Perfect and then some

From beginning to ... well, this next stage of beginnings, he is worth every moment of the last nearly five years. We are so in love, and he's so cute and funny (I very very nearly busted my stitches on Tuesday at Birthcare when the husband lifted Cuinn's legs during a nappy change and Cuinn shot him with poo - he (Cuinn, obviously ... you'd hope) managed to get poo all over the bed, the carpet, and almost managed to get the opposite wall (I just noticed poo splatters on his feeding pillow which was sitting up against the wall) ... and there was the husband standing there baby poo dripping down his legs, a wet-wipe plugging his son's butt (the husband has spectacularly fast reflexes it turns out. Not quite fast enough of course, but it could have been worse), apparently considering putting his newborn on Trademe) and awe inspiring - bringing him home was the most incredible moment for both the husband and I. I really wasn't prepared for how it would feel to be honest - it was such an overwhelming emotion I couldn't describe it if I tried.

We're all three of us doing really well (if you discount the middle of the night cluster feeds which go on for about 3 hours and are a bit of a killer ... research on what to do about those will be required ... and then there was the kidlet wanting to feed for about 4 and a half hours during the middle of today) and loving being a family. The husband looks slightly less like he's been hit in the head with a hammer, I feel slightly less like I've been hit in the head with a hammer, and Cuinn ... he just seems to roll with the punches. As long as 'the punches' involves lots of loves and cuddles and feeds. I'm trying to be as mobile as I can post c-section to promote healing, and to try and get as many hard painkillers out of my system as possible - that plan seems to fall over a bit in the evening with sheer tiredness, and in the night when I've been using my muscles to sit up and lie down for hours when Cuinn is doing his feeding on and off thing, I could just about beg for a morphine drip, but for the most part I'm getting there. I can handle a bit of pain, but I really don't want too much crap going through to my baby. I did promise my midwife though that I was using sense - where the negative impact of not taking the goodies was greater, then take them I will.

The dogs have taken to Cuinn really well - Jack became protective almost instantly and goes straight to him if he cries. He also tends to check things out if someone other than the husband or I are handling him, and often he'll just come up and sniff or lick him and then just sit by him for a while. Jess doesn't seem to care so much, although she sleeps under his hammock at night and isn't bothered by his being here in the slightest, which for a highly-strung border collie is actually quite a huge thing so we're really pleased. She was the one we were a little bit concerned about, but both of them have taken to him as part of the family, no questions asked. Maybe it's because their lives haven't changed much - they still get a power of loves and their walks and their treats and Al and I haven't changed with them, but then, they were our kids first so why should it change? We really, really wanted to make sure that their lives didn't change any more than necessary.

The birth went really, really well. Possibly that sounds a bit odd considering we ended with a c-section, but I feel good about the experience and for me it's a positive memory and I'm happy that I did everything I could to get Cuinn out naturally. As far as the c-section goes, what I and the husband wanted first and foremost at all times was a happy, healthy baby delivered safely, and what it came down to was that to achieve that, I needed the c-section.

The husband and I had awesome support, particularly our Obstetrician Paul, who we trusted absolutely to do the best for both me and the baby, and that made an enormous difference to both the experience and how we feel about the outcome. He has been a part of our journey with Cuinn from the beginning of our IVF cycle, to taking care of kidlet and me during the pregnancy ... he took care of us during the labour and was the surgeon who eventually delivered Cuinn, as well as the cheering squad that did his damndest to keep the husband on his feet during the labour. That's a lot of things to be and do, and regardless of whether it was his job or not, we are appreciative and grateful to the moon and back.

The exact progression of things with the labour and birth is a jumble in memory, but the labour started on Friday morning at about 2am. I woke up with pains, but they were much the same as what I'd had the week before and nothing had eventuated then, so I just ignored them thinking they'd stop as they'd done before. I got out of bed at about 4.30am briefly and again at about 5.30am thinking hmmm because I was still having pains, but again, I didn't reeeally put stock in it. At about 6am though I had an almighty contraction (well, it turns out it wasn't all that almighty in the scheme of things, more like a bit more ouchy and noticeable than the other pains had been) and woke the husband up to keep track of things just in case. Contractions at that point were about 7 minutes apart.

We rang Paul at about 7.30am, aware that things appeared to be progressing and that any time in the next couple of hours was likely to be spectacularly crap for trying to get from South Auckland to Auckland Hospital on the Southern motorway if things started to move quickly. Contractions were about 5-6 minutes apart with a mini contraction in the middle for good measure at that point, and I was still in a level of denial.

He said it sounded like labour was underway, and to come into the hospital (not so much from urgency as firstly because of the motorway thing, and secondly because we may as well get checked out and monitoring underway). I puddled around the house for a little bit longer though because I'd heard so many stories of people getting in there thinking they were about to have the baby and yet got there and hadn't even started dilating or whatever and that would have been terrible. But, it kind of comes down to just not being comfortable at home in the end, so we headed in on a bizarrely light motorway (thank you, thank you, thank you to whatever great cosmic power saw fit to have light traffic on that particular morning!) and arrived at about 9-9.30am, 3cm dilated and it was all on.

Gas is bollocks - it didn't seem to do anything at all - but sucking on the nozzle did give me something to focus on during the contractions and for that I'm eternally grateful (plus apparently, if you're just having a go for the fun of it, it's quite a bit different to if you're in pain, so it probably wasn't bollocks, but this is my story and it felt like bollocks so I don't care about the rationality of whether it was or it wasn't). I managed to talk myself through contractions for a fair while telling myself as they started that they'd get worse, then they'd get better and then it'd be over, and then talking myself through the waves telling myself that this was the worst bit, and see? it's getting better, and then reinforcing to myself when it was over. I spent some time in the pool to try and help (bless you Nan for an extremely well timed text message telling me that water really helped you - it was enough motivation to get me to climb over the side of the pool! It's incredible how the thought of just doing that with contractions going on gives you the horrors!), and it really did.

I can't remember/don't know how long I was in the pool, but I started throwing up (yes, I managed to ask for a bucket and get one before I started and no, I didn't just go for it in the pool - gross! Bizarrely, it was right about the time that I decided, mid-contraction, that I really felt like a McDonald's burger. Don't ask me how that works ...) and losing my mind a bit so I was given pethidine at about 11.30am. Marvellous stuff that! I managed then to get some sleep, but after a while the contractions progressed enough to be completely consuming and felt like they were coming one on top of the other and that was the end of that. I stuck it out for a bit longer, determined not to ask for an epidural, but when Paul said at about 12.30pm that he thought I needed one I was just about ready to try and put the thing in myself. So, that went in about half an hour later and took effect after 4 contractions - I tell you too, counting down through those 4 contractions, knowing that there was going to be a break from the pain, was wonderful (horrendous pain of the contractions aside of course).

The big problem we had is that although the labour was proceeding perfectly and completely typical for a normal labour with a perfectly lined up baby, baby was actually facing in the wrong direction - looking up instead of down (yes, he gets that direction thing from me) - and although he was trying to turn (I think someone said that anyway), he wasn't managing to. We decided to push through (excuse the pun) to full dilation and pushing in case he a) managed to turn in the meantime and b) if not, that he managed to turn, or Paul managed to turn him during pushing, and hoped that either scenario would play out.

We started pushing around 6.40pm and I was given cyntocin (which may or may not be spelled like that) - that didn't seem to do too much and then suddenly felt like it did way too much and I just couldn't stop pushing (by this time I was feeling contractions again so that I knew when to push - trying to guess when you can't feel pain is very difficult and very weird, and I was a bit afraid of pushing if I wasn't contracting) - but I can't really remember the time frame for that side of things ... nothing like a drug-induced haze to make a girl a bit blank on the details.

At about 8.30pm we talked with Paul about the chances of me getting the baby out naturally if I continued, and we made the decision to go to a c-section because the chances were I was going to do a world of damage to myself and still end up with one anyway, and the chances of getting him out myself were just too small - we couldn't seem to turn the baby to turn for love nor money. So, they gave me something to stop the contractions, theatre was organised and the rest is history.

Cuinn was born on the dot of 10pm, and the almighty holler he gave, the first time I heard him, was the most incredible thing. The tears just kind of poured out at that point. Although it was hard being able to hear him and not see him, the husband and I had talked about what would happen if there were any complications with delivery or we had a c-section and he knew that no matter what I wanted him to be with the baby. In whatever situation, if something wasn't straight forward, there would be people taking care of me, but in my mind, one of us needed to be with the baby, so he was right there with Cuinn which was an enormous comfort. I remember someone also telling me when the crying stopped that I couldn't hear him now because he'd been taken to another room for something, and I'm really grateful for that small thought from whoever that was, because it wasn't a small thing to me.

I can't imagine how horrendous labour is to watch for a loved one - it was pretty unpleasant to do, but at least I was consumed within my own world to an enormous extent. It's definitely more than a one person effort that's for sure, and the husband was an absolute rock. He's slowly starting to look slightly less pale (just as an aside, I love that the midwife visited yesterday and asked the husband if I was always this pasty. Hehe). He's an incredible father and the most awesome support a girl could ask for - lifting Cuinn to me in the night for feeding, doing the nappy changes and the burping during feeds ... absolutely wonderful. No words. Again. I'll also appreciate his concentration during the whole labour and birth experience forever too because I have so many gaps, and yet it's such an important thing to me, one of the most significant experiences I'll have in my life ... but he can fill in some of the blanks and that's quite a gift back to me.

The only regret I have from this entire experience of bringing Cuinn into the world is that I could never thank the people involved in giving him life, and giving him to us, enough for the part they played. There are people who have been a part of our life in the last year that I will remember forever with the most immense gratitude and an emotion that I couldn't hope to describe, and I just can't quite imagine that they won't continue to be a part of Cuinn's life. I wonder if they realise what an incredible difference they have made to our lives and what they mean to us, and that I look at my son's face and thoughts of them float through my heart as well. The gift they give is ... how could you put it into words? Every time I think of it I end up in floods of tears (hormones rock) - it just doesn't seem right that all I can do to say thank you is to send a photo of our little heart into the clinic. It is the strangest thought that we'll have out 6 week check up with Paul and then that tie to our experience is gone. I actually think I'm grieving - it's the closest thing to it that I can put my finger on. Mind you, in theory, we'll be seeing them all again in a few years when Cuinn gets a sibling. But still. I wonder if other people go through this?

And that's enough blathering from me. Besides, Cuinn has just woken up and he wants feeding - and he was mightily unimpressed when he tried to latch onto Al's hairy self last night.

Crashed out on my bed at Birthcare because he hated their cots.


In his car seat ready to come home.


Hangin' in his bouncer (and making poo very loudly)

And because nothing else seemed to be working today to get him to sleep, when he crashed out on his feeding pillow, I left him there!

And now the pics.

Simonne is still in hospital, but she has left instructions so that those peoples out there in cyberspace can share in our happy occasion (yes those in the know can snigger at how long that will last)!

O.k can't be bothered with trying to get the formatting exactly right so be happy that I got this far. Top photo is the young man fresh out the oven and being weighed (collective drawing of breath). The pediatrition had a hard time believing that this was a first baby. Next photo, we had discussed skin to skin in ante-natal classes and it was suggested that the baby be pressed to the fathers chest in the event of a ceaser, the theater staff passed Cuinn to Simonne, I suggested I take Cuinn and was actually growled at!

Lastly the little bloke cleaned and wrapped and happy snoozing and snuffling. He's turned out to be a real guts. A fantastic little feeder. Am told it's good for mum and him.

He's here! (By the Husband).

The ginger is now in two halves, with two gingers!

Yep, Cuinn is a red, much to the dlight of both sets of grandparents.

Simonne was an absolute champion, but in the end we had to have a ceaser, as though the boy was coming out the head first, he decided to arrive upside down (i.e. looking at the roof) so there were some fittage issuses.

Long and the short of it is that we have a very healthy boy at (get this), 3940 grams, or in old speak 8lb 11oz! Mom is very tired but glowing madly and dad is just stuffed!

In labour

Will keep you posted!

(Ha! Posted! Haha.)

(Also - Ow, effing OWWWW!!)

And the verdict is ...

Cuinn will be making a civilised, scheduled(ish) arrival on Saturday morning via c-section.

Between my body and the kidlet, a natural labour is very unlikely to be a happening thing and the risks of induction far outweigh the drawbacks of a c-section ...nevermind that an induction would most likely end in a c-section anyway at this point ... so after a really lengthy discussion weighing all the pros and cons and with informed consent up the wazoo, the decision is that we'll turn up Saturday morning for 'assessment' at the hospital, and Bob will, in theory, be one's uncle a few hours later.

I doubt you need any encouragement to do so, but you know the drill ... watch this space!

The problem with having a cat is exactly this sort of thing

She thinks it's excellent sport to catch a mouse, bring it inside and then let it go and play at stalking it. Which is all very well and good until she loses it. I've had my suspicions that this has been in the house for a couple of days (you're looking at the livestock sitting by the bottom right hand corner of the oven), and sure enough, as soon as the husband took the dogs out for a walk and the house went quiet, mousey mousey came out to play.

Temporarily. Apparently all is forgiven between me and the cat after I woke her up from her morning snooze and dumped her in front of the oven.

OK, you may or may not be able to see the mousey mousey in the kitty gob, but when I tried to get a better photo she assumed I was going to steal her toy and made a break for it. Outside this time. Good kitty.

An update distintinctly lacking in updateyness

I'm still here!

Sur-PRISE!!

I'm a bit astonished that along with my stomach, my fingers keep getting fatter ... very incredible.

Anywho, our OB appointment is at 2.30pm (I think) so unless the kidlet makes a hasty entrance in the meantime, which I'm not really pegging as likely, I should be back then with the game plan.

Due date

40 weeks today.

40 weeks.

40!!

I remember, very, very clearly, 8 weeks when we thought we'd lost him and then the little flutter across the scan screen that showed us that he was most definitely still holding on. I've never been so grateful for anything in my life.

It's all good for the holding on to cease now though kidlet, and get your ass born already.

Mummy. Is. Knackered.

Busy busy busy

I think the husband is nesting.

It's kind of amusing how boy nesting and girl nesting is quite different - girls clean, boys make a hell of a mess. Mind you, I'm not complaining because mess can be cleaned and the husband is getting a power of stuff done in the backyard and having some sterling ideas on how to do a few things while he's at it.

We sort of have two little areas outside, a small paved area off one of the bedrooms and a small deck area. There's a raised garden by the deck area that the husband built a few years ago, we plonked a couple of fruit trees in then merrily ignored and allowed to fill up with weeds, but the spa pool was sitting on the deck for several years so no one ever really went in that direction and we were completely lazy about keeping it up. The outdoor set was around the corner on the paved area and although you can see the garden, it wasn't reeeally motivation enough to fix it up.

But, we sold the spa pool, moved the outdoor set onto the deck and then we kind of needed to make a plan and tidy things up a bit.

So, here's what's happened.

We (and by 'we' I mean the husband) dug the fruit trees out and replaced them with olive trees. We wanted some shade over the outdoor table, and $30 on olive trees which will give a really nice dappled light by next summer when they've growed (yes, that was intentional. Unlike a book I picked up recently where one of the main characters 'speeded' through a town on the very first page. Heavens. I'm sure speeded isn't a word) up a bit was much cheaper than buying a shade sail which we can't afford.

We've been trying to work out for the last few weeks what to do with the fruit trees because we really didn't want to dump them, and this morning the husband had a flash of inspiration to plant them along the top of our little retaining wall, so we (again, by 'we' I mean he) did that, and it looks really cool. We're kind of hoping that it might put a bit of a barrier up for Cuinn in due course too so he doesn't arse over the side of the retaining wall, but how successful that will be remains to be seen.

Smart border collie staying right out of the way and merrily chewing on a manky old bone, which apparently to dogs is the best thing ever.

Jack investigating lovely compost.

Last but not least, we do still have this little mess is right at the front of the house, bless. The husband now needs to build a new fence to replace the one he leaned on and annihilated.

I'll take photos of the whole lot tomorrow or whenever to show the full effect, once the husband has mowed the lawns and it looks all pretty. At the moment it kinda looks a bit like we've had the Armageddon in our yard.

Obviously I was working hard too while all this was going on ... I was cheering him on, then hiding when he broke his axe, then vacuuming inside because it's blowing like a blowy thing today and one of our windows slammed shut in the wind and exploded all through the lounge. On an awesome scale of one to ten, I managed to get a glazier out here through our insurance company in about 15 minutes by telling them that a) the window is in the front of the house b) reminding them that we live in South Auckland and c) by throwing in for good measure that I'm going to give birth any minute and I really wanted the window fixed as soon as possible ... I have no idea how exactly that got them moving but it did. It was probably less the whole imminent birthing thing and more the thought of an unattended, insecure house in South Auckland and the potential contents claim that did it though, but who am I to complain?

And now, I have chocolate afghans to ice.

Slow down my ass

The husband, watching my stomach roll and poke out and shiver and wiggle in all directions, and me screwing up my face and going cross-eyed as every other powerful little boot lands on either some soft organ or in my ribs, says ...

"I thought they're supposed to slow down at the end?"

Me too, my dear husband, me too.

Apparently though, the idea that they slow down before birth because they run out of room doesn't take into consideration little lardos who absolutely run out of room but just put a lot more effort into rolling, poking, shivering, wiggling and booting. I admire his level of determination, but it does suggest a ton of trouble coming our way too.

Bless his not so little socks.

In other news, after receiving a very descriptive birth experience email from one of the girls in our antenatal class this morning, I felt my general state of relaxation about the whole birth thing evaporate in a heartbeat and I've decided that we might just adopt instead and Cuinn can stay where he is for ever and ever amen. He doesn't seem inclined to come out anyway, so it's a win win for everyone really.

(I'm trying to convince myself that of the three births that have happened so far from our antenatal class, although two of them appear to have been on the horrific side, the other was a really good birth (is there such a thing?) and that birth was using a private specialist from the same practice that I'm using. A decent sort of coincidence really)

And now, the husband and I are off on another adventure, this time a BBQ. I even made salad which looks like it could possibly be edible. Awesome.

One day till due date (Tuesday), two days till I'm assessed to see whether we move ahead with induction or go straight to a c-section (Wednesday), three days till induction (Thursday).

Everything else aside, it's been almost a year since this journey started with monitoring to the beginning of our IVF cycle. In some ways it feels like it's been happening forever, and yet usually in the same thought I can't believe that we're so near the end, so near having our (not so) little boy. It's been a hell of a ride, and thank you all so much for being there.

The Husband and the Ginger go on an adventure

Well ... what else am I going to do? If the Cuinn kid isn't going to move his little kiddly butt, I'm going to ignore my obstetrician's instructions to get lots and lots of rest (besides, I got 12 hours sleep last night (give or take loo stops, kicks in the ribs and internal organs, and rolling over (I'm so looking forward to rolling over easily again and not having to wake up completely and use the entire bed and about half an hour to rearrange myself ... and sleeping on my back! How I miss sleeping on my back!) when hips started to complain)! That's rest! Incredible amounts of rest!), pretend that I'm not income-less and go shopping!

I'm feeling so good today it's almost a bit weird, so I decided that since the husband ditched work last night in case I popped (doh) and from today he's on leave, we may as well make use of our remaining days of just us and go for an adventure. Sooo, I bribed him with a new fry pan (he loves to cook and he waaanted it so it was a much more enticing deal than it sounds) and coffee and gave him directions on the best place to park in Ponsonby ... which was conveniently right around the corner from one of my favourite clothing stores ... ahem.

We had such a cool morning/early afternoon and I somehow (by looking pathetic and pleading my case apparently enormously well) managed to wangle a new skirt too (bless you Widdess for your skirts with stretchy waistbands that allow for enormous tummies), and although my brain function is seriously inhibited at the moment, I even registered before it was too late that if I took the wicked black t-shirt with the bright blue peacock on the front that would have looked awesomely funky with the skirt into the changing room, he'd hit me over the head with the fry pan. We really should have gotten the fry pan afterwards. So sad. The t-shirt was on sale too. Poos.

Not even half a niggle

Not even a twinge during the night ... but I had the most beautiful sleep (and no, I didn't sleep like a baby, because the baby apparently used my insides as a playground all night - I had to keep rolling on him to stop his feet kicking out 10 feet in the air). 12 hours and I only got up 3 times (instead of the usual up every hour to hour and a half) - and one of those was at 6.30am mostly to let the dogs out anyway. Woohoo!

Sooo ... today ... am feeling good, very waddly, but no icky tummy, no pains to speak of, rested ... generally the complete opposite of yesterday! I am that person who it seems has an over-active labour imagination and gets everyone else all excited with me. Excellent.

I wonder if this means that I should do the vacuuming today? Crap.

Siamese zucchini!!

Weird.

Now ... how to convince the husband that he really wants to go and get me a hamburger from McCrappers ....?

Argh! Help! Someone call the Fire Brigade! The Air Force! Or, you know, the Obstetrician ...

He's got a long way to go, a loooong way, but Cuinn seems to be trying to work out what it is he's meant to be doing and making vague efforts to do it.

I can say that there is pain ... there is vomiting ... there is ... other fun stuff. And an oddly smoochy cat, go figure - my cat doesn't really do smooth, she more does feck off inferior being (although, to give her her dues, she did sit on my stomach and incubate Cuinn for about a week solid after embryo transfer).

There have been none of the big signs of early labour, nor have there been contractions (I don't think - the pains seem to come in waves, but between peaking waves they don't actually go away entirely) - it's more like a bad day at the period office (ergo, I feel like I've been hollowed out with a blunt spoon). I haven't even bothered to ring the obstetrician because, what am I going to tell him?

It started at the joyful time of 1.30am this morning. Then abruptly stopped about an hour and a bit later once I'd dragged the husband home from work. Woops. Still, at least I got a few hours sleep before it kicked off again at about 5ish. And then stopped abruptly again about an hour and a bit later. Bless. I think I've quite likely got a day or two, maybe more (I'm shooting for the auspicious date of the 19th at this point), but the big hurrah! is that I think he is going to manage this by himself and that's the awesome thing. He can grumble away to his heart's content over the next few days (we've got 5 to 6 before the OB steps in) as far as I'm concerned, just so long as he manages it himself.

How I manage remains to be seen of course - I had fabulous intentions of keeping my strength up this morning and had eggs on toast for breakfast, which I violently puked up again about 10 minutes later. Apparently pineapple lumps and sweet tea are perfectly acceptable though. Excellent. Just what I imagine I shouldn't be scarfing and swilling with what may or may not be in the not too distant future because I'm guessing pineapple lumps and tea aren't chock full of electrolyte replacementy stuff and glycogens. Do you think Panettone is? Any chance at all?

Ah well. Watch this space.

I'm off to google electrolyte replacementy stuff and glycogens and keep talking encouragingly to my little man (contrary little poo more like -he's aiming for the weekend, I'm sure of it. Or else, he's going to have me dancing on the spot aaalll weekend and then have to be induced on Thursday. What's the bet he's a ginger ... ?)

Photo comparison

Actually, that's no help at all - he looks lower in the first one. I think. He's pointier in the second one ... and he's kind of more egg shaped to look down on, but meh. It's a bust.

22nd December

15th January

In which I say very little at all

What can I tell you?

I'm not doing anything interesting, because I can't.

The kidlet hasn't arrived yet, because he doesn't feel like it.

I thought things may be starting to happen yesterday when I had what I thought was an almighty contraction, but it turned out to be an isolated incident and therefore I guess it wasn't. I'm pretty sure that Cuinn has dropped down though, possibly even engaged, so what I think it might have been was my body giving him a great big hand to get down there. You'll be wondering, so I'll tell you (poor boy readers) - it was like a bolt of pain that went from my cervix through to my lower back, banded around low in my front, then travelled fast up and over my bump and sort of squeezed like hell and pushed down somehow all at the same time. And made me go completely bug-eyed even though it only lasted, I don't know ... seconds.

For all there was no repeat, I did feel like complete bollocks for the rest of the day - crampy, nauseous, tight all over my bump and by late afternoon the only thing that was really comfortable was on my hands and knees hugging my swiss ball ... and today I am, yes, walking a bit like a bandy legged sailor and feel as though something rather solid is lodged rather low (walking aside, it's also kinda hard to sit to very long and just when I thought my required sitting position couldn't get any more unladylike - apparently it can), although not lodged where I imagined it'd feel lodged to be honest, so whether it's a combination of wishful thinking and imagination remains to be seen. Then again, we've also established that the kidlet has my sense of direction, soooo... (oh, and the feet and knees that normally poke out are poking out quite a bit lower - phew for that because knees and feet under ribs was getting veeery old)

The thing that does make me snort about the whole thing is that post whatever it was, I had two immediate thoughts ...

1. Shite, I have to clean the bathroom (Hello?? Why?? I'd only cleaned it about 3 days before).

2. Why do they tell us to pack a food bag? Who the hell would want to eat with something like that going on??

And I also today contacted my beauty therapist to see if I could move Saturday's appointment forward to today, just in case. I can do a couple of extra days of hairy legs at the other end, but no blimming way am I starting out looking like a ginger gorilla.

But, for all that, there really is no indication that he's imminent. I'd love for him to do this on his own - I really don't want to be induced (harder, faster labour with a big ass baby, more chance of intervention blah blah), and I'd rather recover from a natural birth than a c-section, but one can also think wishfully to the moon and back - the little monster will do what he does. Plus, we're going to have two lots of family in town late next week who otherwise wouldn't get to meet him for a long while, and I'd really love if everything comes together for that, although if he doesn't do his thing tonight/tomorrow I want the little sucker to stay in there until next week (early next week is perfectly acceptable, but next week nonetheless) because my OB is not on this weekend and that isn't on.

I did teach the husband how to use the blog (and Facebook) last night though - I have a phone list ready to go with the news, so you needn't worry that said news will bypass you (unless you're not on the phone list of course in which case ... bummer for you) - but the easiest way to get pictures out is really just uploading them here. Assuming he doesn't forget ... although I think he realises there will be a call for blood if he does, so we should be right.

The one thing I will say is that the phone list is la decent size, so if I text to say he's arrived, and you text back - don't expect a response. You might get one, but don't expect it and don't be offended (please, please, PLEASE! if you don't get one back for a bit). If nothing else, texting when I can't feel my fingers is a mission, and I imagine I'll just want to focus on my baby and my husband and probably the residual affects of my drugs, not having text conversations with 20 people. I'll do my absolute best to make sure we don't miss out any vital details though - I promise!

And that really is all there is for now.

Soooo ... maybe we overdid it on the zucchini

It turns out they grow a bit bigger and a tad prolifically than I remembered ... but, zucchini explosion aside (and actually, we are managing to eat our way through them), there's something quite satisfying in knowing that the vege garden has already paid for itself, and the veges are soooo good, and absolutely organic (I think), and I'm really proud of them even though I didn't do any of the work. And, nevermind that they're so big you can't see the weeds inbetween which is probably the biggest bonus of all ...

Mutant koru zucchini. Hehe.

Perfectly normal zucchini and marrow. We picked a marrow the other night (the husband stuffed half with red onion and cheese and the other half with tomatoe and cheese ... Mmmmmm!) which was 1.5kg. Nice!

Silverbeety goodness and it does taste sooo good - plus we don't have to fork out $4 a bunch at the supermarket and then chuck half of it out a week later! Weeeee! We just pick leaves!

Ditto with the lettuce!! ... or at least it will be ditto with the lettuce ... when one of us has a salad.

Passionfruit which has grown enough that we needed to put the wire up so it can do its viney thing.

I think the corn and 'matoes are a little way off producing still, but I can't wait till they start spitting out edibles as well! It's almost a little bit hard not to mark their height progress off on the fence ... so proud.

Next step - planning winter veges!!

In which we make a plan to make a plan

With 8 days till due date, we're still holding out a bit of hope that lardo will decide to shift himself all by himself, but apparently it's reeeally comfy in there (or was until the OB tried to work out exactly how low in my pelvis his head was by pressing REALLY hard around it, and Cuinn responded by landing me an almighty kick in some poor, abused, squished up organ that objected heartily), and he continues to lean towards being disinclined.

So, the plan goes something like this ...

We're going to make a plan, yes siree!

Ok, we do have a bit more than that at the moment, we just haven't made any firm decisions or concreted anything in.

Kidlet is due next Tuesday and our OB likes/wants/requires all IVF babies delivered by 41 weeks.

So, assuming his royal relaxedness continues to kick back and show me his feet, we're meeting with our OB again on Wednesday for a highly dignified examination to see if things are looking at all 'favourable' - either towards a natural birth, in which case we may let Cuinn hang around for an extra couple (literally, maybe 2) of days juuust in case or else we're being booked in the meantime for an induction on the 22nd/23rd. The induction is absolutely on the condition that all the stars are in alignment, and our OB will make that call next week. The concern is that an induced labour is a harder, faster labour, and kidlet isn't exactly incy, so if we push it too much eg. he's just nowhere near close enough to where he needs to be, I'll get into trouble and it'll end in a c-section anyway. But it could also be worth giving me a few contractions to see whether it moves him along as well.

And then, our other option if things just don't look cool at all, is a c-section which I think the intention would be to book closer to the 41 week mark, but we'll haggle a date out next week. I really don't think I have 2 weeks left in me though, so I'm hoping for a spontaneous labour, and focusing on the 22nd/23rd for induction. And, in the meantime, I'll probably just sit here and sweat profusely. Niiiice.

Cuinn is low, but not low, and he hasn't engaged yet which is the looming problem, but we don't want to rush him out too much either in case he actually needs the extra couple of days for whatever reason. But, it could be a plan to start feeding him mince on toast and extra silverbeet for dinner instead of smoked salmon and lamb steaks, that's for sure. Even I can see on the scan that he's looking very chubby and far too happy.

So, I guess, you continue to watch this space ... and I'll continue to weigh up whether not shaking a baby extends to jumping up and down to try and shift his kiddly butt.

I think I'm ready to have him out now. And, on the bright side, I'm apparently in "bloody good nic" heading into the birth (I don't feel like I'm in bloody good anything, but then I'm talking through complete lack of sleep and thinking about a kicked-to-death abdomin, and our OB is looking at my haemoglobin and iron levels blah blah), whatever form that takes, so hopefully that'll help me back on my feet again afterwards.

See what time it is?

I think it will baffle me till the end of forever that my mind and body are about to face down possibly the toughest challenge of my life, and we're preparing for it by getting no sleep. Noooooo sleep. None. Zip. Nada. Well, the odd bit ... but crap all.

There really should be better TV on at this time of night.

All it took was a little bit of determination ...

... a lot of swearing, a willingness to sit for several hours afterwards unearthing my toes again, but pudginess aside, I have pretty toes! I'll leave it up to you to imagine how hilarious the toenail-painting-in-progress looked. And yes, I could have made the husband do it, but the point is that I did it. Clever me!! (Also, you can sort of see the extent of the pudge - those indentations on my feet were made after a short park-waddle in what were previously floppy outdoor jandals)

Finally!

No, I haven't gone into labour. Not even close. I had a red curry for dinner tonight and all that did was make me sweat so much I had to go and have a cold shower. And gave me wicked indigestion. Niiiiice. Delicate business this.

No, I just came across this article in the Herald, and as a dog owner, I wanted to say a very loud blimming good job and I'm really really pleased to see that finally someone has shown some sense in a 'dog attack' case. Really pleased.

Don't hold your breath

Cuinn is hitting 38 weeks at a chunky 8lbs (apparently we have an impressively fat little kiddly - the OB did his tummy measurement twice to make sure) ... aaand refusing to engage even a little bit. He's not even pretending to think about engaging. So, I'm going to continue to sleep lots and next week we'll see if there's any change, or any suggestion that there might be a change.

Eviction will definitely take place in week 40.

I think it's time we start taking bets on date and time of birth, and birth weight. The winner will get a self-administered pat on the back. You can go for method of birth (zipper vs natural) too if you reeeally want to.

Don't send flowers

(I don't really like them)

There have been requests from friends and family for ideas of what we still want or need for Cuinn to help with the whole gifty thing, and the more I think of it, the easiest thing seems to be to stick our list on here for all and sundry to peruse, dissect, make use of or ignore at their leisure.

There honestly isn't anything we want that we don't need at this point ... I don't think. There was my list the other day, but that was just fun and served the sole purpose of keeping me amused for a couple of hours.

Here's the thing - probably the very, very best thing anyone could do for us is vouchers. Specifically Nature Baby vouchers. Unless you want to blow a wodge of cash and get us a Macpac Possum carrier ... but I don't think anyone is inclined towards blowing wodges of cash at the moment, least of all us, hence why it's sitting cheerfully on the wish list.

Anyway. What would we turn Nature Baby vouchers into?

Organic cotton sheets for Cuinn's cot, in jersey.

Organic wool mattress cover.

Nappies or nappy covers.

Bath and skincare products. I react to almost everything under the sun, and having half my genes, there's a chance Cuinn may too (seriously - I used grabbed his Johnson's Naturals baby moisturiser one day when I ran out of mine and it bought me out in a wicked rash ... and how much more sensitive is baby skin than 30 year old adult skin?) so we're just not taking the risk and we've gone organic and natural as much as absolutely possible. For sunscreen we opted for Mustela because we were given some awesome Mustela products for him and I really liked what my research told me about them.

Muslin squares.

We have a Tripp Trap chair for Cuinn which we bought off Trademe ages ago, but what we don't have and will need to get is the highchair harness and the safety rail set and cushion. We actually got the bit that goes across the front and the strap for between the legs when we bought the chair but we didn't get the back support bit and I don't think we can buy that separately, so we may end up having to buy the whole set. From memory, when I investigated the cost of the set and the cushion before doing the Trademe buy, the cushion was around $65 and the safety rail set around $60. We like the red stripes.

And, if for some reason we were at a complete loss after all that, we love their clothing and kids grow quick, and we also love their toys and could easily burn a few vouchers that way as well.

We know that not everyone likes to give, or would want to give vouchers [in which case - go have some fun with my list the other day :-) ] but we really don't feel comfortable asking for specific things when some of the decisions we've made as to what we want for Cuinn (eg. the cot sheets) aren't that cheap. We're happy to save up for them and make cut backs ourselves to have exactly what we want for him, but he's our baby. Enough said. We do feel really strongly though about organic, natural products for him and we've gone to a lot of effort to make changes in our own lifestyle and environment in anticipation of him as well in the products and accessories (eg. his bottles) that are our preference for him, so even a $10 voucher would mean that something, be it his sheets or his bath oil, is less expensive for us and would really help us out.

Right. There you go! If I remember anything else I'll let you know, but I'm pretty sure those are the only things that we still need.

Our next OB appointment is tomorrow late afternoon so we'll see if the little monster is doing anything interesting, or just continuing to sit there like a pudding and chunk on the pounds.

Hot! Hot hot hot hot HOOOOOOOT!!

Ack!

At 3am this morning I was sitting outside on the back step in an effort to stop my internal thermostat spinning in circles.

And it's not just me - I went out there in the first place because Jess was really distressed and even having a fan trained on her inside wasn't helping. So I let her out and she just keeled over on the concrete, and gradually her temperature came down and she calmed. It would have been an interesting sight, the two of us there for about an hour - a girl and her dog, both of them looking completely bedraggled and miserable.

Obviously Cuinn is still cooking - he's grounded until at least Monday when our OB is back from his holiday, and I think, miserable heat aside, I still need more time to sleep before he gets here - yesterday I crashed out twice during the day. One minute I was on the couch reading, the next the overwhelming urge to sleep grabbed hold, and that was me. I'd intend to lie down for a half hour, and half an hour became an hour or two.

The sense of waiting has set in though, for all the hoping he stays put for a bit longer. It's just a knowing that if I need to rest I should, in case tonight is the night that I'm woken and it starts happening, and that I need to make sure the house is kept tidy and everything is done for the same reason - because we may not necessarily be able to just do it tomorrow. It's not even a conscious thing, or a hoping that tonight will be the night, it's just the constant awareness that it's coming. Although, having said that, he's not showing any signs of being inclined to arrive other than he appears to be resting up as well and he's gone pretty quiet in general - unless he gets the hiccups, which is several times a day at the moment, and then he gets really pissed off and wiggles furiously after a few minutes of hiccup-jumping, presumably trying to knock them. Baby hiccups are still hilarious - I think because he seems to get so annoyed with them.

And on that note, I have a load of washing to hang out, which will presumably involve dropping pegs and swearing for the next half hour or so. The hand thing is getting very old - almost everything I pick up gets dropped or thrown by accident. Yesterday, I wore two cups of tea, a glass of lemonade (old fashioned, homemade ... Mmmmmmmm) most of the dishwater doing the dishes last night after I bobbled about 3 pans, a shampoo bottle to the head in the shower ... you get the picture. Yet, as much as it is starting to drive me a tad batty, it kind of amuses me that of all the late pregnancy symptoms/whatevers I expected to experience, something I'd never even heard of till it happened to me is about the only thing I got landed with. Aside from the heat thing, but from what I gather, rain, hail, snow or sunshine, that one's a given.

OK. Going to hang out the washing. Or throw it all over the lawn. One of the two.