I was convinced, or at least hoped, that the baby was going to arrive early. March is Fred’s, May is Wilma’s and April would have been perfect birthday month for Pebbles.
However, my due date came and went as fast as a bullet.
However, my due date came and went as fast as a bullet.
The waiting game annoyed me so much, just sitting there on standby not wanting to do anything or go anywhere. To be fair, C-19 restriction didn’t allow us to be active anyway, so that was a nice excuse (that had lasted over a year). On the top of being looong overdue, I was admitted to the hospital for inducing, however I was sent home shortly after, because the house was overcrowded. The whole Estonia was giving birth at the same time. I wasn’t that special.
However, on the second try few days later, my hospital record had a post-it "DO NOT SEND HOME" and mission Let's get this baby out started. Two weeks after my due date.
Also, I like to downplay the fact that in April the baby was forcefully turned from legs-down into head-down position (external cephalic version). Imagine three doctors just pushing my belly so hard that the baby spun like a propeller. “Not a big deal” I repeated in shock.
It was all for the sake of promoting the “natural way”.
But let’s be honest, everything about this baby was artificial, far from “natural”.
It began with IVF, I got plenty of drugs to keep it alive, and it ended with wrong position, torturous days of labour inducing, umbilical cord wrapped around Pebble’s neck and emergency C-section. Not exaggerating here, but every new doctor that read my hospital case papers went silent for a moment and then looked at me with compassion like they had found a stray sick kitten under their car.
Yes, it was tough and during the 8 days in the hospital I was sure that my tombstone would say “At least she tried”. C-19 restrictions didn’t make it any easier. Having contractions so close together that I didn’t have time to breathe, and then comes the nurse to swab my nose. Also, the twelve hours Fred was finally allowed to visit me were the most powerful and soothing moments.
The most bizarre small things meant the world to me, like Oatly chocolate milk (the true MVP). And of course Fred (my hero). I am surely more in love with Fred after all the experience. Butt naked, sitting on chair, Fred showering me. Wobbling around trying one hundred different positions to see what is what. Introducing the Ministry of Silly walks after my legs went numb from epidural.
Let's stand up and give a hand of applause to Fred for arriving to the hospital faster than I was moved from second to fifth (or fourth?) floor. A-m-a-z-i-n-g.
He being there erased the memory of past horrible days and I felt like I could do it. Being alone and not knowing how long it will last were the hardest parts. Did it really hurt so much? Yes and no. The pain was doable, but exhaustion, overall discomfort and puking every time a contraction comes put it to another level.
I don’t want to sound bratty, but few things were kind of odd during the whole hospital stay:
1. I was all about “shut up and take my money” to get a private room, instead I was in immense pain and spent my nights in the corridor or in the CTG room just that I wouldn’t disturb my roommates who were also in pain of their own.
2. Signing contracts not at the beginning of your hospital stay but at the peak of pain. Not really coherent. The discomfort had deformed my signature, since I was truly not cognizant. I still have no idea what I agreed with, maybe soon they will take my baby away and send it to Hogwards.
3. How pre- and postnatal wards differ from actually birthing rooms. The latter was like Hilton suite and the other ones were true peasant wagons.
4. The moment I got to touch my baby the first time in the intensive care (hours after C-section) I was given two shots of fentanyl. During this special moment I was high as a kite.
5. How horrible the hospital food is! Cheap doesn’t have to equal horrendous.
It is unimaginable what is coming up and the journey is very personal. I am glad that I didn’t take any maternity classes nor conduct a birth plan, since they would have been completely useless. My only goal was to get the baby out not matter what and that I did.
I will now turn this horrible experience into a funny story to look back upon.
First trimester = sick, tired and secretive
second trimester = "Baby kicks are cute" and wearing sunglasses in the bathroom is cool
third trimester = take this baby out!!!
Each month has average of 30-31 days,
except the last months of pregnancy which are 2567 days long
Eating for two, crapping for two:
I didn't waddle, it was pregnancy swag:
Ate a watermelon:
At first I compared the baby with a fruit, but in the end it was
small watermelon, medium watermelon, a little bigger watermelon, enormous watermelon;
Hospital attire spring/summer 2021 trends;
Tasted different kind of medicine on the menu
and listened tonnes of "Käbi ei kuku" podcasts:
I was aching over my body and had recently passed out,
but suddenly there I was with my own baby.
Surreal WTF moment;
A minute before going to the hospital as a duo,
a minute after we arrived from the hospital as a trio:
Let me introduce you the heir to the throne
Pebbles Circus:
Look at this hetero narrative:
