Lily's NICU Journey

One of my friends recently posted that, in her really quite pregnant state, she was having difficulty with her daughter's addiction to the movie Dumbo because of the scene with the song Baby Mine. This caused me to remember in technicolour that when Lily was in the NICU, I listened to Bette Midler's version of this song EVERY SINGLE DAY.

The day before Lily was allowed to room in, I had begun to make a video using pictures from the NICU with this song played over it. I was using it as catharsis because that day a midwife had told us that Lily wouldn't get to come home for at least another week. I was devastated. But, the very next day we were roomed in and then she came home, and I forgot my project, and I also lost the work I had done as that computer has since gone to a better place.

But, 20 months later, I decided it was time. Here it is. The video documenting Lily's NICU journey.

Falling in love with Archer

There are things when it comes to the business of having children that are tragic and sometimes dramatically change our view of ourselves, and our children. These things are so rarely discussed, even amongst women who are supposed to be the closest of friends, or even amongst couples, that a woman experiencing them, or recovering from them, can feel very much like she's floating alone and unsupported, or completely misunderstood by those around her. Miscarriage, still birth, traumatic birth experiences. It's an awful feeling, and it's time I aired some of own secret women's business. I want everyone reading this now to know, that this is totally past tense, but I think it should be shared because I believe with all my self that I cannot possibly be the only person ever who has felt these things.

When Lily was born, I fell instantly and totally in love with her. It's so hard to accurately describe this feeling. Punched by love? Perhaps like there was Lily shaped hole in my heart that I was unaware of and it was filled the moment she was born? I don't really know, you can't explain something like that, it really must be experienced. The love quite literally welled out of me.

I remember reading an article not long after Lily was born about women who don't love their newborns right away. I felt sorry for these women, but couldn't imagine experiencing something that looked like an absurdity next to how I had felt.

And when I became pregnant with Archer, I was anticipating this joy, this overwhelming feeling of love. It was like waiting nine months for your next hit of heroine.

But when he was born, I was suddenly very powerfully aware of the absence of this feeling. I looked at him and..... Nothing. Relief, perhaps. But no sincere feeling of love.

I pushed this thought right down to my toes and set about the business of being a new mum. Painted on the right face, and kissed him and held him and said how precious and gorgeous he was. In reality, besides hoping his looks would improve and feeling more than overwhelmed by his insistence on sleeping all day and being awake all night, I was thinking about how hard Lily had fought for life, how she had been so brave and strong and amazing from her very first moments, and here was Archer, big and fat and enjoying his new out of womb life with every minute with his Mummy. I remember how Angelina Jolie once said of newborn Shiloh that she didn't feel as strongly about her as her adopted children because she hadn't had to fight as hard for life. People were horrified, but this is exactly how I felt about Archer when comparing his birth to Lily's. I guess the ugly truth of it was, he hadn't fought hard enough to win my love.

But I continued to wear the painted face of an adoring new mum. Occasionally, I'd be gripped by a FEAR. What happens if I never loved this little guy? What happens if, like some sort of tragic Law and Order episode I found myself suffering from postnatal depression and doing something awful? Not that I entertained thoughts of hurting him, but I did wonder if I didn't love him, how those trying early months would pan out. During our night feedings, I'd kiss him and whisper that I was sorry, I wanted him and now I couldn't love him.

Then we moved to Gosford and things seemed to be looking up. At the very least I liked the little critter. He was a good sleeper and rarely took my time away from things that needed doing or his sister.

And then the 6 week growth spurt hit. All he ever wanted to do was eat and scream. IF he slept it was on one of us. I became furious and tired and OVER IT. There was something I once read about a second born son whose father had said to him, "Your brother was an accident, but you were a mistake." I felt exactly this about my son. I began to wish we had more seriously entertained the thoughts of being "one and done". I was beginning to resent Archer. He was sucking time off Lily (who I didn't think deserved it after all she had been through during the pregnancy), he wasn't sleeping, he was eating constantly. If there was one 2:00am feed where I'd haul him out of the bassinet and say, "C'mon then, you little parasite," there was ten, Sometimes I'd just sob my way through feeds. I even began to entertain thoughts of switching him to formula, so Bob could take at least a little of the burden.

I would tentatively ask Bob, "Do you love Archer? You know, the same way you love Lily?" Cheerily he would reply that of course he did. I would say, "I don't think I do." And he would say, "It'll get better, when he's more interactive and not cluster feeding."

I had the sinking feeling that it would not.

And then, as all things do, it passed. Just when I thought I had no more rope left, it stopped. My sleeping angel was back and I began to feel better. I was liking the little critter again.

And then at 8 weeks he smiled at me. The most beautiful smile. And there it was. Punched by love.

I didn't know it, but the Archer sized hole in my heart had been growing over the eight weeks, and when he had smiled that beautiful smile, he had snapped into his place, right next to his sister where he belonged, and the love welled out of me, tears of gratitude, relief and pure, unconditional love streamed down my face.

Private Schools are Expensive

Before Lily was even concieved, Bob and I had come to the decision that a P - 12 single sex private school was the right decision in education for our children.

We knew it would mean a lot of sacrifices on our part. Holidays, new cars and the frequent purchases of new, and often expensive, clothes that had been part of our lifestyle would be something we could not have, at least in the early years, while we were still building our careers. Did we mind? Not a bit. In fact, we felt, when we died (hopefully in the triple digits), if there was nothing left to give our kids, then at least we had given them this gift, this start to life. A better thing we couldn't think of.

And when we had a little girl, I was overjoyed to be able to put Lily on the wait list for my old school, Somerville House. It had been quite the dream of mine. I was so excited we quite literally went there on the way home from the hospital. That earned us a blurb in the quarterly magazine.

And when we decided to move to Sydney, the more expensive schools was something we actually considered. I picked a couple of schools at random (Scots College and Presbyterian Ladies' College, in case you're interested) and worked out if the change in our incomes would cover the change in school fees and still have us come out ahead. It did. I was CRUSHED that Lily would not get to go to Somerville, but I was happy we would still be able to offer our children a good education. And I hoped my granddaughter would get to be a second generation student at whatever school we picked for Lily, because I truly want Lily to love her school as much as I loved mine.

And so, after timing a drive and doing research and checking the scale of fees, we have come up with schools for our daughter and son.

Lily will (hopefully) be attending Pymble Ladies' College from Kindergarten and Archer, likewise, will be attending Knox Grammar from Kindergarten. We just fell in love with these schools. It seemed like the perfect fit for our family.

But Sarah, you haven't actually whined about how expensive private schools are and that's the title of this post!

Well, it's true, I just about died when I saw that for Lily to attend Kindergaten, presuming she goes naked and has no school supplies, will cost us $16000 and Archer (also naked and without his colours) will be $15500. But, as I'll be returning to work, my wage will more than cover this and not impact the current household finances which I don't contribute money to.

What really made Bob and I say "Uh oh," and feel very sorry for our poor, hard won savings (Again. That POOR account) was that just to send in the bit of paper with the kids' names on them is going to cost us $320 per child. Fine, we expected this, Somerville was about $250. We also expected the $2000 ish securing of their place fee, which ensures they will, indeed, be attending Kindy in the year we hoped, and is payable 2 years before expected year of entry. What we did not expect, was the tentative place fee, of $1100 for Lily and $2200 for Archer. YIKES.

This fee is a a non refundable fee that "secures" them a place in the event they perform like rockstars in their interview 2 years before entry. So yep, as long as my 4 year olds don't pick their noses, scratch their butts or cut out crooked in their private school interviews, I have not wasted $3300.

Right now, Lily is rubbing her vegemite sandwich in her hair, so it gets the proper flavour before eating. God help us.

2011, I'm glad to see the back of you.

This was supposed be our Christmas letter, but after a hiccup with the cards, we've decided it's going to be a new year's letter and will be sending them out this weekend. However I decided not to wait to put it on the blog.

So, 2011 has come and gone, and throughout this year our family has experienced many highs and lows. In fact, we have experienced the highest highs and the lowest lows.

I feel doing this letter in chronological order may prove confusing, so instead I'm going to break the year into the events that gave the year it's shape.

Mum

This year, on the 11 of January, my mum experienced a brain aneurysm complicated by a subarachnoid haemorrhage and day 8 vasospasms. In English? An enlarged blood vessel  in Mum's brain ruptured, causing a bleed. The bleed resulted in a stroke. Because there was so much blood on her brain, Mum's body tried to protect her brain by constricting the blood vessels.

On day 3 after her aneurysm, Mum seemed to be getting better. She woke up and became animated and interactive, although a little strange and confused. We felt so good, but the worst had not yet passed. Vasospasms typically set in between day 4 and day 14 in about a third of patients with a subarachnoid haemorrhage and they have a very high morbidity rate. So each night I would sit up and wait for the clock to tick over to midnight, and give an excited cheer when no phone call came. But on the night between day 7 and day 8, Mum's character suddenly change and it became clear the very worst had happened. She was placed in a coma and every intervention was tried, but none were effective. Three times we were told that it was time to rally the family to think about withdrawing the support that was keeping Mum alive. And three times another doctor overruled, or Mum improved or showed signs of still being inside her very broken shell. It was finally decided that she would be taken out of ICU and placed on a ward, and if in three months, no improvement was made, support would be withdrawn. The doctor who told us this said that he did not believe Mum would ever improve beyond needing to have around the clock care.

We were devastated.

But Mum proved more awesome, strong and amazing than anyone gave her credit for. It would take pages to describe Mum's healing journey, so I will summarize. She went from strength to strength as days grew to weeks and weeks grew to months. She soon was able to walk with support, hold a reasonably sensible conversation, feed herself (although she really didn't want to) and perform all necessary bathroom applications almost totally unsupported.

For this reason, in May, she was able to be transferred from the Royal Brisbane Hospital to the Brain Injury Rehabilitation Unit at the Princess Alexandra Hospital. 

Soon, she was able to come home for visits on weekends and then before we knew it, in September, Mum returned home for good. She is legally blind, with only partial sight in one eye, has significant difficulties with short and long term memory and has minor problems with speech and gait. She will probably never be wholly independent, but she has come a very long way from those dark, dark January days and has more than 2 years of healing to look forward to before we can say for sure how much damage the aneurysm did. We are truly blessed to have her here with us.

Bob gets a new Job

Last year it had become clear to us  that Bob's career could not reach its full potential in Brisbane and we began to look for alternatives. A few of Bob's friends had moved on from Brisbane to Sydney, gaining employment at Yahoo7, so we decided Sydney was the place for us, but not yet as we had neither the finances nor the energy after Lily's eventful arrival into the world. In January, a job came up at Yahoo's newly acquired company, Spreets. After much talking, we decided that Bob should go for the job. The application and interview process is lengthy for Yahoo, with 7 steps in total. During the interview process, Mum fell ill and I fell pregnant. 

At the end of the interview process, Bob got the job, and we were overjoyed. He was to start in March. But it posed the new problem of what to do with Lily and me. The original plan was that I would move down at Easter, after Bob had found a new place for us and our place had been successfully rented. But, with Mum how she was, and me pregnant and high risk, it was decided that I would stay with Grandma until after the baby was born and Bob would live with his dad, travelling home at weekends.

It was hard, and when I was threatened with preterm labour, it became harder but the job has proven worth it. Mark, Zoe and all the Spreets team have gone above and beyond in being supportive of us in this difficult year and we don't have the words to express how grateful we are.

Lily Grace

Lily is now 19 months old and she is Bob's and my unwavering sunshine. She has met this year of rapid growth and change head on and is now fully caught up for her actually age, growing and changing so much in the last three months in particular we can barely keep up. She now says in excess of 60 words and is more and more frequently using two and three word sentences, she finally walked at 16 months and now tears around the house like she's been doing it for much longer. She can build with Duplo, loves imaginative play and can eat pretty much unassisted with a spoon and fork and loves to drink from a cup. She adores animals of all kinds, books and Dora the Explorer. 

She is a little water baby, and loves going to swimming lessons and the beach. She is incredibly funny and has a growing sense of humour. She is a wonderful big sister and loves her brother dearly, very rarely expressing jealousy. She really is a delight.

But that does not mean she has not had her challenges this year. On Christmas Eve she was taken to the hospital experiencing what we later learned was an anaphylactic reaction. After allergy testing, nothing proved conclusive and our paediatrician said she probably will never experience such an episode again, but just in case we have an allergy plan in place, complete with epipen.

My time on bed rest effected her emotionally in a way that simply breaks my heart. Even though Grandma was taking the best of care of her and hired a full time nanny, it wasn't the same as just having me home. She had difficulties with attachment to me, sleep and eating. But everyone has worked hard with her and she seems as happy and healthy as she ever was and after a rocky patch in our relationship, she is now certain I "hurl the moon", as Bob said just today (with just a hint of jealousy, as this used be his role and he is now demoted to hurling the stars).

I cannot wait to see what next year holds for her as she truly is a sweet, smart, funny and delightful little person who has a bright future.

My pregnancy and Archer Robert

Late last year Bob and I decide Lily was just so great we'd like another one. We decided at that time we'd wait until Lily's first birthday. And then some things changed our mind and we decided we'd like another one sooner rather than later and in February we found out we were expecting.

We were, of course, over the moon, if not a little shocked at how quickly it had happened.

My first trimester was not fun, like any first trimester and having to move out of our house into Grandma's was a real trial as most days I could barely rouse myself from bed. But we did it!

My second trimester brought on a feeling of wellness, excitement about having a much healthier pregnancy as I had my stitch placed at 14 weeks, and of course the all important anatomy and gender scan. At 19 weeks we found out we were having a boy (complete was 10 fingers, 10 toes and an adorable face), but we also found out my cervix was short.

And the nightmare that was Lily's pregnancy came back to haunt me as Dr Cattanach said that if it reduced to 1.5cm, I would have to go on hospital bedrest. And that is just where I found myself at 23 weeks.

With Bob in Sydney, me in hospital and Mum still in BIRU, Grandma decided to give Bob and I the greatest gift she has ever given us, and not only cared for Lily in a way only a Grandma can, but hired a live in nanny. There is no way we can ever repay her, or even thank her on a level that is equivalent. But from the bottom of our hearts we are so grateful.

I was blessedly released just shy of 27 weeks, still on bedrest, but at home with my precious little girl where I belonged. 

At 31 weeks and 5 days, 2 days out from our "sprinkle" and 3 days shy of Lily's birth gestation, Dr Cattanach dropped a bombshell. My stitch was the only thing between our son and the world and his educated guess was that he would arrive with the fortnight. I was so sad. I did not want what happened to Lily to happen to Archer and I could not imagine spending the invaluable hours I had spent at the NICU with Lily with a toddler to care for.

But two weeks came and went. And then four weeks. And finally, after a hiccup at 36+6, the stitch and I parted ways at 37+3 weeks. 

And on the 14 October at 37+6 weeks, Dr Cattanach and I made the decision to induce me and Archer Robert Maidens catapulted his way into the world after an hour of labour at 4.37pm weighing 3.408kg and measuring 51cm.

I might be a little biased, but he is the most extraordinary and beautiful little boy I have ever seen and Bob and I are so very in love. Thank you 1000 times over to the wonderful Dr Stephen Cattanach, Dr Tony Prado and all the staff at the Mater Mothers' Private Hospital in Brisbane for welcoming our son into the world, a perfect, amazing and gorgeous "termie"!

Moving to Gosford

When Archer was just two weeks old, we had to make the final voyage south, this time as a family and permanently! Earlier in the year, Grandma had sold my childhood home at Love Street, Holland Park and with the money had purchased an apartment in West Gosford. She offered to rent it to Bob and I for more than a fair price and we agreed. The day we moved in was the first time we had ever seen it. And we fell in love with it. It is perfect for a young family, with three good sized bedrooms, two bathrooms, a good sized living space and kitchen and a wonderful courtyard. We are so in love with it, in fact, that we have decided to sell our home at Augustine Heights next year and purchase it off Grandma. This will make it easier for me to stay home with the children until they begin school and also mean we can stay put for at least that long as well, which will be a relief.

And may this be the most eventful thing that happens in 2012.

Bring it on!

Tell me again about the night I was born - Archer's Birth Story

This is a birth story, so if you don't want to read details of a birth, don't read this.

Archer arrived in a style we've become accustomed to in our family, a little unexpectedly, very fast and with a good dose of the absurd.

On Friday morning 14 October at 37 weeks and 6 days, I had a routine check up with Dr Cattanach and I was expecting to schedule an induction for sometime the following week.

It had been a week since he had attempted to remove the stitch in his office. Of course, me being me, this had been complicated by the fact that my cervix had grown over the stitch, making it painful and difficult to remove. Instead, it had been fully removed under anaesthesia on the Tuesday. I had been 4 cm dilated then. On Wednesday night I had experienced irregular contractions of between 4 and 12 minutes apart, but they had disappeared after 2 hours. I was miserable. I had been in pre labour for a long time, which was causing plenty of very uncomfortable aches and pains and I was big and we had been waiting anxiously on Archer's arrival for about 2 months. I sincerely just wanted to evict him.

I expressed all of this to Dr Cattanach. He asked how long I had laboured with Lily and I said about 4 hours. He followed this up by asking how far away I lived. 45 minutes in great traffic.

Well, he said, let's induce you today.

I don't think I have ever been so excited. Dr Cattanach began the induction by doing a membrane stretch and sweep. This involves manually breaking the membranes (not to be confused with the amniotic sac, which is what breaks when your waters do) and stretching the cervix open an extra centimetre or two. He then thought he would call labour and delivery and inform them I was coming. It turned out they were exceptionally busy and I wouldn't be able to get a delivery suite until 2:00pm at the earliest. He asked if it was possible to admit me anyway as I was a "cough and pop". Grudgingly they accepted and I made my way down to the pregnancy assessment unit for the very last time.

After a non stress test confirming that baby was doing well, I was sent up to the ward to wait. Bob arrived and handed Lily over to Mum and Grandma. And we waited.

At almost 2 o'clock on the dot, my midwife came to hand me over to delivery suite. We took one last belly shot and just about ran there. The midwife was very amused, but I was beyond ready to meet our son.

The midwives on the ward weren't quite ready to meet me and the induction didn't begin to 3:00pm. I learned that because of my quick labour before, the fact I had begun to dilate on my own and the baby's head was well and truly engaged, it was quite the surprise I hadn't begun to labour. 

So we progressed to the next step in the induction process, which was to break my waters. This involves hooking the sac with what looks remarkably like a very long crochet hook. As usual, my body didn't think this was the appropriate course of action and it took two midwives several minutes to do this normally simple procedure as my sac was especially tough. I can't say I was in the least bit surprised.

At this point Dr Cattanach arrived and suggested I be started on an IV of Syntocinon, which is a synthetic hormone that hastens labour. He then left, as he still had patients and would return when delivery was closer. By the time the IV was in, I had begun to have contractions. The time was about 3:30pm.

The midwives weren't sure if they really needed to start the IV and decide that 3mg was more than enough to begin with. Within minutes the contractions were strong and hard and about 2 minutes apart. Bob became very "helpful" at this point and would watch the monitor and tell me when each contraction was about to begin. If I'd had a sharp implement, I would have used it. (As a side note, except for this and a very surreal 30 seconds where he sat down to look at his phone, Bob is an excellent, supportive, kind and unflinching labour partner).

A little desperate and panicked, I asked how long I had to wait for an epidural. I had not planned on having an epidural, as contractions with Lily had been more than manageable and I had only had one to cope with the stitch removal. I had not liked being tied to the wheelchair or the indignity of the catheter. But this was a bit different. It was not only painful (obviously) it had come on so hard and fast I was feeling quite scared and just wanted to be relieved.

The midwife said that I could have one now and she would just check how dilated I was and then call Dr Cattanach and the anaesthesiologist. I was 8cm. She said that it was too late for an epidural, I was labouring too fast and it would never be effective in time.

I must have given her a "look" because she hastily said she would call Dr Cattanach and ask him and in the meantime I could try gas. The next contraction I gave a half hearted go with the gas, but I could not imagine anything worse than enduring the contractions AND vomiting so I handed it right back to the midwife.

Dr Cattanach arrived much faster than I had expected and I was SURE he would get my epidural. He said no too. I think I really must have given him a look because he quickly explained that I COULD have one, but it sincerely would not be worth it and I could try a shower. Ever trusting of him, I agreed.

On the way to the shower, I noticed the toilet and thought, "Gee, I'd like to use that." 

Dr Cattanach agreed and said it might help me progress to the pushing stage of labour. He was wrong. Why was he wrong? I was already at the pushing stage of labour.

The very next contraction as soon as my bum hit the toilet I had the overwhelming urge to push down. So I did. Never having lived through this stage of labour without an epidural, I became suddenly very aware of why women cry out during labour. It feels very natural and helps a lot. 

I was now stuck on the toilet and resigned myself to pushing there, at least for a while. On the third push I felt the head. As I stood up, I felt a breaking sensation and the baby slipped free, caught by our midwife as Bob and Dr Cattanach held me steady. If I had not thought to check for the baby's head, he may have been born on the toilet. Archer Robert made his debut at 4:37pm after just an hour of labour.

I panicked immediately. He wasn't crying and was awfully blue. I had not seen Lily at birth, but she had been crying pretty much on her way out. They handed him to me and I asked why he wasn't crying. Dr Cattanach assured me he would and ushered me back to the bed. They divested me of my gown and put him skin to skin. By this stage he had started to blessedly cry out and within moments of being skin to skin, he had relaxed and Bob and I had a long time to just sit and drink him in before the cord was cut. He had black hair, dark skin (which we later learned was bruising from his hurried entrance into the world), and his lips and nose were swollen giving them a broad appearance which surprised us and we laughed that he had embraced his father's Maori heritage. Another thing that struck me was that falling in love with Archer was completely different than it was with Lily. As soon as they had handed Lily to me, it was had been like been punched. My love for her hit so hard and fast, the only way to express it had been to cry. With Archer, I'd describe it as an expanding feeling. As though my love for Lily had to stretch (but not minimise) to accommodate her brother. It was different but just as wonderfully extraordinary.

Bob, ever the comedian, chose this time to say, "Well, that was easy. We should have another one." Despite it being awfully tacky to plan your next child while the newest one still has an umbilical cord, HE wasn't the one that had to experience the "easy" labour in full technicolour, so once again I was looking for that wished for sharp implement.

 

After they cut the cord, I delivered the placenta and had my first degree tear (a souvenir of a speedy, standing delivery) repaired while Bob snapped photos of Archer being weighed, measured and immunised. He was 3.408kg and 52cm long and so, so perfect.

Not realising labour would be so fast, I had not removed my bra, but as soon as I did, Archer was ready for his first feed. He was a champ, latching beautifully and taking long nutritive sucks. 

Bob and I ate a snack which the midwife had ordered for us and then we went to our room. It was now I became very grateful for not having had an epidural as I was able to relax and fully enjoy my son.

It  was a wonderful, happy experience and we cannot thank Dr Cattanach and all the staff at the Mater Mothers' Private Hospital enough for the safe arrival of our beautiful son.

Pregnant woman of the year

Today I am 34 weeks and 5 days pregnant. It has been about 3 weeks since my doctor said he guessed I'd have a week at the most. As uncomfortable as this stage of pregnancy has become for me, I pretty much feel like pregnant woman OF THE YEAR.

However, yesterday afternoon I had some spotting and cramping. Not as all dissimilar to how I felt when I went into labour with Lily.

Needless to say I was NOT in labour. Who writes a blog while in labour? But this is what Dr Cattnach had to say.

Our son has taken up his home right in my pelvis, head down, THANK GOD. My stitch has begun pulling out and I can expect spotting and cramping for the rest of the time I am pregnant, whether it is three days or three weeks. He could remove the stitch now, but he didn't want to. Doing that would either do nothing at all or speed things up. He doesn't want to speed things up, because while our son would indeed be very healthy at this gestation, his best chance of success in school, sport, music and pretty much any pursuit he cares to take on is to be born at 38 weeks+ and at least 3 kilos. He also said that the children who statsically do the best academically and so on are are those born at 40 weeks+ and at least 4 kilos. I wanted to tell him to stick his imaginary giant, over due baby up his butt, academic success and all.

I also wanted to laugh at him when he quickly added this didn't mean there was anything wrong with Lily. I wanted to laugh because my child is probably the clumsiest, most gumby child I have ever met. She must fall over or off something at least once a day. Bob has long since given up any dreams he had of her playing for Australia in women's soccer. She IS smart, pretty and stubborn though, so there's still quite a lot she can do with her life, despite her daddy's disappointment. Bob also begged his unborn son to stay in until 38 weeks so he can be a pro footballer. Yeah, I thought, rugby league. (Just joking. As long as they don't turn out white supremicists or something equally as horrifying, we'll be happy and proud as long as they are happy.)

So, at 37 weeks, my stich will officially be cut and until then, we're still playing the anxious waiting game.

Here's to 9 months of pregnancy!

33 Weeks and 1 Day

Today I am offically one whole week more pregnant than I have ever been!

You'd think I'd be over the moon, but I'm actually feeling a lot like I imagine people of 38 weeks+ must feel.

WHEN is this baby coming?

This slightly selfish insanity is not completely unfounded. At my last appointment with Dt Cattanach, a week ago on this Thursday just gone, he said that, as an educated guess, he'd give me about a week before I went into labour. At the most, he guessed I'd have a baby by 34 weeks. This guess was based on the fact that my stitch has long given up doing it's job and my cervix no longer exists in terms of length. The only reason the baby was still in was that by some twist of engineering in my hopelessly unmaternal body, I was completely undilated.

Seeing as at my 31+1 appointment with Lily, he warned me she wasn't far off as she was engaged and my cervix had seemingtly given up doing it's job, I fully believed my son would be here by today.

And Thursday did not pass uneventfully. After 36 hours of abdominal cramps, losing some stuff that looked like it was probably part of my mucous plug and nausea and dizziness enough to have be curled up in bed, a moaning wreck, Grandma demanded I ring the pregnancy assessment unit at the Mater. They told me to come in. An hour and half after my arrival, when no measurable changes were detected, they sent me home, saying that Dr Cattanach insisted "any day now".

So three days later, I am still anxiously awaiting my son.

His bassinet sits, dressed with freshly washed and ironed linen and complete with AngelCare movement monitor. His clothes, socks, hats and singlets sit neatly folded in size organised piles. He has nappies and dummies. I have sterilized the breast pump and it sits awaiting use in the hospital bag, which has been packed for over a week now. We even have THREE gorgeous premmie outfits, thanks to generous friends, which is three more than we had when we embarked on the scary SCN journey with Lily. We even have a hat, which in prem sizes is like having hen's teeth. Bob keeps clean clothes right beside the bed, ready to leap into action. Today we are getting the bouncy chair and bath from the storage unit so they can be cleaned. We are also buying fresh batteries for the swing.

We are so ready.

SO...... WHEN is this baby coming?