wished that I wouldn’t need it.
June 13 was the night of the NRL State of Origin. I was sitting at home, Hurricane boy was playing with his trains and we were waiting for Handy Hubby to get home. We would order take away and sit and watch the football. And then I felt it, a trickle almost. My water had broke, I was 37 weeks and 6 days. In my head I was doing my happy dance. It was the beginning of the end! I rang my mum, she would stay with Hurricane Boy while we headed off to the hospital. I rang the hospital to let them know I was coming in and then I finished packing my bag. I knew Handy Hubby was on his way home. I’d surprise him when he got in.
He walked in the front door and saw me packing. He shook his head, stamped his feet, cried no and refused to take me to hospital. It was the State of Origin night. I was doing this deliberately and I didn’t want him to watch the game. I assured him that I was just as upset as he was about potentially missing the game, but he had no choice in the matter. We were going to hospital.
It was a false alarm. Whoops! We headed home. Handy hubby was happy, I was deflated. I tried to bribe the midwives to let me stay, induce me. Perform a stretch and sweep. Anything to get this baby out! They just laughed, suggested some “mammory massage” and sent us on our way.
Five o’clock in the morning. The 14th of June 2012. I woke up, saturated. And no it wasn’t wee. This time, there was no false alarm. Handy Hubby refused to take me to hospital, again. I called my mum back and rang the hospital. Again. We headed in, bag packed. Handy hubby was trying to convince me that he could leave me at the hospital while he went off and did a little bit of last minute shopping for the baby. I appreciated the sentiment but, No. We saw the doctor, he confirmed that yes, my water had broken and that we could either go home and come back tomorrow for an induction or we could start it today. We stayed. No way was I leaving the hospital without a baby this time…
Stay Tuned for part 2!