Hectic Mum

Sydney Mum finding motherhood is totes hectic

10 days

It’s been 10 days since birth.  I had a girl, Chloe, via c-section because she was in breech. She was sitting on her bottom and dancing on my bladder and obviously quite comfortable.  The 5 days in hospital was like baby boot camp.  I literally had had no experience of babies and here was one I could take home and keep.

I’m just finding some time to have my own head and try to write/ blog while I’m now an at-home mother.  Apart from staring at Chloe all the time I do want to start writing, earn some money and ensure I can stay at home like this longer.  The only income I’m about to have is via the new Paid Parent Leave which came into effect on Jan 1st – such excellent timing.

Let me take you back to the birth.   I just wanted a c-section.  All the vagaries and options of birth plans could be summed by two words, Danni Minogue.  You want natural in a pool with dolphins?  you’ll get an emergency Cesarean.  Because no-one can tell you what type of birth you will actually have.  It might be 4 hours, 12 hours, lots of stitching, suctions, super easy or days of pain.

As a public hospital patient opting for the Cesarean in not possible.  My plan was to use the age and mental health cards (I’m 43 and have had depression) and speak of my plans only to doctors.  When informed the baby was in breech then Cesarean became my choice.  I couldn’t be happier.

In the days before the birth I visited my beautician (waxing, eyebrow and eyelash tinting) and my hairdresser (cut and styled)  Such issues of grooming are my sanity foundations.  I could and did have uncontrolled crying, white compression stockings and a wardrobe of bright pyjamas to match.  Small things like red painted toes and the knowledge the photos would be semi decent lessened my physical concerns.

I arrived at hospital at 7am on the day with matching luggage, great hair and overwhelming disbelief about what was about to happen.  There are moments you can’t know what will happen and you just have to proceed.

My natural state is to be the comedian.  Did I have any crowns, false teeth? ‘Nothing detachable’ I replied to the nurses.  Comedy was masking my panic.  Surgery and being cut open was beyond my brain.  A baby coming along was also incomprehensible but I was also intensely curious about what she looked like.

I got the surgery comedy team.  Once the epidural kicked in, the sheets went up, The Faux-Husband was dressed in hospital gear with a ‘visitor’ sticker.  I could only see his eyes which were in permanent shock position.

The cutting began. ‘I’ve sprung a leak’ said the surgeon as he looked over the sheet wall at me with a tempting look.   ‘We’re trying to describe your insides’, he continued, ‘spagetti marinara ?’
‘I can see a bottom!’ he said a few minutes later.  ‘It a big one’   The surgeon and anesthetist started taking bets on how much she would weigh 3.6 or 3.7 ?

I longed to hear that classic yell, the first noise of the newborn.  She was held up, lungs yelling, arms outstretched like the arrival of Christ.

The ‘baby catcher’ nurse was given the task of cleaning, weighing, measuring and wrapping her then giving to me. “What are the stats?” I yelled in my drug softened voice.  3.685 kilos and 54 cms.  She was big.  The Anaesthetist won the bet and I knew my decision to do the ‘open top’ birth was right.

Next post…the first 5 days in Hospital.  Me vs Midwives on breast and feeding.


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This entry was posted on January 25, 2011 by in Uncategorized.
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