The story of the arrival of my fifth child, third girl, starting from the morning of the scheduled induction. 

We were tentatively booked in for induction at the Angliss Hospital on Thursday morning, subject to their busyness.  We rang at 7.30 to check, and were rung back within 10 minutes and told to come in straight away.  Adam's Dad turned up to look after the kids, and off we went.  It's a strange thing, the drive to the hospital to be induced.  There's a lot of apprehension, we were both very calm, but this was hiding the nerves and excitement of what was to follow.  During other labours, the feeling is very different, because there's a sense of urgency and in my case, a feeling of pain.  Not sure how Adam felt.  Our doctor was waiting somewhat impatiently for us, as it took a bit longer than expected to get there, so when we arrived at the labour rooms, we were met at the door and shown straight into our room.  Up and onto the bed I went, and Doctor checked to see how ready I was for induction.  Surprisingly, I was much more ready than the previous evening, when I had been checked before I was booked in.  I was so ready, in fact, that they suspected that I would have gone into labour by myself that day.

It was decided, therefore, that they would get me ready for the drip, but wait a bit to see what would happen.  So they put an IV thingy into my arm, took some blood and then Doctor broke the water (not huge fun, or overly dignified, but I'm beyond dignity now).  This was all completed by about 9.30.  Then he left to get tyres fitted to his son's car, with strict instructions for me not to deliver before the afternoon.  The midwife asked me if I minded having a student doctor present for the labour and birth, and I said that would be fine.  He was a nice bloke, kinda young and a touch shy.  It seemed a comical situation - the 23 year old med student and the seasoned mother chatting whilst interesting things are occurring in other areas.

Pretty quickly I started to get some mild contractions.  Nothing show-stopping, just a bit uncomfortable.  By about 10.30 I started to get real contractions.  All of this was documented on the monitor, which for an engineer is really cool.  We counted the time and figured out what length of time each little square represented.  We got to see whether the big contractions were also the ones that hurt the most.  I got the midwife to hook up the gas pretty quickly, and felt a bit wrong about it, because I kind of thought I should wait until it got further into the labour before I started on it.  But a few contractions later I was happy to have it - I find that having the funny stick to breathe on gave me a point of focus, and also something to bite down on.  And it makes me a touch light-headed.

Amongst the rest, I recall about five really decent, foot-shaking contractions, and then the possible pushing urge (wasn't sure if it was wishful thinking).  Next contraction was mild (!), and during this time, the midwife had another check, and said I was about 9cm dilated, and she thought the membranes were still partly intact.  She left to call the doctor, and said to tell her if I planned to push.  The next contraction was a ripper, and there was a definite urge to push.  At some stage, the midwife asked me if I minded having an obstetrician present for the delivery, as he had never seen a baby born naturally.  I don't know how that can be, but he'd been a practicing OB for many years (can't remember how many, ask Adam), and he had never been present at a normal delivery.  Once again I said okay.  She got back just in time for the big big contraction that made me change to a new octave, and push like something else.  As I pushed, the rest of the membrane broke, and the contraction, rather than easing off, escalated.  I could feel baby move down and make its way out, heard the midwife telling me to keep breathing.  She talked all the way through it, told me to ease off a bit and breathe through it, and with each breath, to push a little bit.  Then she told me to give a little bit more and I'd get the chin out.  Everything she said, I could feel from my end, and I was able to focus on the two things - what I could feel, and the midwife's voice.  I had a break for a short bit, and then once they'd checked for the cord around baby's neck, I got started again.  The midwife got the student doctor to deliver the first shoulder, and then they let Adam do the rest.  Unfortunately for him, it was pretty quick, so he barely managed to catch the slippery lump.  As soon as baby was on the outside, all pain vanished and my primal headspace cleared.  I saw her head and something in my mind said it was a girl.  She was put onto my chest for the all-important first few minutes' bonding, and the gender was confirmed.  All up, the first and second stages took about an hour.  Baby was delivered at 11.29 am.  It took quite a while for the placenta to be ready to deliver - I'm guessing about 20 minutes, but in that time, I started to feed baby for the first time - she was sucking on her arm within a few minutes of birth, so I tried to feed, and she took to it like a pro.

Delivering the placenta is not much fun at all - it's harder because the thing you're pushing is smaller, and your muscles are floppy and loose, but it's over quickly.  It's a very ugly thing, a placenta.  The midwife showed the obstetrician and the student doctor the placenta, and then ripped a chunk out of it to show what it looks like when it's not complete.  There's no glamour in medicine.

I have no idea what Adam did, because I withdrew into myself quite a bit (at the time I thought I was completely conscious of my surroundings, but it wasn't the case).  I asked him about it later and he said he was happy with his role in the birth, despite the speed of the delivery (his part in it was probably two seconds long).

Baby was rather blue at birth, and covered in the vernix, but within 5 minutes, had pinked up nicely.  She was 9 lb 10 oz, alert, strong and with a full head of thick black hair.  Her head was a bit squished, and she came out puffy.  I told all in the room that she looked like a Klingon.  She has had no problems after the birth and her brothers and sisters love her to bits already.  Baby remains unnamed as yet, but we're getting there.  Olivia calls her "Bady", which might just stick.  (Update: Bady is now Michelle Monica, but Olivia still calls her Bady and Ben calls her Snicklepuss).

Aha!! I've finally figured out how to trick this blog thing into letting me write stuff.

Well, it looks like it's all about to happen.

My doctor rang last night.  An after hours call from a doctor is always reason to sit up and take notice.  After all the excitement on Friday, some of my blood was sent to be tested for the bile salts test (the one that takes 3 weeks to get back).  It came back yesterday somehow (4 days?), and showed that my bile salt level is 42.  In my previous test, it was 4.  The doctor said "Mmmm....", which is what the previous doctor said during Olivia's pregnancy.

Therefore, my pregnancy liver condition has been discovered with 1.5 weeks to go.  Doc is now thinking that we will need to induce bubs, same as Olivia, although he says it’s more precautionary, because Leeloo is still proving to be a strong mover with a steady heartbeat.

I’ll be heading to the clinic this evening to discuss being induced, or having more blood tests (why bother?).  Apparently one can only be induced if one is at a certain stage of readiness, so here's hoping for a good birth and a healthy baby.

I feel slightly vindicated, and not quite such a drama queen as I did on Friday when they found nothing.

Adam has decided that he is not going to name the baby for at least a week.  He's had a few people offer their suggestions rather forcefully, and his Dad even told him to fill out the paperwork while I was still in hospital with the name that he likes (then tried to convince him of his own favourite name).  Adam told his Dad that we don't have that kind of relationship.  Good boy. 

We've been told repeatedly that the names we are leaning towards are too boring and common, and we have to use a name that is as nice as the ones we already have (which we got hassled about at the time as well).  Maybe Adam is right to take some time to get it right.  It has the added advantage of driving his parents crazy.

Today I washed the walls with Sugar Soap.  They look very nice.  I also scrubbed Olivia's high chair thingy with a toothbrush, and her nylon bib thing (it has a stupid pocket that gets full of food - now that I think about it, I might pull it off, and it has fabric edging that gets really grimy).  I've vacuumed the whole house, and am about to go clean out the bassinette and re-organise the baby clothes.

I do believe I may be nesting.  I've been resisting these urges for weeks now, but today I just decided to do it.  The walls have been driving me buggy for ages - sticky kid marks all over them, and big grey patches at kid height.

My groin muscles are complaining loudly.  I can barely walk, and trying to find a comfortable position on the floor is just about impossible.  Why am I on the floor, I hear you ask?  Um, don't know.  Seemed like a good idea at the time.

I wonder, though, whether this is legitimate nesting, signalling a readiness for baby to arrive, or if it is me hoping that labour is imminent, and therefore acting as though it is.  If one knows what nesting is and signifies, then one could subconsciously make oneself nest if one really wanted to think that labour was about to start.  Ooh, that's deep.

Anyway, no time to speculate - the bassinette awaits.

I probably should try to keep these blogs positive, but this place is one of the only places I can really vent, because there's no chance of it getting back to those involved.  The MIL has been at it again.  I really think she has mental problems, and it's not deliberate, but she manages to push my buttons so well!

Some history first: When I was pregnant with my first baby, MIL told me that she didn't mind if I didn't want her at the birth, but if my own mother came and she didn't, then she'd be very offended.  Seven years later, that comment still angers me.  She's not my mother, and I should be able to choose whoever I want to be at my side, without fear of offending someone.  For the record, I didn't have my mother there, it was just me and Adam and a midwife.  That's what we wanted.

It's school holidays here now, so I have all my kids at home full time, and Adam is on an interstate business trip.  MIL arranged to take them for the day on Tuesday to give me some time to work (the hissy fit she had last time is forgotten).  She said she'd keep the boys overnight.  When she came to get them, she told me she would drop the boys off at 10am.  I asked for an extra hour, because my grandfather was taken to hospital, and I wanted to go see him while I only had two children.  He is 94, and it looks like this may be the last trip he'll make - he is declining rapidly.  She said no.

Apparently she has a friend coming over, and then after the friend leaves, she has to go shopping with her other friend so she can tell her friend what to buy for Adam's brother's wedding present.  She couldn't possibly have the boys any longer than already arranged.  She told me that even though her husband is retired and they both look after the kids when they are there, her husband is useless and she has to do it all (I have seen this first hand, and know it is totally untrue and very unfair of her to say this - she orders him around all the time and he does what she says).  FIL was going to play golf, so he couldn't look after the kids any longer than 10am either.

This morning, FIL dropped the boys off, at 10.45.  I could have gone and been back in time.  MIL called at about 10.40 to tell me they were coming, but that's still 40 minutes later than the arranged time.  I find it incredibly rude not to call if you are going to be late, and they have told us off before for being late to their place.  This is something they do very often.  Recently they arranged to bring my daughter back at 5pm.  I got a phone call at 5:15 saying "Oh, we were going to bring her back at 5.30, but we won't be able to do that, so we'll bring her back by 5:45."  At 6:30 FIL turned up.  I digress.

Back to this morning, during the phone conversation, she said "While Adam's away, if you need anything at all, anything, just ask."  What???  I DID ask, and got a NO!  Then she said "If you go into labour, make sure you call straight away, and we'll come right over"  Yeah, fat chance.  I'd rather have the baby by myself on the bathroom floor than have MIL anywhere near me.  For one thing, unless something kid-related is organised, she drinks every night, so chances are she'd be somewhere ranging from tipsy to legless if I called her in the evening.  She would try to direct proceedings and she would not shut up.  She'd disguise her commands as suggestions, but she never asks what others want, she tells them what they want.  I fear that if she were near me during labour I'd say exactly what I think, and that just can't be good.

Sorry again for the rant - sometimes I wonder if I should get counselling.  I spend too much time fuming about things she does, while she goes blissfully on with her life.  My anger is doing nothing to her, it's just making me bitter and twisted.