What better way to get to know me than by reading my birth story. Boom, bet you weren’t expecting that one.
Well get ready ladies and gents, grab a coffee, or a G&T and let’s get it done. Warning, this post definitely contain pictures of Teddy entering this world – but not the ones you might expect.
It was a Friday (April 2015), I was 39 weeks preggo and my dad and his family had just flown in from NZ for some hang time before I was split into two. We were meeting in South Yarra for dinner and Mr Knees was attempting to find a carpark before losing the plot and telling me just to get out and he’d meet me there.
My dad was waiting outside (like a gentleman) and as I reached up to give him a hug I pulled a muscle. Well, that’s what I thought anyway.
By the time the drinks were served I had been to the bathroom twice having a one on one chat with the mirror in an attempt to convince myself my pulled muscle was not that painful and I needed to get over it and enjoy myself. But by 10pm, and one meatball later, I was being walked to the car and told to lie down.
We got home and went to bed. Well, Mr Knees did anyway. I spent the night convinced I had gastro, pacing the house, in and out of the loo and bouncing around on my swiss ball until morning came and Mr Knees woke to me telling him I had a kidney infection and needed to go to the hospital.
I shit you not, I was absolutely convinced I had a kidney infection. No baby, a kidney problem. I believe my words were “I need to get this sorted before the baby comes”. Yip.
So, we rang the hospital, told them of the suspected kidney issue and were told to go in.
The car trip was pretty horrendous, a fair bit of vomiting and me telling Mr Knees I just needed them to start the antibiotics and I’d feel better in no time.
We got up to the maternity ward just in time to hear one woman being ripped from one end to the other, only to be told I did not in fact have a kidney infection but instead possible round ligament pain – so my initial suspicions about a pulled muscle weren’t too far off.
But oh how wrong we all were.
I was sent home and a couple of hours later shit got real.
While Mr Knees enjoyed his McDonalds on the couch while watching the Warriors choke yet again, I was on all fours in the lounge vomiting into a bucket when BOOM, my waters broke.
And just like that it was one of those lightbulb moments: “Holy shit, I’m in labour”.
Now I’m not kidding when I tell you I hadn’t had any contractions until that very moment – once my waters broke it was game on – they were coming thick and fast. It took me an hour to get some pants on and get into the car, all the while no words were exchanged because f**k that asshole for doing this to me.
By the time we got to the hospital I was seven centimetres dilated. SEVEN. F**ken seven too many.
Anyway, it was two hours of me trying out the gas (placebo) and trying to convince myself I wasn’t going to die, before I felt the urge to push.
Mr Knees was smashing some Minties while I tried to find a position to get the demon out.
The midwives were so good, just guiding me along but after a while and not a lot of progress they suggested I try and do a wee. What a suggestion. Anyway, on I hopped and as it turns out that was the position which felt the best, so I went hell for leather.
Needless to say, everyone came running in because apparently you’re not allowed to give birth in the toilet when you have a whole room with birthing equipment available to you.
So they bought in this chair, kind of like a stool with a hole in it. Amazing.
I sat down, gave it a jam and then had a break. As I allowed myself to relax, I put my head down and what do you think I saw right there on the floor. A mirror. A f**king mirror. And do you know who saw that mirror at the EXACT same time as I did? Mr Knees.
After a moment of shock, we laughed until we cried and then we got our shit together because I needed to get this thing out.
But, it all headed downhill pretty quickly. I had been pushing for two and a half hours and to almost no avail.
By the time the doctor came in to check the situation, I was signing a form and heading for an epidural before getting to try out some nifty forceps.
Now, I was 10 centimetres and having contraction on contraction while they tried to give me an epidural. They were like ‘oh we just have to wait for a break until we can put it in’. To which I replied, ‘Mate, stick it in my eyeball just get this shit done’.
It’s all a bit of a blur from here but once the epidural kicked in, my legs were put in stirrups and a pair of giant tongs were trying to get my baby out. But within seconds the baby’s heartrate dropped, people were coming in from everywhere and I was being told I was having an emergency caesarean because the baby was in distress.
It was the longest couple of minutes of my life. My body was being thrashed around and forceps used to get the baby out because he was stuck so far down the birth canal.
I honestly don’t think I took another breath until I heard that beautiful baby cry.
Teddy was born at 1.38am on Sunday, April 19 – 29 hours after I went into labour.
Unfortunately for Mr Knees, he took a wrong turn on the way back from cutting Teddy’s umbilical cord only to see his wife in pieces on the operating table. Less than ideal.
Teddy was put in our arms and to be fair, our lives have never been the same. I still can’t believe we made a babe, and one just simply perfect.
Recovery from my c-section was pretty smooth, to be honest I was just so pumped I had made a babe that I almost forgot the trauma of the whole situation. I was up and showering that afternoon and busting for people to come and see what we’d created.
I remember looking at Teddy and thinking ‘f**k I’m clever, look what I just did’.
I don’t think there’s anything as powerful as birth – no matter how it happens.