Not only am I a drama queen these days, my unborn foetus is showing signs of dramatic flair.
There we were, all set for induction thanks to the ageing placenta and low amniotic fluid, and… nothing! Well, close to nothing. The mildest contractions.
For me the emotional effort in getting to the clinic is huge – this time a cocktail of excitement, the prospect of a huge amount of relief to know Max is healthy and happy (as opposed to withering away inside me without my knowledge thanks to aforementioned placenta), and a certain amount of fear (I am a wimp, why can’t we humans just lay eggs and sit on them?).
We took a photo of me and the bump outside the clinic, grinning like idiots. Another of me looking extremely happy just after they put the pitocin drip in to start up contractions… friends called. One promised camambert and an illicit sip of champagne on the other side.
And then, nothing. After a couple of hours I had very soft contractions. At lunchtime my doctor came by and said we could do two things – press ahead and ramp up the dose to force labour that day, or ease off and give him more time. Natural birth advocates, turn away. I felt like screaming at him “Get this baby out now! Get him out!”
Like a balloon losing all its air, I felt my excitement fizz away. Utterly deflated and suddenly exhausted, we agreed to let Max have some more time in there with my sad old placenta. A corner of my mind hoped he’d suddenly kick into action on his own. But no. We spent ages on a monitor… left clinic at 4.30pm and I couldn’t help thinking that with Lola by that time we were only two hours away from seeing her hanging there upside in th real world with us.
I’m happy Max is doing well in there, and more time is good, I’m sure. Also I’m happy Dr E is really trying to facilitate a relatively normal birth instead of a c-section in this very c-section happy part of the world. It’ll be easier to look after them both afterwards without c-section recovery time. And vaginal birth will be good for Maxi’s lungs apparently. So I am practising my “ooohhhmmmms” and focusing on the fact that they would never have left him in there if he was in any danger.
At home that night, a crown fell off my molar, and Lola decided to wake up at 3am, demand a feed, and then throw up all over her new sleeping bag and pjs. After a wrestling session I got her back into another bag and pjs and listened to her insistent chat about ladybirds (she is not attached to ANY soft toy or lovey but seems to now be considering for the role a gaudy ladybird doll which makes all kinds of crinkly wake-up sounds). It took an hour, but she fell back asleep. I didn’t mind really… she’s my baby and I don’t have too much more time to give her my undivided attention. Really, I can’t believe my luck. Thanks to my tweeps who gave me so much encouragement yesterday when we thought we were ready for kick-off!