eating cake for breakfast

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.