Poorly baby

Poor Michael is unwell. He has met a grand total of four people since leaving the hospital two weeks ago and has left the house once for a walk with Phil and I. Despite this, he has managed to pick up a cold from someone. He is incredibly snuffly and we're having to use a saline nasal spray four times a day. He also has to have his mattress raised up so that he can sleep. When he first started to get unwell on Thursday, Phil and I called the out-of-hours doctor (it was 10pm) to see what we should do. She told us to bring Michael to the hospital for a check-up. We abandoned our KFC dinner and ran around the house gathering up anything we might possibly need for such a journey and headed off straight away. Fortunately, he didn't have a fever and his chest and ears were clear. All he needs is the saline spray and some TLC. I was really looking forward to going out and about with him but we'll have to wait until he is well again to show him the world outside the house.

Birth story

Warning - this is quite a graphic account of my labour experience so please do not read on if you are at all squeamish!

I've been meaning to get around to writing this for ages but the timing has never been right. Michael is currently fast asleep on his Daddy so I guess now is the time.

On the evening of Friday 11th August, Phil and I had been watching the Big Brother eviction on TV and afterwards I started to get some niggling pains - low back-ache and some cramping. I really wasn't sure if it was anything or not and we went out for a walk. When we came home I took a shower and went to bed and the pains stopped. At 4am I woke up a split second before my waters broke. We are not talking a little trickle here - it was more like Niagara Falls. When I look back over my labour experience, I think this was the most shocking thing of all. I tried to rouse Phil:

Catherine: "Phil, my waters have broken!"
Phil: "OK"
Catherine (slightly more urgently): "Phil, my waters have broken!"
Phil: "OK"
Catherine (now getting angry): "Turn the light on, you silly man!"

This got the desired reaction and we got up. I didn't start getting contractions until an hour or so later and they were reasonably manageable through the night until we could call the midwife out at 9am. I don't know if I have mentioned it before, but the plan was to have a home water birth. We had rented a birth pool and Phil had practiced assembling it the week before. Anyway, back to the story. By the time the midwife arrived the contractions had become very painful and frequent. I was dismayed to learn that I was only 1cm dilated. The midwife offered me the opportunity to go to the hospital and have an epidural. This was very surprising as the Dutch are very keen on natural childbirth and anecdotally it is easier to get blood from a stone than an epidural. I declined the opportunity to go to the hospital and the midwife left after telling us that she would be back to check on me in four hours.

This is the point where things started to move very fast. My contractions were coming almost continuously - I couldn't change position without having another one. I tried everything to help - yoga, my birth ball, the shower, a massage - nothing helped. An hour and a half after the midwife left I relented and agreed to go to the hospital. I would have done virtually anything at this point to escape the pain, I'm sure. I regret that I was not strong enough to resist accepting an epidural. I had had a completely medication-free pregnancy and still feel that on some level I failed Michael in this respect. The midwife made arrangements for me to go to Leids Universitair Medisch Centrum in Leiden. It took about two hours for Phil and I to leave the house because getting dressed and getting ready to go was severely hampered by my contractions. I honestly thought I would never make it the 30km to the hospital in the car.

Get there we did, and I even managed to sleep between contractions in the car. We were shown into a delivery suite and I was examined and found to be 5cm dilated. Progress! I was pretty out of it and found it very difficult to talk to anyone - I couldn't focus on anything but the pain. I was put on a monitor and a drip and we waited for the anaesthetists to arrive. A short time later, four of them arrived in green caps and gowns. I really don't know why four were necessary. One to site the epidural, and three to stand around in awed silence, maybe? I was then hooked up to more machines and a scalp monitor was put on Michael. This is regret number two. For whatever unfathomable reason, the epidural did not work - at all. I had full sensation in my legs. It was at this point that I got an irresistible urge to push - everyone was standing around waiting for the epidural to work and it took some time to get this urge taken seriously. I was examined again and found to be fully dilated. This was half an hour after arriving at the hospital. I had dilated 5cm in half an hour - still makes me wince to think about it! The anaesthetists told me that they didn't know why the epidural hadn't worked, but they cheerily wished me luck and left.

The doctor then told me that I could push. I think the last bit of sanity I had left me at this point. Not five minutes ago I was waiting for blissful numbness from the waist down and was now being told to push. I was exhausted and distressed and ending up pushing for almost two hours. They gave me an injection to increase the frequency and strength of the contractions - this didn't help. Michael's heart rate was starting to dip when I had a contraction so the doctors decided that I would need some additional help to deliver him and got a ventouse kit. This was agonising, and I had to have an episiotomy (mercifully, with a local anaesthetic) but it was effective and Michael's head was born a short time later. I have frequently read that delivering the head is supposed to be the hard part and that the body is just supposed to slither out with the next contraction. No such luck. Anyone who knows Phil and I will know what broad shoulders he has. Little (or not so little) Michael has inherited his Daddy's shoulders and got himself well and truly stuck. In being born, his right collar bone was broken. He was cleaned up and put on my tummy and the cord was clamped and then cut by Phil. This is regret number three as I did not want the cord to be clamped until it had stopped pulsing. As I mentioned, I was too out of it to really object. I don't hold the broken collar bone as a regret as this would have happened regardless of the labour experience - he was just too big for my little pelvis.

My poor little boy had a raised area on his head and a killer headache from the ventouse. He also had to have the sleeve of his sleepsuit pinned to the button area to prevent him from raising his arm and turning his broken collar bone. We spent a night in the hospital getting to know each other and we were discharged the next day after the paediatrician had examined Michael.

There are a lot of areas of my labour experience that sadden me greatly. I see pain in my little boy's eyes when I look at the photos that were taken of him immediately after the birth and even now I find it difficult not to cry. At the end of the day, Phil and I have been blessed with a beautiful and healthy little boy and this is the best gift we could ever have.

Welcome to the world, Baby Gleghorn!

We joyfully announce the birth of our son

Michael Alexander Gleghorn

on Saturday, 12th August 2006 at 4:15 p.m.
Weighing 9 pounds, 2½ ounces

He fills our arms with love and our hearts with happiness

Philip and Catherine Gleghorn

Happy due date to me

Well here I am on my due date. Have I spent the morning staring adoringly into the eyes of my baby son? Have I been doubled over in agony with labour pains? No I haven't. Shall I tell you how I have spent my morning? I have been on my hands and knees looking in nooks and crannies for our hamster.

His cage door was accidentally left open last night when Phil was feeding him and he made his escape after we went to bed. This isn't the first time that Quadrinaros has made a bid for freedom and his second bid has not been more successful than the first. We found him curled up fast asleep in the bookcase having chewed his way through my CV writing book. Thank goodness there wasn't a scratch on him and other than being rather thirsty, he seems to be absolutely fine.

Given that I haven't had so much as a twinge, I doubt that my day will get any more exciting than this. I had a midwife appointment this afternoon and baby M is doing well, although perhaps a little too well as he is clearly very happy where he is. If he still hasn't put in an appearance by next Friday then I will be sent to Spaarne hospital for a scan and examination and if all is well with him and the placenta then I will be allowed to go to 42 weeks. At that point I will have to go to the hospital to be induced. As the midwife put it, I will be a Mummy by 21st August. What a scary and exciting thought!

Screams rend the morning air

I have been taking pregnancy yoga classes for the past 5 months. The purpose is to prepare my body for labour and to give me coping strategies and breathing techniques for the pain. Everything I have learned went right out of the window this morning when I woke up with a vicious cramp in my right calf. I sprang out of bed like my arse was on fire (pretty impressive given the size of my bump) and began hobbling around the room, bellowing like an angry bull. Inbetween bellows I managed to explain to Phil what the problem was and he grabbed my calf and massaged it (after first grabbing my thigh - he was still half asleep, the poor man). The pain melted away immediately. This does not bode well for my chances of coping in labour...

What's in a name?

The town hall have agreed to change my name to Catherine Gleghorn. This may seem like a small thing but it is a big deal to me. My chosen name will appear on baby M's birth certificate.

Now back to the baby. I'm trying to decide which baby carrier to buy and am finding this just as much of a minefield as choosing a travel system. The firm favourite at the moment is the Wilkinet Baby Carrier. It has a traditional look so that Phil can wear it without too much embarrassment and it has excellent reviews. Other than the baby carrier, I have pretty much finished shopping for baby things.

All being well, I will have a homebirth and this requires some purchases that we had not anticipated. Firstly, I have to buy two rectal thermometers. One for the baby and one for... me. How I tried to talk the midwife out of this. "Leave my bottom alone!" I told her but she would have none of it. She told me that once in labour I won't notice or give a damn what implements she chooses to shove up there. "Give me my dignity!" I told her. All pleas fell on deaf ears. We also have to raise the level of the bed to make examination easier. The midwife told us to go to the local supermarket and ask for eight Coke crates. No, I'm not kidding. I sent Phil to do this because I would probably have laughed or got very embarrassed (not quite as embarrassed as with the rectal thermometer, but embarrassed enough). Phil dutifully made the request and the assistant didn't even bat an eyelid - she just fetched the crates. I guess it is very common in Holland for births to be sponsored by the Coca Cola company.

Drowning in red tape

For those who haven't read my profile, my husband and I are British expats who have been living in The Netherlands for the past 6.5 years. This evening we went to the local town hall to register our marriage. We were married in Rome in April of last year. As you have probably gathered, we procrastinate quite a bit...

This should have been a very straightforward process which we finally made a priority of doing so that Phil is automatically assumed to be baby M's father without having to sign a parental declaration. Unfortunately, I had underestimated Dutch law...

Under British law I have the right to assume my husband's surname on marriage. This I did at the British Consulate in Amsterdam, and I had my passport changed accordingly. My marriage certificate is an Italian legal document and in the box that shows what my married name choices are, it gives both my maiden name and husband's surname as options. With me so far? Good. Now for the problem. Under Dutch law, the town hall has to accept the entry in this particular box exactly as it is written as my married name choice. So instead of being:

Catherine Fogg (maiden name)

or:

Catherine Gleghorn (husband's surname)

The Dutch want me to be:

Catherine Fogg Gleghorn

Are you kidding me?!? So the town hall has to investigate whether British and Italian law can take precedence over Dutch law here. It is clear what was intended in the marriage certificate and this was accepted by the British Consulate. I am not a Dutch citizen so I don't see how Dutch law can be allowed to prevent me from taking my husband's surname. I will find out tomorrow or the day after what the outcome of the investigation is and if they insist on this ridiculousness then I will have to take legal advice.

Grrr.

Apologies to baby M for hijacking his blog to have a rant in. He's doing well, by the way!

The formula milk people have me in their sights!

I know I haven't posted in quite a while, but all has been very quiet on the baby front. The pregnancy is progressing well - my blood pressure is fine and baby M is the right size for the dates. He has decided to lodge his bottom under my ribs on the right - this is a new party trick he has discovered and one that I am keen to discourage. Perhaps his motivation is revenge... Phil and I have taken to crooning golden oldies at him lately. It started when he had a rather aggressive bout of hiccups and we were trying to help him stop. Perhaps he doesn't like Tom Jones and a rendition of "Moon River" with half the words replaced with 'la' after all.

Now that my due date is drawing near, I am being targeted by the scarily determined marketing people at Nutricia. Nutricia produce a formula milk that is very popular in The Netherlands. I've got vouchers; information on the money they donate to children in the third-world, and the knowledge that their fabulous product will help the immune system of my baby.

Hmm...

Leave.me.alone.

I'm sure that mother nature/God/whoever gave me these boobs for a reason other than the entertainment of my husband and I intend to use them.

Finally the baby has wheels!

After two months of deliberating, arguing and dismissing, we have finally purchased a travel system for baby M. It has been a painful experience that I would not wish to repeat and I admit that it has left me feeling vaguely suicidal at times. My requirements were as follows:

1. Should be able to take a carrycot for maximum comfort whilst baby M is too small to sit up.
2. Should fold up easily and with the seat attached.
3. Should be light enough to handle public transport.
4. Should have sturdy enough wheels to handle Dutch streets without rattling the chocolate buttons out of baby M's mouth.

I was surprised at just how few travel systems met these requirements. The Quinny Buzz and Bugaboo Cameleon were early favourites but were dismissed. The Quinny Buzz had woefully inadequate storage space and the Bugaboo was extremely expensive. Neither would fold up with the seat attached. In the end we settled on the Quinny Speedi SX in olive green. It is a little heavier than I would like but certainly ticks the most boxes. It looks good too.

I was surprised at how important it was to me that it look good. I thought initially that I would be deeply practical and cost conscious - alas no. I wanted an aesthetically appealing pushchair to show off my baby in.

Most of the shopping for baby M is now done but we still haven't bought the nursery furniture yet. We walk enthusiastically into baby stores at least once a week and run out in horror half an hour later after seeing the prices for what is essentially a few planks of wood. It can take a couple of months to deliver nursery furniture and if we don't make a decision soon then baby M could well make an appearance before his furniture does. Help!!

Introducing Baby Gleghorn

This is my son, currently going by the nickname of 'little baby M'. We have a name picked out for him but we are not going to reveal it outside the family until he is born. The picture was taken during his 20 week scan. His father and I have been waiting for him a long time. I had a miscarriage in May 2004 and again in August 2005. Amazingly, here I am in May 2006, 28 weeks pregnant.

I have had several very frightening episodes of bleeding during this pregnancy but little baby M has refused to be dislodged from his cosy home and he is currently having an afternoon nap.

Although I have never looked upon his face, I love this child more than anything else in the world and would protect him with my last breath. Love like this is such a wonderful and humbling thing.