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Family, Motherhood, Parenting, Pregnancy

Vlog | Wilf’s birth and first days

May 14, 2018 2 Comments

I’ve been completely blown away by the amazing response I’ve had to posting the not-so-perfect birth story of Wilf. If you haven’t seen it, you can catch up here and here. It’s real and honest, it still feels raw to me and I had to push aside that silly part of me that only wants to share the rose-tinted bits of motherhood. As a result, lots of people got in touch through emails, comments and DMs on Instagram to say that the story had really helped them cope with their birth that didn’t go totally to plan, and made them feel a bit more OK knowing that they definitely weren’t alone in that, and also that it’s absolutely fine to have a little (or big) cry, shout or vent about not getting the birth experience that you hoped for.

Childbirth is arguably one of the hardest things a woman goes through in her whole life, and whilst even the most straightforward, complication-free birth may be physically demanding and painful, it’s the complicated births that come with emotional pain that is much harder to recover from and forget. And whilst some might feel that if they’ve required intervention or had a surgical delivery that they’ve ‘failed’ in some way, really the opposite is true. Whatever happened in your birth story, you are strong, amazing, and brilliant.

So without further ado, here is a vlog of Wilf’s birth and first few days – I hope you enjoy watching it.

I know that I say it all the time, but your comments and messages on my blog and Instagram posts are absolutely what this is all about for me, I love hearing your take on things and if anything I’ve written about has helped you in some way – so THANK YOU.

Hannah x

Last three images by Dominique Bader

Family, Motherhood, Parenting, Pregnancy

Wilfred Hector George | A birth story (part two)

April 30, 2018 7 Comments

Newborn baby with mum after caesarian section

This is the second part to Wilf’s Birth story. If you haven’t read the first part yet, you can see it here.

There were a few plus sides to having a planned Caesarian which I could be happy about, now that the decision was made – firstly, childcare: being able to plan for someone to look after Oscar on the day of the surgery. Also, not having to wait so long, as with Oscar I went nearly two weeks overdue and I was tearing my hair out with impatience. As someone who likes to plan ahead, having a birth date felt freeing, and I did relax somewhat; but it also felt a little bit surreal and deflating, as if a little bit of the magic (nervous anticipation) had been taken out. I was also terrified about the idea of the surgery, having never had an operation in my life. I not-so-secretly hoped that I would go into labour early, and progress so quickly that by the time I made it into hospital the baby would be nearly delivered, so I could have a normal delivery; but with Oscar arriving late I just knew in my heart that this was not going to happen.

The other nice bit of having a planned birth date was that I really, truly soaked every last bit of our family of three up, knowing that we only had a few days left. I had lots of cuddles and one-on-one time with Oscar, took lots of photos and on the night before the surgery we went out for an early dinner, just the three of us: it was perfect. I felt like I was as ready as I ever would be for our family to go through the huge change that was about to happen.

Wilf’s birthday

On the morning of the 2nd January we got up at 6am. It was one of the very few mornings that Ben and I were both up before Oscar, who is an early waker. I wasn’t allowed to eat any breakfast (I don’t think I could stomach any anyway), so I checked my bag one last time, folding the tiny little baby vests again and popping in a little bunny toy to match the one we took to the hospital when I had Oscar. Oscar’s childminder arrived; one of his absolute favourite people from his nursery – his face lit up when he saw her and we knew that we could relax, knowing that he would have a wonderful, fun-packed day with her. I felt too nervous and overwhelmed to get emotional about saying goodbye to Oscar, and in any case he was so thrilled to have Grace all to himself that when we wanted a hug, he looked at us as if to say, “so are you guys leaving or what?!”

Conveniently, we live a short walk from the hospital, so we set off (waddled) over on foot. It was dark and cold outside, the pavements were wet, and the roads were eerily quiet. I felt sick with nerves pretty much from the moment I woke that morning until the moment that Wilf was handed to me; I’m not really sure why, as I knew I was in good hands and that we would both be absolutely fine, but I really was dreading the whole thing and a big part of me wanted to run away in the opposite direction. Once we were in the hospital, on went the very fetching backless gown and anti-thrombosis stockings, and before I had a chance to plan my great escape we were being walked through to the operating theatre on the labour ward. My anaesthetist was someone that Ben and I both know, as Ben works with him, which was both reassuring and also a bit odd. I was still shaking with nerves as a cannula was placed in my hand and the spinal injection was done; I was a little worried about them being painful (a bit silly, in comparison with the pain of labour) but they weren’t at all. Within seconds of the spinal injection going in my legs suddenly felt very warm and heavy, and all the blood rushed from my head. I was laid down on the table and felt incredibly vulnerable; completely at the mercy of the medical professionals around me. Although the whole thing was quick, calm, controlled and pain-free for me, and I am so grateful to everyone who looked after me so well, I personally really disliked the whole experience.

I was irrationally worried about feeling pain during the surgery, so I asked the anaesthetist to check to see if I was numb before making any cuts, to which he replied, “well, they’ve already started, so I guess it must be working!” I started shivering uncontrollably, even though I didn’t feel cold. A side effect of the medication, Ben told me. All of a sudden, I heard a single cry. It was such a beautiful sound and it made me cry out with happiness. I thought Wilf must be delivered, but actually his head wasn’t even fully out – just his mouth, and he simply couldn’t wait to let us know he was there! Ben asked me if he could leave my side to watch Wilf being delivered, and I said, “Sure… But video it so I can see too!” We hadn’t planned to do that, but I love that we have a video of the whole thing for us to remember. I’ll spare you from that video though, as it’s pretty gory! We were also not very surprised to see that after Wilf’s head had been delivered, his shoulders remained pretty well stuck in me, and took a lot of coercing to get out, even though the surgeon had given me a bigger than usual incision in anticipation of this. He was another little sumo baby, like Oscar!

I had asked for Wilf to be given to me straight away, without being cleaned, weighed or having a nappy put on, as he would be if it had been normal delivery. I was met with a bit of resistance from the midwife (it’s not what they ‘usually do’) but I insisted, and apart from a minute of delayed cord clamping time, he was placed straight on my chest, skin-to-skin. The rest of the surgery took about 20 minutes but I really didn’t care how long they took, now that I had Wilf with me.

I was wheeled round to the postnatal ward and had a blissful first hour with Wilf: all the nerves had finally melted away, I had no pain whatsoever, and Wilf latched on to my breast like a total pro after about half an hour of skin-to-skin. I wish that was the end of the drama, but unfortunately it was not. One of the health care assistants came to change my sheets, and on lifting up the blanket covering my legs, she was faced with a pool of blood. I couldn’t feel anything as my legs were still numb from the spinal, so I hadn’t been aware of anything untoward. There was a moment of panic and a flurry of doctors and midwives, and I had to go back to the labour ward for intravenous fluids, a hormone drip and closer observation, but thankfully the bleeding settled down. I lost one and a quarter litres of blood due to my uterus not being fully contracted, and unsurprisingly I felt a bit waffy for a good couple of weeks after that! After all the drama, we realised that Wilf hadn’t yet been weighed! Six hours after he was born, he was finally weighed and came in at 8lb 15oz – this was after quite a number of wet nappies, so was probably a bit less than his actual birth weight. Considering Oscar had two whole weeks more of growing inside me than Wilf, it’s safe to say that he would have been a lot bigger if we had waited for a normal delivery!

Our surgeon came to see me on the ward after the birth to see how I was, but also to deliver a message: that in his opinion, I would have run into trouble if I had tried for a normal delivery, and that he felt we had made the right decision. As someone with years of experience in obstetrics, and someone who is a strong advocate of normal delivery himself unless there is a good medical reason against it, I really trusted his opinion. And of course, after the not-so-wonderful experience of having a Caesarian section, it was a relief to hear that.

The recovery

I spent two nights in hospital and found the recovery MUCH harder than with Oscar. I was very tearful in the days and weeks afterwards due to the pain of the wound, as well as the normal postpartum emotions. Doing pretty much anything was painful for the first few days, I couldn’t walk normally until about three weeks, and it was probably 6 weeks before I felt I could pick up Oscar comfortably (although I definitely did so earlier than this, and then suffered afterwards). If there was one positive point about the harder recovery of a Caesarian when compared to a normal delivery, it was that I was forced to slow down, do less and stay at home. As someone who gets impatient and likes to push myself, I think I really needed this to prevent me from doing too much too early, and I am SO grateful, looking back, that I spent so much time resting, recovering, cuddling and nursing Wilf most of the day and night, and generally looking after myself more. I actually napped in the daytime when Wilf did which I never managed with Oscar! I did actually intend to take things much slower that I did after Oscar was born, and I loved the advice in this book about the first six weeks after having a baby, but it wasn’t until after Wilf was born that I read this brilliant blog post which sums it all up perfectly.

A few weeks ago, Ben bumped into the obstetrician who delivered Wilf at work. Ben told me that he asked how we all were, and asked to see a photo of Wilf. He then said to Ben, “And has Hannah come to terms with the birth yet?”

When Ben told me this, I felt stunned, and a lump came to my throat. Firstly, I hadn’t talked at all with the consultant about how I felt about the Caesarian, so I felt amazed that he clearly knew that I was feeling disappointed and torn when I asked him to book the surgery – and to be honest, really impressed that an older, male surgeon was that perceptive of my feelings. But also, no one had asked me about that since Wilf’s birth. Plenty of people had asked how the physical recovery was going, but I had completely pushed behind me any emotions I felt about ‘missing out’ on the opportunity to have another natural birth. I hadn’t even been honest with myself about it. Even now, as I write, I haven’t yet shed a tear about it all, because I really do mean it when I say that first and foremost I am incredibly grateful and lucky to have another healthy, happy baby. Maybe those tears will come at some point in the future, and maybe they won’t, I’m not sure. But I do know, and it’s painful for me to admit, that when I hear or read about friends’ natural births I feel a pang of envy and sadness. My heart does hurt a little that I will never experience that ever again.

I’ve mostly written all of this down for myself, and it truly has helped me to process it all. And I know that I’m OK. More than OK.

I’ve also written it down because I published Oscar’s birth story on here, and it would be unfair to not document Wilf’s just because 1) it wasn’t all I had hoped it would be and 2) it was a surgical delivery. I love (and still do) reading others’ birth stories but there does, very understandably, seem to be a sway to write about natural births and the ones where it all went well, and omit the gory/less romantic/Caesarian birth stories. Which can fuel the feelings of ‘failure’ experienced by women who need medical intervention during their birth. I say this to myself as much as I do to you: whether you have an unassisted delivery, forceps, epidural for pain relief or a Caesarean section – you still gave birth, and none of these variants should lead to feelings of inadequacy. You brought a life into the world. You gave birth. End of.

I’m feeling super vulnerable pressing publish on this… It’s definitely been cathartic for me to write though and I do hope you enjoy reading it. As always I would love to hear your thoughts!

There is actually one last bit of this story that I will be sharing very soon, and that is a vlog of Wilf’s birth and first few days in the world. I’ll post a link on Instagram when it’s published, so keep a look out for it there!

Hannah x

Family, Motherhood, Parenting, Pregnancy

Wilfred Hector George | A birth story (part one)

April 22, 2018 4 Comments

I’ve sat down to write this a handful of times, but each time I just stared at a blank page for ten minutes before deciding that it wasn’t going to come. If I’m completely honest with myself, the truth is that I’m not really totally cool with how it panned out. That’s not to say that it went badly, or that I didn’t get the birth that I wanted, because I really believe that as long as my baby and I are healthy then all is well – I do mean that. But if you asked me how I feel about it… I’m just not sure what to say. So, for my own form of catharsis, I’m going to write it all down, even though part of me wants to stare at a blank page and avoid it a little longer.

If you haven’t read my birth story with Oscar, you can see it here, and I’d recommend reading it first, as it’s the beginning of my story with Wilf.

With Oscar, my first child, I had a normal vaginal delivery with just gas and air as pain relief. My birth plan was to deliver my baby safely by whatever means were necessary, but I knew that I was dearly hoping for a birth with as little intervention as possible. I stayed at home for as long as possible, practicing my natal hypnotherapy breathing and visualisations, and I used the birthing pool once I got to hospital. I had to get out of the pool to deliver Oscar, but I found the whole experience incredibly positive. I stayed calm and felt in control throughout, and my lasting memories are those of euphoria and feeing like a complete superhero (my brain has cleverly erased the memory of the pain!)

As my pregnancy with Wilf progressed, and I started to think about the birth, I genuinely couldn’t wait to do it again. Yes, it was the most pain I had ever experienced, but also the biggest endorphin rush in my lifetime, and definitely my proudest achievement.

Moving on to my second pregnancy, at my 34 week appointment with the midwife, my bump was measuring big – as in, off the chart. I wasn’t surprised or worried, as Oscar was a big baby (9lb 2 oz for my 5ft 4 frame), but she told me that I’d have to see the consultant. The only thought that crossed my mind was that I might be offered a growth scan, or an early induction of labour.

The following week, I saw the obstetrician. This was a senior consultant that we had met before (we had an early pregnancy scan with him) and Ben has worked with him. We both trust and respect him greatly. He told us that, although it was difficult to accurately predict, he thought that Wilf was shaping up to be even bigger than Oscar. He read carefully through my birth notes with Oscar (which I had never seen before) before delivering his recommendation in a calm, measured manner.

I had shoulder dystocia with Oscar (this is when the baby’s shoulder gets stuck in the mother’s pelvis after the baby’s head has been delivered).

In my memory, I know this had happened but I simply didn’t realise the seriousness of it because, 1) I had just delivered Oscar’s head and I was in a world of pain, and 2) once it was all over I had just become a mother for the first time and that was the beginning and the end of everything.

I had a ‘high’ risk of having shoulder dystocia again

It is impossible to predict just how likely I was to run into this problem again, but previous shoulder dystocia is the single biggest risk factor for having it again.

If I did get shoulder dystocia with Wilf, there was a 1 in 4 chance of a bad outcome

‘A bad outcome’ meaning either harm to the baby (brain damage, nerve damage to his upper limbs), or death.

My options were: 1) Have a planned Caesarian section or 2) Have a normal vaginal delivery. If my decision was to go for the latter, they would ensure that a senior midwife, an obstetrician and paediatrician were present at the moment of delivery, in case things did not go smoothly.

I left the appointment with my heart racing and my head spinning: I had not envisaged being told what we had just heard. I had been convinced that if I had had a normal delivery once before, the next time would be even quicker and easier. I had started to prepare for the birth with my hypnobirthing CDs already. I told the consultant that I needed time to think about my decision; he said “of course,” and booked me a follow up in two weeks time. I asked him, I pressed him – what would you recommend? What do you think I should do? He wouldn’t answer this, as he stressed that only I can make that decision. But he did say that if I still wanted to go for a normal delivery, that was fine – as long as I felt that the risks involved in doing that were acceptable to me.

Ben and I spent the next two weeks thinking about it; talking about it, but I felt like I was going around in circles. I chose to tell a few people close to us, that I respect, about our predicament, hoping to get some clarity. Every single response was, “well, you must have the Caesarian, surely? You’d be crazy to take that risk!” I tried hard to rewind what had happened, thinking that if I had never been sent to see the obstetrician, I would have never realised that Oscar was actually one of the 3 out of 4 cases of shoulder dystocia that are fine, and I wouldn’t know the risks I was facing, and could carry on planning my natural delivery. But it had all been said out loud, and now I couldn’t ignore it.

I finally found clarity on the day before our next appointment, at 37 weeks, perhaps just through the pressure of having to make a decision. There was one phrase that the consultant used that I kept coming back to – “was this an acceptable risk?” The odds were in my favour – 75% chance that Wilf would be just fine, and that’s only if I did get shoulder dystocia again. But the possible bad outcome, if things did go wrong, was catastrophic. Of course this risk was not acceptable to me. No way. And for what benefit would I be taking this risk? For me to have the experience (and hopefully the joy) of having a natural birth. I mean, it would be purely selfish, and if anything went wrong, I could never have lived with myself for making that decision.

I went into the appointment and asked for the elective Caesarian, knowing it was absolutely the right decision but in all honesty, really disappointed that it was happening. It was booked there and then for 2 weeks time, when I would be 39+3 weeks pregnant.

I’m going to leave it here for now, at the risk of losing some of you to my endless rambling – this is going to be a long one! I’ll be posting the second part of Wilf’s birth story next week.

Hannah x

Family, Motherhood, Parenting, Pregnancy

Oscar Henry James | A birth story

November 13, 2017 14 Comments

I was fascinated reading others’ birth stories when I was pregnant with Oscar. I had decided that the more I knew; the more possible eventualities I was aware of, the better — plus it was something that filled me with awe, an event that many consider to be the greatest hardship in their lives yet at the same time the most magical, joy-filled occasion they’d ever experienced. I knew I wanted to document our birth story, if only for myself, but somehow it wasn’t until the run up to Oscar’s first birthday when all the memories, feelings and emotions of the day started flooding back that pen eventually came to paper. For a long while, that story was going to be just for me, to help me remember in years to come, but I decided I wanted to pluck up the courage to share it with you: this feels very raw and vulnerable for me, and I’ve shared some less-than-attractive photos (who looks good right after giving birth?!), but it’s real, and I hope you enjoy reading it.

Oscar was born twelve whole days past his due date. For some reason, I had not expected this — I had a ‘gut feeling’ that I wouldn’t make it to forty weeks, so that wait felt like an absolute eternity. Thankfully, other than some obligatory lower back pain and indigestion I had a relatively easy pregnancy and loved having a huge bump, so I spent the last few weeks walking (waddling) around York, knitting, cleaning the house obsessively, taking long, relaxing baths; punctuated by the occasional (daily) brief ‘blip’ when I’d feel incredibly inpatient to meet my tiny man and I’d become a tearful hormonal mess. Forty-one weeks came and went, there were three uncomfortable and ineffective membrane sweeps, until we were at 40+11: the last day that the hospital were happy to leave things up to nature. I had done a lot of research into induction of labour and knew that I wanted to avoid it at all costs, and felt a little more frustrated and panicked with each day that brought us closer to it. I even felt annoyed with my own body for not going into labour (which is a little crazy, as I knew that normal full-term is anywhere between 37 and 42 weeks). That evening as I took a relaxing, hot bath, Ben came to me and read a letter he had written to our unborn little boy; about how he couldn’t wait to meet him, his wishes for him for the future — it filled me with so much happiness and a sense of calmness, and all at once I simply felt ready for whatever was ahead. We discussed our options again and decided that I would go for the induction that had been booked the following morning; I finally felt both resigned to this as the outcome of the pregnancy, but also completely at peace with our decision, and went to bed feeling calm and relaxed, dreaming of meeting our baby soon; and for the first time in two or three weeks without the nervous mix of anxiety and excitement of hoping that tonight would be the night.

I awoke a few hours later, at 3am, with a tightening feeling across my tummy. It wasn’t painful, and this had happened most nights for the past 3 weeks, so I thought nothing of it. As I lay in bed trying to get back to sleep I soon felt a second, then a third. I realised that they were different from my pre-labour tightenings; they were very low down and began to feel like a dull ache. After weeks of false alarms I knew this was the real thing, and part of me wanted to whoop with joy and excitement; but strangely, I felt an overwhelming sense of focus and direction which took over at that moment, and remained with me right up until the end, that somehow kept me (uncharacteristically) calm and composed. I would follow my instincts, I knew what to do. I murmured to Ben that I was having tightenings, and was going downstairs, not wanting to disturb him at such an early stage.

I sleepily set myself up with my hypobirthing tracks (I had been listening to the labour preparation tracks in the weeks before the birth) and leaned over my birthing ball, rolling my hips from side to side with each surge. I began to time these; they were only every 10 minutes but lasting a good 90 seconds. I lost track of time, and drifted off to sleep in between surges, but at some point Ben came downstairs and slept on the sofa next to me, to be with me. At around 5 or 6am, I filled the bath and continued with the labour tracks on loop. They were incredibly soothing, kept my mind occupied and in a trance-like state and reminded me to breathe deeply and slowly through each surge. In no time, Ben came through and told me it was 8am, and rang the labour ward to cancel our induction admission as I was in labour. Their response was: “Ok, well as it’s her first time things will probably fizzle out, and you might need help, so we’ll keep a bed available for you”. We looked at each other, and unphased, I popped my headphones back in and continued with my routine.

By around 9am my tightenings were every 5 minutes, but it was only at this point that they started to become really painful. I was out of the bath, had had some breakfast, and was pottering about the kitchen but was finding I’d have to lean on something for support and concentrate on my breathing hard with each surge, however in between I’d have complete relief of the discomfort and could go about busying myself. I checked my hospital bag and tidied up, finding something to grab onto each time a strong surge came; Ben even took some last bump photos in between! Until this point everything was going far better than I could have ever hoped, I felt entirely in control, calm and with just a little bit of nervous excitement.

By 11am, my contractions were every 3 minutes and I was no longer getting any relief from the pain in between; things had fairly rapidly gone from entirely manageable to less so. I asked Ben to call the hospital, feeling a release of adrenalin in response to the surprise of how unbearable the pain was at the height of each surge. One very quick but unpleasant car journey later we were at labour triage, so that they could “see if I was in labour”. The next hour or so was possibly the worst part for me: the pain was accelerating in intensity at an alarming rate, I was moving my hips from side to side with each surge desperately trying to find relief, but failing to, and I found myself crying out loud for the first time. We were first left alone in a room for what seemed like an eternity, and then a midwife entered and slowly leafed through my notes, commenting, surprised, that this was the first time I’d contacted them – with more than a hint of doubt in her expression that I was really in active labour. Finally I was examined, something I was prepared would happen but nevertheless resented, as I knew the only function of this was to prove to her that I was worthy of the labour ward at this point in time. I do wish I had had the confidence, in retrospect, to decline this painful examination that offered no real benefit to me or my baby.

I had chosen to use the birthing pool, and while it was being run I was finally offered some gas and air. I breathed this in deeply, and initially it truly dulled the intensity of the pain, and it was wonderful! My midwife walked in and introduced herself, and, inexplicably, I responded with “I’m off my face”, then immediately felt embarrassed at my utterance and the initial effects of the gas on me (in my defence, I really did feel as though my face had left my head). Left alone with Ben again, I clutched his hand and told him for the first time that day, “I can’t do this, it’s too painful – I need an epidural”. On cue, I was told that the pool was ready. By this time it was 1pm.

The warmth of the water and the feeling of weightlessness was blissful, and I quickly relaxed into it. Our midwife dimmed the lights in the room low, and left Ben and I alone. Contractions came in thick and fast, and the pain at the peak of each was excruciating and all consuming. I sucked hard on the gas, which no longer gave me any relief, but did serve to keep my breathing long and slow through each surge. I entered a trance-like state again and was aware of very little, except Ben’s presence next to me the whole time, offering sips of cold water. Although this was the most painful stage so far, strangely I enjoyed the experience. I felt in control, focused, empowered. I knew that I was progressing well, I felt proud with myself for coping with the pain, and this encouraged me.

As I entered transition I began to struggle; the intensity of the pain felt too much to bear at the peak of each surge, and I said to Ben for the second time, “I’m serious this time – I need an epidural”. He looked at me and said, “I know you can do this, but if you want an epidural, of course you can have one. Do you want to me get the midwife?” Again right on cue, she knocked on the door and came through to ask if there was anything I needed. I looked back at Ben for a few moments, and then shook my head.

Soon afterwards, the pains began to feel slightly different; less intense, and although I didn’t feel a very strong urge to push I heard myself letting out a low pitched, guttural sound with each out breath. I instinctively knew what this meant, and I could feel the top of Oscar’s head, which was sitting very low. It was now around 3pm, and only 2 hours after being admitted to the labour ward (when I was told I was 4cm dilated) I was fully dilated, and it looked like we would meet our boy very soon.

It was at this stage that things began to unravel slightly. Oscar’s heart rate was dipping with each contraction, and after a period of continuous monitoring in the water I was told it was best that I got out of the pool, and reluctantly did so. A quick examination to reassure the midwife that I was indeed fully dilated resulted in my waters being broken, inadvertently. Out of the water I felt heavy, and the cold air brought me back to reality and out of the trance-like state, and I felt both uncomfortable and irritable, as if someone had woken me from a deep sleep too early.

It was time to start pushing, and strangely the only position that Oscar’s heart rate remained stable was with me on my back, partly upright. The pushing went on and on, and it felt as though nothing was happening, which was incredibly disheartening. I was told by the midwives (her senior was in the room as well now) to put my chin down on my chest, hold my breath and push; I did so, and it didn’t feel right, nothing was moving, and there was new pain in my back which, although not severe, felt very unpleasant. I think, in retrospect, this sensation was putting me off pushing too hard — the only way I can think to describe it was a feeling as though my bum was going to explode! Two hours passed. I was completely exhausted at this point, and began to truly doubt myself for the first time in the labour. I simply felt that I couldn’t get him out.

A doctor was brought in, who suggested that as I was at the limit of time recommended for pushing, but as Oscar’s head was very low and visible (as it had been for the past 2 hours!), she would help deliver him with a suction cup. I was exhausted, frustrated, in pain, desperate to meet my baby — and what I said next took everyone in the room, including myself, by surprise. I looked at the doctor and asked, “Is there a greater risk of me tearing if you use the Ventouse?” She answered, directly, “Yes, there is”. “Ok, I’ll have another half an hour to try to do this myself”. She nodded and left the room. With new found motivation, I listened to my body and found myself pushing differently, now arching my back with each push, and as I did I felt Oscar’s head move down, and heard cheers of encouragement through the room. I felt searing pain as he crowned, and with a few more gentle pushes his head was out, and I felt an overwhelming sense of relief, both from the pain and that I had managed to birth him alone, without needing the Ventouse after all.

But the drama wasn’t all over yet. I remember the moment of restitution vividly (when Oscar’s head turned through 90 degrees); it was such a strange sensation. Ben told me that the senior midwife murmured to her team “It doesn’t look like there’s a lot of room here, we might need the manoeuvre“, although I wasn’t aware of this at the time. When another contraction finally came, I was encouraged to push as hard as I could and I did so as the midwife applied gentle traction to his head: Oscar didn’t budge. His head was delivered, but his shoulder was stuck. Without a second’s hesitation the emergency buzzer was pressed for assistance, the bed was flat, I was being bent in half with my legs pressed against me, and without needing to be told again I pushed with all my might. Oscar’s shoulder was delivered, followed by the rest of his body, and was placed straight onto my chest, into my arms.

There were exclamations through the room remarking what a big boy he was, nods from the doctors to myself and their team as they left, their assistance thankfully not required, and words of congratulations from the midwives. These bits of memory have been built in my mind from Ben’s recounts, as I was in a bubble of relief, shock, and pure love for this purple, puffy, warm, dark haired creature lying on me, and I couldn’t have been happier.

In all honesty, I can’t say that I did experience the profound heart-flip, love at first sight emotions that I had been led to believe that I would when I first held Oscar, especially now that I can see retrospectively how my attachment has grown with each day that we’ve spent together; how now each time Oscar smiles at me and reaches his arms up for ‘mama’ my heart feels as through it might explode with pride and love. What I did feel, however, was an overwhelming sense of protectiveness, and once that baby touched my skin I didn’t want to let him go, ever. I declined passing him over to get dressed and weighed, and instead kept him on my chest as I had my stitches done. Oscar crawled his way over to find a breast and began nursing, just twenty minutes after he had entered the world.

The next moment of surprise came when Oscar was eventually weighed — 9lb 2oz, or 4.1kg! Suddenly it was clear why I had found it so difficult, and taken over three hours to push this baby out of my 5′ 4” frame.

I feel incredibly fortunate to have had such a smooth and straightforward labour, in which I felt largely calm and in control, and managed with only gas and air for pain relief; however I didn’t feel like this immediately following the birth. For a few weeks, I was in shock that I had grown such a big baby for my small frame, and felt more than a little traumatised at the three, long, hard hours of solid pushing, and the shoulder dystocia that was thankfully mild and resolved very quickly, but could potentially have been worse. I worried about what would happen the next time — what if I have an even bigger baby? I spoke to a consultant a week after Oscar’s birth who very confidently reassured me, “If you’ve managed a normal delivery the first time, you can do it again.” What people say about forgetting the pain of labour has been completely true for me, and now I look back on it as one of my proudest achievements.

Thank you for reading this, and if you’ve shared your birth story, let me know where I can read it!

Hannah xxx

Motherhood, Pregnancy, Travel

A pregnancy retreat at Ribby Hall Spa

November 6, 2017 4 Comments

Woman in white robe relaxing with a cup of tea

Being pregnant the second time around is just a world away from the experience I had when I was carrying Oscar. Not so much in terms of how the pregnancy feels: I’ve had the same symptoms at similar times, and it all feels very familiar physically, but in terms of how well I have looked after myself, and the lack of time I’ve had to listen to the needs of my pregnant mind and body. Even writing that down feels far too self-indulgent! In my first pregnancy, I researched the whole internet (really not exaggerating) for information, tips and advice about how to do everything right, I went to weekly pregnancy yoga classes from around 24 weeks, I joined an NCT antenatal programme and from around 34 weeks I listened to my natal hypnotherapy CD a few times a week. This time around, life feels about ten time busier and so far none of those things have happened. When I was pregnant with Oscar, I was careful not to pick up anything too heavy to protect my aching back, and towards the end I rested when I could. This time, I have a 14kg toddler who demands to be carried several times a day, and rest is a luxury I only get in broken spells at night. I know that this is completely normal, and those of you with more than one child will be nodding away, but it can make you feel guilty that you simply can’t give the same level of care and attention as you did for your first baby, right?

When the team at Ribby Hall spa village got in touch with me to tell me about their new pregnancy yoga retreat, and asked if I’d like to come along and review the experience, unsurprisingly I jumped at the chance. The package is a two day, one night stay for you and a partner, and all the included activities focus on unwinding, relaxing and spending quality time together (a rare treat for Ben and I nowadays!), as well as a perfect opportunity for us to connect and bond with the little life I’ve been nurturing inside over the past seven months.

We arrived at the spa hotel at about midday on the Friday, and were greeted with a goodie bag full of healthy treats, and a freshly made fruit smoothie to enjoy in the lounge. The spa is near Preston, and we had driven across that morning, leaving Oscar with my parents at my house in York.

Included in the pregnancy retreat package was a massage for both myself and Ben; this had all been arranged for us in advance by the staff in the spa and it was lovely to be able to have our massages at the same time, rather than one after another, as I have found with some other spas. After getting changed into fresh, fluffy robes and slippers (are they not the best thing about staying in a fancy hotel?!) we headed up to the spa itself. I had the Elemis pregnancy massage; one and a quarter hours of absolute bliss! I actually hadn’t ever had a proper pregnancy massage before, as the few places I’d been to during this pregnancy and the last didn’t actually offer one, as you need to be specially qualified to do them, so I’d had to opt for a facial or pedi instead. It was essentially the same as a traditional Swedish full body massage, only instead of lying on your front, it’s done whilst lying on either side (and a short bit lying on your back, too). I wasn’t really sure what I would think of this, but the positioning was done so smoothly and I was pleasantly surprised to find it one of the most relaxing massages I’d ever had. One of my favourite things about it was how incredible comfortable and supportive the massage couch was – so important for my achey back and pelvis!

Ben had the hot stone massage, and I was a tiny bit envious of him! Smooth, heated rocks were placed over pressure points on his body and then used to massage him with oils. I think given a choice, men often feel the need to go for more ‘manly’ massage options, like sports or Thai massages, but he absolutely loved this. I thought it was brilliant that as part of the retreat package, the partners were pampered as well: they can often end up feeling a bit sidelined when it comes to pregnancy-related classes and experiences.

After our massages, we were taken over to a room in the hotel’s gym complex where we had our hypnotherapy relaxation class by Gemma Webster. I had prepared for Oscar’s birth with some natal hypnotherapy CDs, and found them hugely helpful during early labour. I’m a huge believer in being able to control and manage pain, to a certain extent, by having realistic expectations, visualisations and staying calm. The lights were dimmed and we were each given a pregnancy positive affirmation card to focus on, before we lay down and listened to Gemma leading us into deep relaxation, with her very soothing voice. I think I might have fallen asleep towards the end, but that’s a good sign, right?!

Dinner was held in the restaurant at the hotel, and included two courses, although in the end everything had been so delicious that we had to have dessert as well! One big plus point that Ben and I both really appreciated were how engaging and friendly all the staff were, especially those in the restaurant areas – its really made a big difference to our stay.

My lovely friend Rebecca, who I first met through Instagram and has a beautiful blog that you can read here, was also at the retreat, and after dinner we stayed up far too late in the lounge drinking non-alcoholic cocktails (although I really wished it was a glass of wine, I’ve been craving it so much!) together with the boys – it was a wonderful evening and with all the laughter it was the most exercise my pelvic floor had had in a while!

Ben and I had the most luxurious, spacious room with a huge four-poster bed, and we both slept so well – thanks in part to the massage and relaxation class the day before. The only fault I could find was that my pillow was pretty firm for me, although Ben thought it was fine and I noticed afterwards that they had a ‘pillow menu’ on the bedside table where you could order an alternative pillow!

After a yummy breakfast, Ben and I headed back to the spa to try out the spa’s Aqua Experience. This was a series of pools, saunas and steam rooms, and whilst didn’t try the hotter ones, I was more than happy to stick to the cooler jacuzzi and relaxation areas. Ben and I agreed that our favourite bit was the outside spa pool overlooking the countryside – isn’t there something amazing about feeling the warm water on your body, but also the cool, fresh air on your face?

We checked out of our room after getting changed and headed back over to the gym complex for our pregnancy yoga session, led by Jo Eastham. Ben came along to this too, as he really enjoys yoga – being quite tall, he can be prone to getting back pain and finds yoga poses the best way to stretch out and strengthen his back. I’ll often find him doing the ‘downward dog’ position in the kitchen when he’s come home from work, and Oscar has started to copy him!

Compared to yoga that I’ve done before, I found this session very gentle and relaxing, and felt incredibly calm afterwards. Some of the yoga positions were done whilst sitting on an exercise ball for added support, which I hadn’t thought of doing before. I’ve been meaning to sign up for a course of pre-natal yoga again in this pregnancy, but haven’t yet got around to it! I think it’s a brilliant way to not only get some light exercise, but a lot of pregnancy yoga classes will focus on breathing for labour, and visualising and connecting with your baby.

After our yoga class we went back to the hotel restaurant for lunch with Rebecca and her husband Dan; there were plenty of healthy options but after feeling like we’d been so good to our bodies all weekend we were all craving burgers! We could have stayed chatting all afternoon, but we had to eventually head off back to rescue my parents from little Oscar. We were so happy to scoop him up again when we got home; even after only a day we’d really missed him, but apparently, other than cheerily stating that ‘mummy and daddy on holiday’ he hadn’t mentioned us at all!!

I hadn’t ever heard of anywhere offering a pregnancy retreat package like this before, but I thought it was the perfect ‘babymoon’ for any pregnant couple who love spas (who doesn’t?!) and are after some pure relaxation — the fact that everything was organised for us, from booking the massages, to taking us directly to each class, to making dinner reservations, meant that we didn’t have to worry about a thing. It was also such a wonderful opportunity for Ben and I to really focus on the new baby; exactly what I felt like I needed with the hectic day-to-day routine of work and looking after a busy toddler.

If you’re interested in finding out more about the packages at Ribby Hall spa (they also do a non-pregnancy yoga retreat) you can find more details here.

Family, Motherhood, Nature, Pregnancy

Three Octobers with Oscar – a reflection on the first two years of motherhood

October 20, 2017 4 Comments

There’s a cherry tree in the park opposite our house in York. It’s a bit of a show-off, as far as trees go. In the Spring, heavy clusters of candyfloss-hued blossom drip from each branch, and as their short show comes to an end they create a pink snowstorm whenever the wind blows. In the autumn, the leaves begin to turn, first mottled yellow, ochre and green; then fiery red, before they all fall in a final sigh and leave the ground covered in a scarlet carpet.

Two years ago, I was heavily pregnant with Oscar: my due date passed, then 41 weeks, but he was staying firmly put. I felt enormous, uncomfortable, and incredibly impatient for him to arrive. I paced around the park multiple times every day in those last few days before I became a mother, hoping to bring labour on, but also needing to be close to home as I was getting both strong Braxton Hicks contractions and a very achey lower back. Passing this fiery tree so frequently made me truly appreciate its beauty for the first time, but I didn’t know at the time that I was also creating a strong association between the cherry tree and its vivid hues and my feelings at the time.

One year later, on Oscar’s first birthday, we walked through the park with the majestic cherry tree, dressed in its full autumn grandeur, and a wave of nostalgia hit me like a wall. Tears pricked my eyes when I saw myself in my mind that year earlier, waddling stubbornly through the park, completely clueless to what was about to hit me – I was full of confidence, optimism; I was ready to handle motherhood and all it faced, and refused to relax and embrace my last few days before my life turned upside down. The next few weeks would turn out to be more exhausting, fulfilling, frustrating and joyful — emotionally draining — than I could have ever imagined.

Here I was, now a completely different woman to the stubborn waddler: more resilient, with far more grace then before, perhaps no less stubborn but a lot more willing to accept what I could not change. I felt older, in a good way. I had more appreciation for what was important in my life, and knew to hold those things close and nurture them, and not worry about the rest. I was tired, all the time, but I felt happier in myself than ever before.

This year, I could also see someone else beneath the tree, in the very place where I had stood for a photo, cradling my 41 week bump: the little life changer himself. Angelic, rosy cheeks from the chill in the air, delicious rolls of chubbiness from 365 days of feeding him, delighted squeals as we threw rusty leaves in the air like confetti. It was the first time that I’d really looked at him and also seen myself, pre-motherhood, and the wave of emotions that came over me were overwhelming.

This year, as the leaves started to turn on the tree, I found myself reflecting again; both on Oscar, my autumn baby, and on myself. Oscar is a walking, talking, just-turned-two year old. He is taller and slimmer and has more hair than last year, and his sweet, funny, cheeky and loving personality positively shines. I’m so incredibly proud of him. I’m just as happy, probably more so than last year, but I feel more grounded, less emotionally vulnerable; less like I’m looking frantically for the carpet that was sharply pulled out from under my feet on the day that Oscar was born, than last year.

This year, I’m growing another little life again; a baby brother for Oscar. I often wonder how there could possibly be room in my heart to love another little human as much as I already do Oscar, and also how I will manage with two babies to nurture in a few short weeks. It fills me with excitement, a little apprehension and also determination to do the best I can both by my boys, and Ben, but also to try to not be too hard on myself. I’d really like to be strict on setting lower expectations of myself than I did last time I had a newborn baby, and channel the calm, relaxed mama inside that I know I can tease out if I stay focused on what’s really important, and gently set aside all of those things that are not.

Last year I compiled this short film of Oscar in the days around his birthday, and the mood of it is so deliciously autumnal, I’d love it if you took a look. Right at the very end of the video, there’s a clip where Oscar is up and on his feet like Bambi – those are actually his very first proper steps, caught on camera, hence the huge proud mama grin on my face!

If you can relate to any of this as a mother, I would love to hear your thoughts. If you have more than one baby, how was it different for you the second time? Is autumn a special time of year for you as well?

Hannah x

Family, Motherhood, Pregnancy

My pregnancy diary- the first trimester

September 5, 2017 9 Comments

At twenty-two weeks pregnant this post is somewhat belated, but as I’m finding the pregnancy is absolutely racing by, and although I will never say never, it could be the last time I get to experience this, I want to document and remember all the magical moments, good and bad.

From the very beginning

I knew I was pregnant pretty much instantly. Well, within a few days, when this little peach would have been a mere dot of cells, I simply felt different. Of course, it could have all been in my mind, as we were trying and hoping that I would get pregnant, but the month before I felt like I knew it hadn’t happened before my period actually arrived. One change I noticed was my appetite – I went off food, and whilst I didn’t feel nauseous yet, I found myself turning my nose up at lots of foods that I usually like, and also coffee: this also happened very early in my pregnancy with Oscar and set little nostalgic alarm bells off in my head. My breasts also felt very tender after only a week or so, and I just felt… pregnant! I pre-warned Ben, and he shrugged, telling me with his eyes, “well, we’ll have to wait a couple more weeks to find out,” but also flashing me an excited smile.

I waited until a Saturday morning when Ben would be at home with us, a few days after my period was due, and took a test. Unlike last time, I didn’t feel at all nervous, as I felt so sure that I knew it would be positive, but I still felt my stomach flip with butterflies when I saw the second line appear. We ate breakfast together, and I tried hard not to grin the whole while. When Ben was brushing his teeth, I handed Oscar the test and whispered to him, “go and give this to Daddy”. He toddled over, and held it out. Ben, slightly suspiciously said, “Oscar, what have you got there?” -thinking he’d got his hands on something he shouldn’t have. As he looked at the test, I peeked my head around the door watching him. His brain computed what it was that he was holding for several seconds before his face broke into a huge smile and he looked up, searching for me. As we hugged, Oscar ran over, never wanting to feel left out, and wrapped his arms around our legs. It was a wonderful moment.

The first 14 weeks

The early weeks were very similar to last time for me: unpleasant, but not awful. I felt mildly queasy all day long, and didn’t want to eat. I was ready for bed by 8pm every night, and had random moments of feeling emotional and tearful for no reason. I had frequent niggling fears of having a miscarriage; coming from a medical background I couldn’t help but be rationally aware that they are really common in early pregnancy. We kept the pregnancy a secret (other than our parents), and I really disliked having symptoms, and knowing I was pregnant, but not feeling able to shout it from the rooftops or having anything to ‘show’ for it. Having said all of this, it was wonderful to know that I was growing a new life inside me, and I felt more relaxed and able to enjoy it than the first time around, when I felt like the first trimester dragged on for an absolute lifetime!

At 10 weeks, we chose to have a private early pregnancy scan, as we had booked our holiday to Mallorca already, and I knew that the dates fell right when my 12-week scan should be. Due to the aforementioned anxiety of things simply being OK with the pregnancy, I really wanted to go on holiday and be able to relax in the knowledge that it was all so far, so good. It was well worth it – the scan was really thorough and it was completely magical to see the little peach, looking like a fully-formed tiny human, wriggling and kicking away.

By about 12-13 weeks not only did I start feeling a whole lot better in myself, but I could tell that I was starting to show! To others, I was definitely at that awkward stage of simply looking like I had eaten a really big meal! This was so exciting to me, as I adored having a bump the first time around, and it really didn’t appear until 16-17 weeks with Oscar. When we had our dating scan, my due date was put forward by five days – exactly the same as with Oscar. It’s always nice to find out you’re a little further on (according to the baby’s size, at least) but to me it means I’m absolutely sure I’ll go over my due date again. Oscar was born at 12 days overdue, and I found the last two weeks of the pregnancy really hard. I’m very impatient and the anticipation nearly killed me, not to mention that I was dreading the thought of being induced. This time around I feel a LOT more relaxed about it all, and in my mind my real ‘due date’, that I’m going by, is when I’ll actually be 41 weeks pregnant.

My top tips for coping with morning sickness

Although I was really lucky and didn’t get severe nausea, my personal sickness self-help tips would be:

Sleep! My nausea was always worse if I’d had a bad night up with Oscar
De-stress! I had a really big exam when I was 7 weeks pregnant, and the stress surrounding it made my nausea so much worse. I think relaxation methods (mindfulness, meditation, yoga, massage) can help the physical feeling of early pregnancy sickness more than you would imagine
Never have an empty stomach – it makes morning sickness worse; I chose to nibble on plain rice cakes or biscuits in between what meals I could manage
Keep well hydrated with regular sips of water

The second trimester

The things I’m most looking forward to: (kind of cheating as I’m writing this halfway through my second trimester, but they were all true!)

Having a bump – the bigger the better!
Feeling slightly less exhausted all the time
Feeling those magical baby flutters and kicks
Seeing our peach again at the 20 week scan
Finding out the sex of the baby
Getting to wear comfy maternity clothes again – especially my maternity jeans!

I completely forgot about this moment here until I was looking on my phone for some photos to accompany this post. On the day I took the pregnancy test and we officially found out we were expecting, Ben and Oscar came back from the shops with this big bunch of blooms, which Oscar proudly presented to me. I don’t often share candid, everyday photos (laundry basket and washing machine on show, grainy/blurry images!!) but these were just so sweet.

Please do pop a comment below if you liked this, and if you’re pregnant at the moment, please say hello! When are you due? During my first pregnancy I absolutely loved following along with other mums’ pregnancy journeys through Instagram or their blogs.

Hannah x