Month one - best and worst baby buys
I thought we were SO organised before Daphne was born, and I thought we had everything we needed. But no, within the first week alone, I had managed to spend an obscene amount of money on more 'essential' baby buys - things that people had recommended to me, or things that I suddenly realised we really needed. But then some of these essentials turned out not to be so essential after all... So in this blog, I thought it'd be helpful to other expectant mums out there to list some of the best and worst things we've bought in the first month. Having a new baby is seriously expensive and it's tempting to buy EVERYTHING in fear of depriving your little one in some way, so here goes...
Best buys
I was quite shocked by the price of the Sleepyhead (£100) when it was recommended to me by the lactation consultant we saw. But she convinced me by explaining how useful it was as a way of having the baby in the room with us during the day - it meant she could nap and we could keep an eye on her. It also helps babies who don't like the vast openness of their cots - because it helps them feel more snug and secure. 
Before Daphne was born, we bought a Maxi-Cosi Easia Baby Carrier as it looked really sturdy and safe. However, as with many things we bought, it turned out poor Daphne was too small for it. And so I bought the Boba wrap as well, and it's been an absolute godsend. No matter what state she's in, if I pop her in it, within a few minutes she falls asleep. It's a bit of a pain to put on to begin with (the day it arrived Oli and I had a massive sleep-deprived barney while trying to work out how to wrap it), but you soon get the hang of it. I have even managed to go to the toilet while wearing it (and her). Should I have shared that? Possibly not, but trust me, sometimes these little things make all the difference to your day...
Dr Brown's Natural Flow bottles 
Even if you're exclusively breastfeeding, at some point you're going to have to give your baby a bottle. Since Daphne's been mostly bottle fed (both expressed milk and formula), she's unfortunately always been quite a windy baby. And windy baby = miserable baby. These bottles have really helped - they have a fancy pants inner tube that stops air getting into the teat and into your baby's mouth. They haven't quite cut down on her colicky sessions but they've definitely helped. A pain in the arse to wash up, but it's a small price to pay.
Motorola MBP36S Digital Video Monitor
Given the ridiculously small size of my flat, we debated whether or not to bother with a baby monitor. And for the first week we managed without one, but then I started to get antsy if the TV was on and I was at the other end of the flat, because I wouldn't hear her start to cry. We debated again whether or not to bother getting a video monitor, or just an audio one, but I'm so glad we went for it in the end because it's so lovely to be able to SEE her as well as hear her. And if/when we finally move to a bigger place, I am sure it'll be invaluable.
Worst buys
I'm still massively confused by dummies (not a sentence I ever thought I'd write). Are they terrible? Are they brilliant? Are they acceptable only in certain circumstances? I STILL have no idea. However I was rather surprised when the Health Visitor told me that they are now recommending dummy use as it can prevent cot death in very young babies. Anyway, we bought some Mam ones - special ones for tiny babies, with a special sterilising box. And Daphne spits them out in disgust every time we try to give her one. Not something you can really recycle or donate to a friend, or a big deal, but officially a total waste of money.
aden + anais Twinkle Changing Mat Cover
This has really become a bit of a joke, and (I like to think), a game between me and my baby. It goes like this: mummy washes changing mat cover, puts it on changing mat, baby immediately pees/poos/throws up on changing mat cover. Mummy washes changing mat cover, puts it on changing mat, baby immediately pees/poos/throws up on changing mat cover. Repeat ad infinitum. It might look nice, it might be slightly softer on baby's bot, but the reality is that the wipe-clean plastic underneath is a far more practical option.
Babygrows without scratch mitts
Like most babies, Daphne's favourite activity is scratching her face to shreds/poking herself in the eye or nose. Why sleepsuits without scratch mitts integrated even exist is beyond me. So sadly, all the lovely tops and sleepsuits we bought with open sleeves have hardly been used. And those oven glove-style scratch mitts (see above!) are useless if your baby's as tiny and wriggly as mine - two seconds and they're off.
Any other new mums got any recommendations of products that you just can't live without? Or that I shouldn't bother with? Would love to hear from you...
My top 5 post-labour surprises
I never thought much about what would happen AFTER I'd given birth. I was so focused on the pregnancy, and then on the birth itself, that what would happen afterwards hadn't really occurred to me. My priority was surviving the process, and ensuring Daphne arrived safely. Afterwards was this kind of mystical land that I couldn't really imagine getting to. And boy, did it blindside me! So, for those of you about to give birth, forewarned is forearmed! Here are some of the things that threw me:
1. How much you wee after birth.
You know how I complained about my insane water retention during pregnancy (esp in my feet)? Well, as soon as you give birth, it all starts to leave your body - and the easiest way for it to do that is through your wee. For the first week or so, I found myself having to literally run to the toilet every hour or so, and then, to quote Robin Williams in Mrs Doubtfire 'piss like a racehorse'. It was kind of satisfying but given the state of my pelvic floor post-birth, also a little bit stressful when the toilet wasn't near, or someone else was hogging it... and don't get me started on the uncontrollable flatulence - suffice to say, everyone was right about the necessity of doing those Kegel exercises. Dammit.
2. The pain when you sit down.
I hadn't thought about this either - I knew about stitches and how much they hurt, but I didn't think about the fact that you CAN'T REALLY SIT ON THEM because ouch, that whole area is just unhappy and bruised and angry with you. So for the first few days after having Daphne, sitting down filled me with dread - it was kind of OK once I was sitting, but the actual process involved gingerly lowering myself into the seat, wincing the entire time. I also suffered from a horribly bruised coccyx (it gets shoved out of place as the baby pushes her way out) and this lasted for nearly three weeks - making leaning back in a chair impossible, and clutch 'control' when driving a bit of a misnomer.
3. If you're a screamer, you lose your voice.
Maybe this is just me, but thanks to my impressive screaming during labour, I was completely hoarse for the next two days. It was even worse than the day-after-drunken-karaoke. Enough said.
4. The complete lack of core strength.
Another interesting post-labour side effect - I thought this one was something only those who had C sections had to deal with, but no, for at least two weeks after Daphne's birth I had hardly any strength in my core - making sitting up in bed or getting out of the car/up from a chair a real challenge. Apparently I'm one of the lucky ladies whose abdominal muscles have separated, which might explain this. However, I also noticed that all the new mums on the post-natal ward were walking around (like me) in a kind of hunched-over shuffle. It's kind of how I imagine men feel after being kicked in the balls. But you know, it lasts for weeks. Yesterday, I actually got irrationally angry when someone on TV who'd just had a baby in the programme was walking around all sprightly the day after. NOT POSSIBLE!
5. The Googling.
This is the biggest one. I was always quite a prolific googler, but it's now out of hand. You will google everything. EVERYTHING. Before the baby is born, you feel you're quite clued up, you've read What to Expect the 1st Year, but still you find yourself, bleary eyed mid-feed at 4am, trying to find out if the red mark between your baby's eyebrows is anything to worry about, or if the fact she's only done one poo today is anything to worry about, or how terrible it is to resort to a dummy at three weeks, or how to increase your milk supply, or which breast pump is the best, or whether your baby's projectile vomiting is dangerous enough to warrant a trip to A&E (ahem, yes, we went, at 3am, after I screamed at Oli to call an ambulance... she was absolutely fine of course). There is SO MUCH to learn, and so much confusing info out there and Google keeps calling you and luring you in deeper and deeper... However, the forums on Mumsnet and Netmums must be avoided at all costs (or you will end up in A&E).
What were your biggest post-labour surprises? I'd love to hear from other new mums!
Daphne's birth story - part two
I’ve sat down about eight times this week determined to finish off the second part of Daphne’s birth story, but then something has happened – the doorbell’s rung with yet another delivery from the postman (we are so humbled as she’s been sent so many lovely things!), or her Majesty has decided to wake up and start bawling, or the cat’s thrown up on the rug for the first time in his entire life (yes, this really did happen last week - attention seeker!) or the washing machine’s started bleeping or or or… you get the picture! It is INCREDIBLE how much time a small baby can take up, and I’m not even exclusively breastfeeding (more on that in another post, but seriously, people who EBF – how do you ever leave your bed?!)
So, where was I? It was 3am and I’d finally been admitted to the birthing unit. The jolly midwife who gave me my second sweep then handed me over to another midwife – who was considerably less jolly. In fact, she seemed to be incapable of making conversation and instead spent her entire time sat on a stool in the corner of the room, writing things down in some sort of record book. Every time I had a contraction she glanced over her shoulder and muttered ‘Blow Charlotte, blow’ under her breath. Within about ten minutes I wanted to blow HER away. Anyway, I decided to try some of the legendary gas and air for the pain, but couldn’t for the life of me work out how to breathe it in properly and promptly decided it was too much of a faff. Therein ended my one and only attempt at pain relief during labour.
Thankfully, I had Oli for company. He kept the lights down low (it was obviously still pitch black outside), put Chopin on the Jawbone and talked to me as I lay on the birthing bed moaning. We cracked open the apple juice I’d carefully packed in my hospital bag months before, then realised it was actually out of date. There’s the downside of being TOO prepared. We also started to work our way through a bag of Phizzy Pigs – little did I know that over the next 24 hours they would be pretty much the only thing I would eat. It’s funny how in labour you completely lose your appetite!
After a while, I started eyeing up the birthing pool and asked the monosyllabic midwife’s back if I could go in. She turned and pulled a face but agreed and started to fill it. My god it took ages to fill. She told me that I was only allowed to have it at 37 degrees, no warmer, because she didn’t want to ‘cook the baby’. I got in but soon realised it was a bit chilly - not exactly relaxing.
One of the things they don’t show you on One Born Every Minute is that during labour, every five minutes (or so it seems) they have to check the baby’s heartbeat with a Doppler. For some reason this really got on my nerves (sorry Daph!). They also check your blood pressure, temperature and pulse pretty regularly too. I found all this 'being fiddled with' really aggravating.
By half seven, having hung out in the pool moaning as the sun came up, I was about 8cm dilated. My waters broke just after the midwife checked me - and this was as expected, a big painless gush of warm fluid all over the birthing couch. We were then very pleased to hear that grumpy midwife’s shift was over, and were even more happy to be introduced to our new midwife, who was far more cheerful and actually TALKED to me and Oli as though we were human beings. She also let me fill the pool up with hotter water, so I got back in (having got out when my shivering got too much – I was in and out of that damn birthing pool all day).
What I didn’t really realise about labour was just how long it takes to get to the transition phase – and how boring it must be for the midwives and your birthing partner. The pain of each contraction ensured I didn’t get bored, and instead the time seemed to fly by as I tried loads of different positions to get comfortable. But for people watching it must be a right snooze-fest. I can now well understand dads who fall asleep, or end up playing Angry Birds. It was all rather hypnotic and weird for me though – just floating about naked in this pool, almost half-asleep, with Oli feeding me Phizzy Pigs every now and then and Chopin playing on repeat… and then of course, the midwife sticking the Doppler on my stomach. It was like a really weird dream.
At some point mid-morning (I literally don’t know when) my sister turned up. I suspect she now wishes she hadn’t turned up, only to see me stark naked and without shame, mooing like a cow with each contraction. But I was grateful to see her as it gave Oli someone sentient to talk to. She also went to M&S and got some sandwiches for everyone, and a fruit salad for me. I think I managed a cereal bar for lunch too – like I said, it’s so weird how you must be using so many calories labouring but you have zero interest in eating anything. I did manage a cup of tea at one point though!
After a while, the midwife asked me if I had been to the toilet, and I realised I hadn’t had a wee for about ten hours. She asked me to go and try, but I literally couldn’t go. Another weird thing they don’t tell you – labour can sometimes ‘shut down’ your ability to urinate. The midwife was pretty confident that my bladder wasn’t empty and so she used a catheter to relieve me. I remember at the time feeling very undignified as I watched her fill two of those upside-down paper hat things with wee – over a litre apparently. My dignity was rapidly fading away.
After that, I got back in the pool. My contractions started to get stronger and I was finally 10cm dilated. Everyone got quite excited and cheerleadery as I did a few really good pushes, and I was utterly convinced that the head must already be sticking out by now. I remember thinking that my daughter was going to be born around lunchtime, and how great that would be – to have the afternoon to recover. But then, all of a sudden and for no apparent reason, my contractions tailed off, then stopped completely.
In desperation after half an hour of nothing, we decided to try to increase the amount of oxytocin (the hormone needed for contractions) in the room by… TWEAKING MY NIPPLES. Yep, you heard me right. I felt stupid doing it to myself, so Oli did it for me. It sort of worked a bit, but I think by then my self-conscious brain was just in full panic mode, and nothing was going to get those contractions up to speed again. I was also grimly aware of all the BITS OF STUFF floating in the water – I asked if they were poo, but apparently they weren’t. I then realised some of the bits were pieces of my Shellac nail varnish which had fallen off my toenails thanks to being in the water so long. Oh the glamour.
We tried EVERYTHING to get things going again – my poor midwife was so desperate – I sat on the birthing stool (for some reason this was stupidly low - someone needs to design a better version!), went back on the bed on all fours, sat on the loo (!), tried standing and leaning against the wall while Oli rubbed my back, but I’d lost all urge to push. It was so frustrating and I was completely exhausted. The midwife eventually went to speak to the doctor.
He recommended that I be transferred downstairs to the delivery ward (BOO) and put on a synthetic oxytocin drip to get my contractions going again. After everything, I was basically going to be induced after all! This would mean a cannula, a permanent catheter and possibly an IV drip too. I was also offered an epidural (the drip makes the contractions more painful than natural ones) but I was so fed up I decided I didn’t bloody care about the pain and I wanted as few medical interventions as possible.
I was taken downstairs in a wheelchair, wrapped in just a sheet and feeling like a right failure. The delivery ward was as depressing as I’d imagined, and it took three attempts to get a cannula in my hand – in the end they had to call an anaesthetist to do it, who I vaguely remember was quite good looking and tried to be quite jovial with me, but I was having none of it. Feel a bit bad about that now... The cannula really really hurt and my hand swelled up straight away with a massive bruise - out of all the things that happened that day, this felt like the worst thing oddly, and was the only time I cried all day.
Thankfully my midwife was able to stay with me, which I really appreciated as I felt I had built up quite a rapport with her by then. By 5pm ish, the syntocinon drip had got going. I was hopeful that Daphne would arrive in about half an hour or so – I was actually desperate for some super strong, super painful contractions that would blast the little bugger out of my birth canal.
But, as appeared to be the order of the day, we waited. And waited. And waited. And nothing much happened. The contractions started but they were pretty feeble still. I tried pushing but my best efforts were met with stern commands of 'bigger pushes Charlotte, bigger'. But I couldn't seem to do anything 'bigger' - I felt I was trying as hard as I possibly could. I asked the midwife to turn the drip up, which she did, until Daphne’s heart rate started to drop and she had to turn it off completely. The midwife started to get a bit tetchy with me, and said that Daphne was getting tired and that I really needed to push harder.
By this point I was feeling trapped in some kind of nightmare – I genuinely couldn’t see how on earth this day would end. I asked for a Caesarean. I asked to be cut. I was completely distraught when I was told neither were an option – the Caesarean would be almost impossible as Daphne would have to be pushed back up into my womb, and the episiotomy wasn’t needed as her head wasn’t low enough yet.
I thought I might die. Genuinely.
We tried some more positions – standing up, on all fours, but by this point I had no strength left to support myself. My wrists were absolutely killing me from being on all fours for so long upstairs, and for clinging onto the birthing pool too tightly. I actually lost all the sensation in the tops of my fingers for a few days after – and ended up with a bruise on my forehead from leaning too hard on the side of the pool. The only position I could manage to push in was lying on my side with one leg hoisted up over the poor midwife’s shoulder.
My sister then had to go home – I felt like I’d failed her as she’d been with me all day and she was desperate to see her niece be born. The midwife then said the next stage was to get the doctor again and for him to use the ventouse on me. Hearing this, I think some new kind of steely resolve took hold of me as I realised I REALLY didn't want to have anyone fiddling with me again. I think finally the control freak in me let go as I accepted that I had to lose all dignity to do this thing. From somewhere I found a tiny reserve of energy and decided to try pushing even when I wasn’t having a contraction (this is not allowed btw, don’t tell my midwife).
Immediately Oli was incredibly encouraging, telling me how well I was doing as I inched slowly closer and closer to getting her head out - I fully credit him with empowering me somehow. I squeezed his hands so hard I'm sure I must have cut off his circulation but his cheerleading was just what I needed at that point.
As I started to push more the inevitable happened and YES PEOPLE I pooed on the bed. This is no great surprise really because one of the weirdest things about labour is that you basically feel like you’re trying to do a giant shit. I don’t understand why, when the baby comes out of a totally different hole, but there you have it. Even in my state I remember feeling incredibly sorry that this lovely patient midwife had to wipe up my poo for me, and I kept apologising to her.
Somehow, some way, I seemed to finally get the hang of it. I made a lot of noise. A LOT of noise. The pain was excruciating but I almost used it as motivation – the more it hurt, the more I knew I must be progressing. By this point I was DESPERATE for pain! A few more midwives came in the room and I noticed them bustling about with towels and things – for the baby, I realised, and this also spurred me on.
Eventually Oli told me he could see the baby’s head (as well as my poo – the poor man, will he ever find me attractive again?), and the midwives asked me if I wanted to touch it (the head, not the poo). I did not want to touch it. This freaked me out completely but it was so good to know that finally, FINALLY, something was happening. Whoever said childbirth is like squeezing an orange out of your nostril was bang on the money. During the final pushes I remember thinking to myself ‘OK, so now I’m ripping myself in half but I have to do this OR THIS DAY WILL NEVER END.’
Finally I realised everyone was getting excited again – and I did it. With the last push her whole body came out in one big slimy gush, at 7.46pm. My lunchtime baby was born right in the middle of Corrie. And just 14 minutes before my amazing midwife's 12-hour shift ended.
They put her on my chest and I tried to pull her towards me but realised I couldn’t get her any closer because she was still attached to me by the cord. But I held her as best I could, and immediately – and completely randomly as god knows when I last heard it – the song Cheek to Cheek came into my head.
'Heaven...
I'm in heaven...
And my heart beats so that I can hardly speak...'
And I loved her straight away.
Read Part One of Daphne's birth story >
THE RIVAL, my novel about career and motherhood, is on sale now. You can find out more about THE RIVAL here, and order here if you want to make my day. UNFOLLOW ME will be published in June.
Daphne’s birth story – part one
I'll start this post with a caveat: apologies to those who hate this kind of thing! But I LOVED reading birth stories when I was pregnant. I find the whole process of giving birth completely fascinating, as everyone I know seems to have been surprised at some point by some part of their labour. It's the most miraculous, crazy experience and I am really pleased to be able to record it for the future, and to share with Daphne when she's older! So here goes, part one of Daphne's birth story... which, somewhat incongruously, starts with some jewellery...
I went into labour on Saturday 15 August, about an hour after I got back from Old Bond Street, where I bought a bracelet in Tiffany’s. This will always be the weirdest part of her birth story I think – I’d just completed on the sale of my business to my business partner, and wanted to buy myself something to mark/remember the success of the business, and decided that what I really wanted was a bracelet from Tiffany’s. I woke up that morning with a really clear idea in my head that I had to get the bracelet that day – Oli thought I was completely barmy, as I was seriously pregnant and uncomfortable and hadn't been up for going into central London for ages, and especially not on a Saturday. But I insisted and he eventually agreed to come with me (there was a lot of eye-rolling though).
So off we set to Green Park, and within about half an hour I was in and out of Tiffany’s and carrying my bracelet home. One of my speediest purchases ever. I am sure that my feeling of having to get the damn bracelet that day was my ‘nesting’ instinct kicking in – many women say they feel desperate to clean their houses or finish off last-minute jobs the day before they go into labour, as though they are trying to get everything ready, knowing that after the baby is born life will never be the same again. My version of this just happened to be spending stupid money on jewellery, but there you go. What can I say? I am a terrible person. However, in my defence, I definitely don’t think I’ll be paying another visit to Tiffany’s any time soon in the next few years. And I quite like the surrealness of the situation; me sitting in Tiffany’s like a beached whale, all sweaty and swollen, trying on bracelets that would barely do up around my puffed up wrists, in front of a very bemused sales assistant.
The night before, we’d had a curry, and I’d woken up with a bit of an upset tummy. Which was unusual, as I’d been so constipated for weeks before. I also noticed that during said-upset-stomach-incident, I lost my mucus plug (gross I know!) and I did get quite excited about that, although I knew it meant labour could still be days or even weeks away.
After we got home from my ridiculous shopping trip, we ate dinner and started watching TV. At about 8pm I noticed that I was getting some strange period-like cramps. They weren’t very regular but they were definitely bothering me. I thought they might be contractions but they didn’t feel like ‘contracting’, they just felt like kind of aching pains that came and went. As the evening progressed, they got more and more frequent, until they settled down to a pattern of every six-seven minutes or so. I started trying to time them on an app, but after a while they stopped completely for an hour or so, before starting up again. I wasn’t entirely sure what was going on, but it did seem like something might be happening.
birth-story-lifebylotte3
I tried to sleep but it was really difficult as the pains kept waking me up whenever I started to drift off. I reckon I got about two hours’ sleep that night. On Sunday morning, we went to Waitrose and although the pains hadn’t got any worse, they were still there, and bothering me a lot. I cracked open my Tens machine, and it actually helped loads – in fact I actually carried it around Waitrose with me, which now I think about it must have looked rather amusing. We spent the whole of Sunday waiting for something specific to happen, but nothing did, just this non-progressing regular pain.
I did a LOT of googling of latent labour that day and spent the whole time praying my waters would break, but they didn’t.
By 8pm on Sunday I was a bit frustrated, so we decided to go into the hospital. I had rung the midwife before and she’d told me to stay at home until I was having three contractions every ten minutes, but nothing seemed to be going in that direction and I was getting fed up and tired. At the hospital, they strapped me up to a machine that monitored the baby’s heart rate and also my contractions – which were only every 6-7 minutes still, and quite irregular, but really strong on the scale – the midwife actually raised her eyebrows as she watched one charting and said ‘Gosh that is strong and long.’ I think it was about 92 out of 100 on whatever scale they use to measure it.
She also examined me and told me that I was 100% effaced, but only 1cm dilated. I was ‘in labour’ but only early labour which they don’t count! Seems mean when you think how painful and tiring it is! Anyway the midwife gave me a sweep (for those who don't know what this is and intend to have a child sometime, probably best not to google it...) to help speed things up and sent me home again. As I left she said ‘We might see you back here in a couple of hours!’
That was even more frustrating and I really wished I could have just stayed in the hospital, but anyway, we went home and tried to sleep. After half an hour of lying in bed, with the pains getting more severe although not closer together, I gave up trying to sleep and did something I NEVER do: I ran a bath.
I hate baths. There’s nothing I enjoy less than sitting in water that’s going cold while you stare at yourself naked and try to find a comfortable way of sitting, squelching your skin against the hard sides of the bath and desperately searching for a comfy way to position your head. No ta. But for some reason I was hopeful that the bath would help the pains and I also just couldn’t stand the idea of lying in the bed unable to sleep for another night. So I ran a really full, really warm bath, stuck on my hypnobirthing playlist and sat there in the dark for about two hours.
The cat came and joined me, which was quite cute. He clearly thought I'd lost my mind. The hypnobirthing playlist did help to some extent, although I found it hard to concentrate – I only remember bits of it now, something about wandering through meadows and seeing violet flowers which meant I had courage or something, then going through another meadow and seeing red flowers which meant something else… dunno what now… massive blood loss ahead!? And then eventually, at around 2am, Oli came to find me (I think he thought I’d drowned or something). I told him the pains were getting stronger, even though they still weren’t regular really, and we decided to go back to the hospital.
As soon as we made that decision, my contractions suddenly started to come thick and fast – they were lasting a lot longer and I only had a minute or two in between them. Trying to sit down in the car felt very wrong, and I suddenly started panicking that we wouldn’t get to the hospital in time (despite living five minutes’ away – ridiculous I know). Once we got there, as it was after 10pm, we couldn’t go in the direct entrance to the maternity ward as it was locked, so instead we had to walk through the entire building from the main entrance to get to the right wing. This ‘walk’ was definitely one of my lowest points – I remember clinging onto Oli and telling him I couldn’t possibly make it, and having to stop and try to breathe through the pain every minute or so. It was kind of like it is on TV, actually. I wasn’t really aware of anything but how much it hurt, and how hard it was becoming to walk.
I also got irrationally angry with the hospital's architect, and shouted about how stupid they were for building something so big and for having a maternity ward so far from the entrance. Thankfully there weren't many people around to witness my ridiculous woman-in-labour tantrum.
Eventually we arrived at the Carmen Suite – the midwife-led unit, with the lovely birthing pools. It was very quiet and dark there, but we were seen immediately by a surprisingly (for the time of day) jolly midwife who checked me over and said I was finally 4cm dilated (you have to be 4cm dilated for them to consider that you are in active labour). She let me stay – hurrah! I was so pleased. I was less pleased, however, when she said she was going to give me another sweep. I’m still not sure exactly why she decided to give me another one – I was too out of it to ask, but anyway, it ruddy hurt.
By this time it was about 3am on Monday morning. Being admitted to the ward was very strange in itself, and I did have a moment of clarity when I thought ‘Oh my god, I’m actually going to meet my baby really soon!’ However, I don’t think I could have quite anticipated what was in store… and how NOT soon it would be…
Phew! If you've made it this far, then you deserve a medal! But instead I'll just leave you with a picture of the bracelet and a 'to be continued'...
PS Oli has just read this and said 'You've hardly mentioned the pain! You were in agony! You couldn't even get out of the bath! You're making it sound like a mild inconvenience but you were in horrendous pain the whole time!' Um, so yeah, clearly that post-labour memory-loss thing is true, cos I can genuinely hardly remember it now...
Read Part Two of Daphne's birth story >
THE RIVAL, my novel about career and motherhood, is on sale now. You can find out more about THE RIVAL here, and order here if you want to make my day. UNFOLLOW ME will be published in June.
Meet Chip!
In case you haven't heard already from the copious baby spam on my Twitter and Instagram, Chip decided it was time to be born on Monday 17 August, at 7.46pm. She weighed 5lbs 5 and is absolutely perfect (even if I do say so myself!).
We've named her Daphne Sophia Darley.
But she'll always be Chip too ;)
I'll be writing up my birth story asap for all those who love all the gory details but in the meantime I wanted to say a huge thanks to everyone for all the support and interest in our tiny little girl - it's been such a special magical time and sharing it with folk has made it all the better.
We're completely in love with her. More soon... xx
Read my pregnancy diary from the beginning >
38 Weeks
Yep, this is what 38 weeks pregnant looks like folks. Ice cream, ice cream and more ice cream (trust me, it's a more attractive picture than one of me right now). I've been obsessed this week and have no idea why - maybe Chip is desperately trying to build up her fat stores? Maybe I'm just a massive pig? Who knows. But Ben & Jerry's have done well out of me this week (sidenote: Phish Food is still my favourite, mmmm those dark chocolate fishes....).
Anyway, I can officially say now that I've had enough of being pregnant. Two of the ladies in my NCT group gave birth last week and for the first time in my life I'm feeling really quite envious! I don't normally get jealous at all but seeing their excited messages and cute little pictures has made me feel desperate to meet Chip... it's like waiting for Christmas Day as a child all over again. Except that in the meantime, your feet and hands are constantly swollen and sore, you have non-stop reflux and burping issues (digestion woes are back again - maybe the ice cream is to blame?), your brain doesn't work properly and real, deep sleep seems like a distant memory...
Alas, Chip shows no sign of turning up any time soon. I had my 38 week check up yesterday and all was totally fine - the GP seemed to think that Chip's head was 3/5 engaged but I know that doesn't really mean anything, as heads can be engaged for weeks before birth. I've had some strange incidences of period-like pain which have got me all excited, but nothing consistent or lasting very long.
Other than that, we've been thinking more and more about names. I had a mini rant on Twitter about the fact that, since Oli and I are not married, we have to choose which of our surnames to give the baby (legally, we could actually give her a totally random surname in fact - one that neither of us have, which is WEIRD). This is now starting to stress me out quite a lot, and I'd love to hear what other unmarried parents have done?
I much prefer Oli's surname (Darley) to mine (the constant Jack/Vera comments and quacking noises have taken their toll on me over the years) but then I also feel a bit sad about having a different surname from my daughter. It's really tricky. Getting married is not an option (been there, bought the t-shirt, happily returned it) and changing my name to Oli's just seems like an odd thing to do. Not to mention a load of hassle. Oli's said that he's happy for her to have my surname but then I feel that he's not really connected with her, which is daft I know... it's just obviously I am going to give birth to her so I very definitely am. So basically, I'm moaning about a problem that there's really no solution to - I suppose I just have to get over it.
Also, we have a first name we love, but we stupidly told a few people what it was early on, and I've realised now that you mustn't tell people your baby name ideas until AFTER THE BABY IS BORN. Otherwise people think they've got free rein to express their opinion on it, and then you start bloody worrying what other people think, and questioning yourself. Which is stupid because you're never going to find a name that everyone in the whole world loves. At least once the baby is born and the name is a fait accompli, people usually have the manners to nod and smile politely, and say how delightful it is... (and then slag it off behind your back, but y'know, them's the breaks).
We've spent most of this week on Nameberry, shouting out different options to each other and getting more and more confused. I am now hoping that once Chip is born, we'll look at her little face and the right name will become abundantly clear. What do you reckon? Otherwise we may end up calling her Chip* for life...
Sigh. Back to the ice cream, methinks.
*for those that are interested, 'Chip' came about from when my pregnancy app Glow told me that Chip was the size of a chocolate chip. I started calling her 'the chip' when referencing how she made me feel (nauseous, tired, hungry etc etc) and it stuck. I quite like it as a nickname actually and if she'd been a boy, we really might have considered it...
Shops you should know about: A Rum Fellow
Another shop this week for all you interiors fans that you might not have heard of but that you should!
A Rum Fellow is one of those unique brands that's impossible to pigeon-hole. I can't even remember where I first came across them - most likely it was on social media - but it was when I saw them exhibiting at Clerkenwell Design Week last year that I first became properly enchanted.
They describe themselves as 'celebrating heritage craft techniques in the creation of kaleidoscopic statement pieces. We create extraordinary pieces of furniture and home accessories designed to captivate the room'. I couldn't have put it better myself. Check out some of their wares...
They sell a wonderfully eclectic mix of pieces, from textiles, cushions, rugs and throws to furniture and lighting. Colour is the name of the game - plenty of bold, bright hues and tons of geometric loveliness. I mean, how ridiculously gorgeous is this cushion?
They also have a really strong art offering. In fact, the first thing I fell in love with of theirs was the quirky Rabbit Faunascape (below). I love everything about this: especially the fact that it's painted onto plywood. Just completely original and captivating.
If you've seen the piece on my flat on Houzz, you'll also know that I picked their Runge's Colour Sphere print as the giveaway. This print sits perfectly above my desk and everyone always notices it - I love the use of colours and the fact it helps define my workspace. It's one of my favourite pieces of art in my flat.
Another fab thing about A Rum Fellow? They are family-run. I LOVE a family-run business - it makes all the difference to see the passion and care that goes into sourcing products, and when you buy something, you really do get a bit of a warm glow. Check them out, and keep your credit card handy!
Have a nose round my home on Houzz
I'm very excited today to be able to share with you the feature on my flat on international decorating goliath Houzz. The lovely team at Houzz sent a fab interiors photographer (Chris Snook - check him out) round a few weeks ago to shoot my humble abode to feature as part of their new series visiting interiors bloggers at home. I then had a chat with one of their writers to talk more about my blog, as well as the story behind the bits and pieces in my home.
It's funny, seeing the finished pics, as I had never realised quite how girly my taste had become! And quite how dependent on grey and pink... what can I say, the two work together so well! It's been really lovely to have these professional shots done, especially as when my flat was last shot for The Guardian, it looked quite different.
My home really is an amalgamation of lots of different bits and pieces gathered throughout the years - many of which were handed down to me from relatives, resulting in a rather eclectic mix. But I quite like the fact that pretty much everything I own has a story behind it, rather than it all being bought at once to fit a particular design 'scheme'.
The Houzz team also asked me to pick out a prize for the best comment left on the feature. They wanted me to choose something inspired by or featured in my flat - so I went with this fab poster from A Rum Fellow (below). It takes pride of place above my desk in the living room, and always gets tons of compliments.
So what are you waiting for? Get over there, have a good nose round and leave a comment (be kind please, have I mentioned at all lately that I'm heavily pregnant and emotional?!)!
Can't wait to hear what you think!
PS to see all the shots Chris took, check out My Home ideabook
37 Weeks
So at 37 weeks pregnant, I am officially full-term! I'd be more excited about this if it weren't for the fact that I'm now convinced I'm going to go overdue and have to be induced. It's funny, I've swung from being convinced Chip would have to be born early by emergency C-section due to her size, to now thinking I can imagine myself sitting around for 56 hours in the induction suite waiting for something to kick off. As ever, pregnancy constantly reminds you how little control you have over any of it.
It's been a relatively peaceful week really, so not much to update today. The main thing I've noticed this week is just how fat I'm getting - I had my hair done yesterday and was quite surprised to see how many chins I had when staring at myself throughout the appointment. I think it's mostly water retention/puffiness but it's quite odd to look at yourself and realise how different you look from how you think you look. I've also noticed I now have some lines/rings around my neck - they're not very obvious but they definitely weren't there before. Again, I'm hoping it's just from the puffiness and they will disappear after Chip's arrived but still... great for the self-esteem. (Yes I am aware how painfully vain all this sounds!)
The monster feet continue to be a nightmare, as soon as the temperature gets above 21 degrees they just seem to bloat up. The only solution is keeping them elevated but this means I can't really do anything apart from sit in bed with my laptop. But while I sit here I have an overwhelming desire to clean and tidy and DO things, so it's quite frustrating. I have realised what a terrible disabled person I would make, if I can't even cope with having temporarily swollen feet.
This week I also ordered a breastfeeding chair with footstool. These are the ugliest things on the planet but there's not really anywhere that comfortable at home for me to sit at the moment - the sofa is too squishy and gives me backache, and spending so long in bed makes me feel like an invalid. I'm VERY excited about this hideously ugly chair and am hoping it will cheer me up a lot, and also, you know, be quite useful for breastfeeding once Chip's here. It's arriving today - hurrah!
And finally, something very odd happened this week. I was sitting watching TV on Monday night and I realised my bra was really uncomfortable. My boobs felt kind of hot and throbby. Anyway I took my bra off, only discover one side was completely soaked through with a kind of watery substance. Sorry, really TMI I know! I was quite shocked as before I'd only had tiny bits of yellowish discharge. This was a whole other league - like I'd poured a (small) cup of water in my bra.
I immediately got excited and hoped it was a sign of imminent labour, but sadly Dr Google says it doesn't mean anything. Just another joy of late pregnancy! Next up? The appearance of a bloody mucusy 'show' apparently... Delightful, I can't wait!
Review: Nutri Ninja Pro
Owing to Chip's diminutive size, and my weird craving for Oli's protein milkshakes he stashes away at the bottom of the trolley every week and hopes I don't notice (£3 a pop!), we recently decided to jump on last year's bandwagon* and buy a Nutri wotsit blender thing.
The theory was that I could have a daily protein shake to help boost my, er, protein intake, in the hopes that it would help Chip put on weight. But more honestly, it was an excuse to buy a gadget. And everyone loves an excuse to buy a gadget.
Anyway, decision made, we then did some googling and found out that pregnant women shouldn't take high protein supplements, rendering the whole purpose of getting one redundant, but we were too committed by then, so we ploughed on regardless.
We spent about three hours (no joke) in Lakeland trying to decide what the difference was between a blender, a juicer and a fancy pants Nutribullet thing. No one seemed to know. All the Lakeland staff insisted that a blender was basically the same as a Nutri thing but better cos they're bigger and you can do more with them. Like blend baby food.
Ha! Another good excuse! SOLD to the saddos desperate to buy something!
So we came home with the KitchenAid Artisan Blender in lovely retro red.
Everyone loves a bit of KitchenAid don't they? I wish I could bake just so I have an excuse to get the Mixer thing they all use on Bake Off and 'decorate' my kitchen worktop with it (sidenote: GBBO starts again next week - woo!).
Anyway we used our lovely retro blender once to juice some carrots, celery, ginger and apple juice. It created carrot sludge. It was not drinkable, at least not until after we'd strained it through a sieve and chucked away the good stuff. Lesson learnt: blenders do not make drinks.
It also broke the first time we used it. We couldn't get the jug to click back into the base. So we went back to Lakeland (very impressed with them actually, they have a brilliant money-back guarantee) in a grump and swapped it for the Nutri Ninja Pro. Slightly cheaper than the better-PR'd Nutribullet and slightly more ugly, but we liked its robustness, and the fact that it has some kind of artificial intelligence button that you press and it knows exactly how to blend what you've put in there to the right consistency.
The difference, we've learnt, between a traditional blender and a Nutri thing (these need a proper name, it's getting wearing now) is the power. I am sure this is obvious to the rest of the world but anyway. The Nutri things are super powerful, and really do obliterate the contents, meaning you can get near-drinkable consistency from whole apples and carrots. You do however, need to add a lot of water to them (or juice - no, not lost on me that this kind of defeats the point somewhat) to make them liquid enough to not need a spoon to 'drink' them with.
If you want proper JUICE, you have to buy a juicer basically (one where you can chuck everything in and it separates the pulpy stuff from the liquid). What these Nutri machines make are smoothies.
We've had it for a good few weeks now and my verdict is that it's a winner. We've used it every day, and our fruit consumption must have doubled. We mostly make the same thing: a blend of frozen berries, apples, oranges and limes, with some chia seeds chucked in for good measure (the only safe protein option for pregnant ladies). We also tried using low fat yoghurt with the fruit which worked well but needed honey as a sweetener.
Today, to mix it up a bit, we made lemonade with mint, honey and ice. It was quite 'thick' but tasted exactly like the stuff they serve up in jam jars in restaurants and charge you £4.95 for, so felt quite smug...
It may well turn out to be a gimmick, and we may well get bored of it in a month or two, but for now I'm quite pleased with our purchase.
There's only one thing to bear in mind if you get one. The likelihood is you will then walk around supermarket fruit aisles claiming things like 'kiwis are too nice to blend' and 'oh, but it seems a shame to blend a pineapple'.
And then the irony will strike you: in the First World, we're all slightly insane.
*apologies if you already have one of these. You probably all already have one of these, and have probably already got tired of it and relegated it to the back of the corner cupboard. I'm late to the party as always...