Today on my Celebrating Every Birth Story series is the lovely Emma who is a farmer’s wife and mum to a five and a one year old. She blogs at Farmers Wife And Mummy about a wide range of topics from farming to family and her recipes are superb!
You can also find Emma here:
They say no two births are alike and I am no exception. In fact the two occasions I gave birth could not have been more different.
When I fell pregnant with my daughter in 2010-11, I had no idea what to expect-I don’t think anyone does with their first.
I remember walking out of the NHS child birthing class in tears as, knowing I was to be induced, the midwife sucked air in and said being induced is much longer and more painful.
Thanks for that.
I had gestational diabetes with my first baby so I was booked in for an induction of labour at 38 weeks. My mum drove me to the hospital and I distinctly remember hugging my dog, crying, thinking I’d never see her again.
I am on the dramatic side at the best of times.
As it was, I had two pessaries that day and, early the next day I was transferred to labour ward and had my waters broken.
Even the first midwife I saw looked at me and said ‘you will need an epidural’. Talk about putting me at ease.
My waters were broken around 10am. I had a shot of pethidine at 1pm, was fully dilated at 6pm (Hubster arrived at 4pm as a cow was also in labour) and my daughter was born at just after 8pm.
With nothing more than that one shot of pain killer.
Despite those two ladies putting the fear of God into me, I didn’t have to have an epidural and, even as I was stitched up, I was talking about having another baby.
I couldn’t have asked for a more positive birth experience.
We were getting married later that year so I held off trying for more babies until after the wedding. Unfortunately, I had two miscarriages so there was a four year gap between my two births.
My second successful pregnancy was very different to my first. I knew what to expect but was much sicker this time but no heart burn. Around 32 weeks, the baby was breech but had turned by 34 weeks.
I had a scan at 36 weeks to check growth again (the gestational diabetes was back) and, having experienced what can only be described as the earth moving the night before, I was not in the least bit surprised when they said the baby was breech again.
My dream of a birth like my first was over and, unless he turned, which he didn’t, a caesarean section was booked.
I dreaded it. I had a similar operation in my early 20s to remove cysts off my ovaries and I worried how I would cope looking after a baby and a four year old.
The caesarean was not the best experience of my life. If I had the choice, I would give birth vaginally 100 times rather than have a caesarean but I didn’t have a choice and my son is here and really? That is all that matters.
Funnily enough, a few days after having my boy, I told my friend that if I ever even uttered that I would have another baby, she had full permission to poke me in the eye.
Guess what though? Nature is a wonderful thing at making me forget the bad bits because I am seriously not ruling out number three.
In hindsight, I wonder whether my daughter’s birth was as amazing as I remember or is it just my womb’s wicked way of forcing me to be broody. I certainly know my son’s birth was not a bed of roses but the thought of never having a newborn snuggle into my shoulder again seems to dispel all the negative stuff.
Maybe three is the magic number.
Thank you Emma for sharing your birthing experiences with us and making me feel better about the fact my first 2 were not the same either!
Why not pop over and visit Emma on her blog Farmer’s Wife & Mummy.