A communication from cloud nine - the birth story

One more post about the birth of baby Charlie, and then it's back to normal at Casa de Mwa. Because, really, who wants to hear about that every single time? I do, obviously, but that's because I'm high on baby hair smell and breast feeding hormones. And because our boy is just perfect and the most handsome in the world. Who could fail to fall in love?

We went in on the Wednesday morning for the induction. I hadn't slept all night and I was hyperventilating quite a bit. I just couldn't relax. Then I was examined by the midwife and it turned out I was already 2 cm on my way. Which changed everything. Somehow I got more confident and started to be sure I could do this. Just because my body had come a little way in the right direction.

I got a "tablet" to weaken my cervix (I think - all this terminology is harder in translation) which had brought on full force labour when I went to have Marie, but not this time. Nothing seemed to happen at all. Then by two o'clock (I did have 4 cm by this time) I got a drip to start labour. By this time, I was feeling confident enough to try it without an epidural for as long as I could.

I was quite happy with the labour, even though the drip made the contractions come really fast together (one contraction every two minutes from the start). It's amazing what a little confidence will do (yes, Ms. Moon - that made me think of you). I did ask to have an epidural for the later stages but so far I could manage fine. To start with I was lying on the bed, with the monitor strapped on. It just feels wrong to lie down during contractions. When I told the midwife, I was very surprised that she said I could get out of bed and off the monitor. She brought me a big ball to sit on (yes, Jo, I thought of you) which was amazing and made the contractions so much better.

Around four o'clock I was still managing fine, but had made no progress, so paradoxically I was told an epidural might speed things up because I couldn't relax enough on my own. The one time I try to do it without too many drugs, and they're brought to me without asking! I didn't really mind - I'm not such a big fan of gratuitous pain anyway.

Anyway, after that things sped up and our youngest was born at twenty to nine in the evening. He did get some help from some new-fangled tiny sucky device, but he came out all pink! And breathing immediately - which made me feel immense relief. This was the first time they put my baby straight onto me and left him there for ages.

Everyone seemed to be very surprised at his weight (4 kg 875 - I think 10 pounds 12 ounces or so says my online converter). I swear I did not eat more sweet stuff than during my other pregnancies. I watched this programme on TV last night on "giant babies," none of which were as large as mine incidentally, and the gist of it was that it was the obese junk food eating mothers' fault and the babies were destined to be obese as well. I'm not obese. I may be ever so slightly overweight right this second, but hey give it a couple of weeks and I'm guessing I won't be any more. Besides, I have a sneaking suspicion that a couple of kilos of my six spare kilos are in my giant comedy breasts which have grown in nicely in the last few days. I don't know what was different this time. He doesn't look like a "giant baby" either. He just doesn't look all newborn and like an old man.

Right. I have to go back and smell some baby head. I have been so sleep deprived and in some discomfort the last week, but I had forgotten the sheer bliss involved in having a new baby around - smelling him, breastfeeding him, being the only one who can comfort him every time. I'm really falling in love - I can sit and just stare at him for hours, kissing every bit of him. Ah well, enough of that, before I start a wave of impulse internet babies because I infect you all with baby yearning.