by Suzy K Quinn
*****
Sunday 12th July
73 days until we meet the newest member of the Duffy family
Visited the pub today.
Dad had been stocking up for ‘the new arrival’ and wanted to show me his haul.
He’d got together:
A musty-smelling knitted cardigan with rose-shaped buttons bought at the church Bring and Buy sale.
A rain-sodden baby bouncer found outside someone’s house (the fabric just needs a quick dry off …)
Canned baked beans, peaches and tuna, which Dad is going to eat (possibly in one meal), then use the tins to make a stacking game inspired by the 1950s ‘Make Your Own Toys’ book he found in the library.
Dad also fetched down our old cot from the loft – the one Laura, Brandi and I used as children.
Considered the cot as a useful, money-saving option, until I discovered the bars don’t meet regulation safety standards anymore.
‘Oh, it’s health and safety gone mad these days,’ Dad insisted. ‘When I was a boy, I slept in a drawer.’
‘But the baby could get its arm through those bars and twist it the wrong way,’ I said.
‘That never happened to any of you three,’ said Dad. ‘All you need is a sponge to soak off those ET and Rainbow Brite stickers, and that cot will be right as rain.’
Then Dad went off to count the pennies in his loose-change jar. He’s saving up for a new set of bicycle clips and a solar-powered torch.
Mum sympathised about me not wanting the cot.
She likes shiny, new things like I do.
Thursday 23rd July
62 days until we become parents
Am really furious with Nick.
He keeps talking about cutting back on booze, changing his lifestyle, coming home earlier, etc. but this week, he’s been out bar-hopping every night.
He claims to be getting drinking out of his system before the baby comes. Some Buddhist-inspired aversion therapy, apparently.
The theory is, if you have too much of something you get completely sick of it. But it’s not working, because Nick shows no signs of getting bored, and was more drunk last night than ever.
It’s pointless shouting at Nick when he’s pissed or has a hangover. This only gives me a brief window at the end of the day to get all my shouting and complaining in, and pregnancy makes me quite tired by 5 pm, so I fear my haranguing lacks effectiveness.
What if Nick doesn’t change? What if he still comes home drunk every night when the baby arrives?
I’ll have to kill him.
To be fair, Nick is going to a lot more auditions than usual. Possibly, this is the cause of the drinking, because he’s also getting more rejections.
The trouble is, there’s nothing much about Nick that stands out as an actor. In the pool of brown-haired, blue-eyed, strong-jawed, heavy eye-browed men sitting around Soho flipping through pages of Stage magazine, Nick is probably one of the least talented.
There’s a lot of competition – and younger actors.
Nick didn’t train at some amazing acting school because he starred in a well-known ITV kids series as a child and won a lot of roles on the back of that.
But these days, no one remembers Tike Turner’s Magic Shoes, and for adult roles, you really do need to be a good actor.
I suppose I hoped Nick would give up on acting one day. That he’d finally see sense.
But I can’t very well say to him, ‘You know that lifelong dream you had? You’ve got to give that up and get a real job.’
Sunday 2nd August
52 days until I have to work out how to breastfeed
Went to see Althea and baby Wolfgang today.
They’ve been bonding a lot at home since the birth, so Althea is sick of defrosted organic vegetable casseroles now.
She was pleased I’d brought a tube of Pringles and some sour cream dip.
Admired baby Wolfgang, who is still growing at a rate of knots.
Althea is very proud of her extra-large child, calling him ‘strong’ and ‘well nourished’.
‘So how is being a mother?’ I asked Althea.
‘It’s magic,’ she said. ‘But also a bit boring. Wolfgang cries if I put on Joni Mitchell or David Bowie, so I’m starved of decent music.’
‘How’s the breastfeeding?’ I asked.
‘Alright,’ said Althea. ‘Bad design though. My boobs leak everywhere.’
I suggested taking baby Wolfgang out for a walk, which Althea was up for.
We wrapped Wolfgang in his sling, tight against Althea’s chest, and then I helped Althea waddle out the front door.
Then we had to immediately waddle back because Althea and I both needed a wee.
Whilst weeing with the toilet door open and Wolfgang strapped to her chest, Althea said, ‘I’m better with all this toilet stuff than I was. After the birth, I had no idea when I needed to go. It was wet-yourself city. I had to throw away three beanbags.’
We went for a very slow walk, with Althea constantly stopping to re-insert Wolfgang against her boob and me getting shortness of breath.
It took us half an hour to walk 200m.
‘Has your morning sickness come back?’ Althea asked as we reached the Tesco Metro.
‘No,’ I said. ‘Now I just have heart palpations, sciatica, constipation, bits of wee leaking out and difficulty sleeping at night. But on the positive side, at least I can have a Sausage Egg McMuffin without being sick.’
Althea admitted she’d eaten fast food too during her pregnancy. She craved ‘processed crap from tree-killing murder chains’, and on one very dark day ate a whole KFC bargain bucket.
‘Nick must be freaking out,’ said Althea, glancing at my ‘Funky Clown’ sweatshirt, stretched tight over my huge tummy. ‘Now things are getting real.’
I said that Nick was being surprisingly supportive this week, and seemed to be finally slowing down his drinking.
‘Let’s see how long that lasts,’ said Althea, ominously.
Wednesday 18th August
34 days until our baby shares this tiny apartment
I’m so big now, it’s ridiculous.
Cramming into our apartment lift is a nightmare, and I have to routinely shout at executive bachelor neighbours who don’t let me get in first.
Still worried about Nick and his drinking. Yes – he has slowed down. But he’s still going out two, three times a week, which is too much in my opinion.
Maybe Nick’s right, and I’m just bitter because I can’t drink anymore. But I don’t think so. I feel like, he just doesn’t get it. We need to change. Adapt. NOW, not just when the baby comes.
Thursday 27th August
25 days until we meet our baby for the first time
I’m full term! Which means technically I could drop any day.
Have bought a huge, squishy pillow to help me sleep at night, because the human body is a bloody terrible design, and sleeping with a pregnant tummy is awkward and painful.
The squishy pillow makes me a little more comfortable (although nothing like the elaborate claims made by the advert), but I still wake up three times a night – either with sore joints or needing a wee.
How on earth did cave women sleep on cold, hard floors?
Wednesday 2nd September
21 days until all this pregnancy discomfort ends
I think the baby’s head is engaged.
It feels like there’s a boulder pressing against my bladder and I’m walking in this weird, waddling way like I’ve shat myself.
According to Brandi and Althea, these are sure-fire signs that the baby has moved into position.
Am off to see Eileen Bolin tomorrow for my last midwife appointment, so I’m hoping she’ll confirm that everything is locked in and ready to go.
Thursday 3rd September
20 days to go … unless I’m early or overdue
The baby’s head isn’t engaged.
Eileen thinks it might have been, but then ‘popped out�
�� again.
Apparently, with first pregnancies, the head can ‘bob up and down like a cork’.
Also, women often go overdue – something I pray doesn’t happen to me because I’M SO UNCOMFORTABLE!
Eileen then went into great detail about the pain and trauma of childbirth, explaining how the ‘extremely large and solid’ baby’s head ‘packs down’ for birth, and expands outside the vagina.
She demonstrated this with a yellow, smiley face stress ball that Caz had left in the desk drawer.
Thursday 16th September
7 days until the due date … but the baby is coming!
Woo hoo!
I am in LABOUR.
Finally! And two weeks early!
Timing the contractions, and they’re coming every five minutes. Sometimes every three minutes.
They don’t even hurt that much.
Althea is right. If you’re relaxed and calm, labour is easy. Am listening to hypno-birthing CDs and feeling totally chilled and at ease with my body.
Nick is monitoring my contractions on his iPhone app, and we both think it must be nearly time to go to hospital.
Ooo exciting!
10 pm
Contractions three minutes apart.
Nick is putting my bag in the car.
Will write again when there is a baby in my arms
Thursday 17th September
6 days until the due date … but apparently, a due date doesn’t mean all that much …
Why would my body embarrass me like this?
Turns out I wasn’t even in labour! Just ‘Braxton Hicks’.
The hospital midwife said I would be too distracted to complain about the stairs if they’d been real contractions.
She gave me three custard creams and sent me home.
Apparently, I’m not dilated at all so the birth could be weeks away.
Weeks!
How will I stand it? It’s SO hot and uncomfortable in our glass-windowed apartment.
Pregnant women shouldn’t live in greenhouses.
Sunday 20th September
3 days to go if the baby comes on time.
Disappointed about my phantom labour. I mean, those faux contractions were quite painful!
REALLY want the baby to come, because I’m not getting much sleep. I just can’t get comfortable. I wake up feeling like my legs have been squashed in a giant Panini press.
Surely something should have happened.
I’ve been pregnant forever.
Althea came over for moral support.
Baby Wolfgang was in his sling, but really he’s too big for it now. He kept wriggling and punching Althea in the face.
Althea said, ‘Bless him, he’s so strong.’ Then she told me that mother nature is chilled and shouldn’t be rushed. However, she sympathised with needing a wee five times a night and brought some natural raspberry leaf tea to help bring on the labour.
The tea tasted a bit stale, but then so do most things from Althea’s house. Often it’s a good sign of potency.
Wednesday 23rd September
0 days and nothing to report
Still no baby.
Mum brought over a ‘shit hot curry’ for tea. Apparently, spicy food can ‘get things moving’.
She’d made it with leftovers from the pub kitchen – sausages and sweetcorn. But it tasted quite nice.
Mum says when she was pregnant with Brandi, she ate Tandoori chicken with extra chillies and gave birth two hours afterwards.
So fingers crossed.
Probably shouldn’t have had the naan bread and papadums as well – I’m stuffed now.
Thought nature was supposed to be ‘the perfect design’, but there isn’t room for both a baby and a large meal, so I’ve got heartburn and very unhappy (read: farty) intestines.
Thursday 24th September
- 1 days and still no baby
Very weird to have my due date come and go.
Had a ‘sweep’ this morning at the midwife’s office, which will apparently get things moving.
I thought Eileen would use some sophisticated medical equipment to ‘encourage my cervix’, but she just stuck her finger up there until I went ‘Arg!’
So sick of being pregnant.
Also fed up with people phoning to ask if the baby has come, and then offering old wives tales about what could bring on the labour – hot curry, castor oil, pineapple, etc.
Eileen said there is a 50% chance of going into labour after a sweep, but suggested I buy a tin of pineapple chunks on the way home, just in case.
Saturday 26th September
- 3 days and getting fed up
Still no baby.
Eileen called today to discuss being ‘overdue’ (a term Althea hates, because ‘nature has no sodding due date’).
According to Eileen, I could be fearful about giving birth and not relaxed enough.
Eileen said, ‘If you don’t give birth soon, the umbilical cord could fail and starve the baby of oxygen. Therefore, I strongly recommend an induction soon, but I must tell you it will be painful and could lead to birth complications.’
Was feeling relatively calm and relaxed until that phone call. Am totally stressed now.
Tuesday 29th September
- 6 days and WHEN on earth is this labour going to start?
Had a ‘bloody show’ today.
This is basically a lot of snotty, bloody stuff that freaks you out when you go for a wee.
Apparently, it is a sure sign that labour will start any minute.
But it’s NOT STARTING!
People keep texting, calling and Facebooking to ask if the baby has come.
It’s getting really annoying.
I’m booked in for a scary induction tomorrow, so am praying labour will start tonight.
Sadie phoned to ask when my due date was. She’s been offered an acting role as a pregnant woman and wants to be there at the birth to do research.
Honestly!
I know she’s a terrible friend, but asking to spectate my labour for research purposes is just too much.
‘My due date has been and gone,’ I said. ‘But of course, as my friend, you’d know that.’
‘So you’ve had the baby already?’
‘NO, I HAVEN’T HAD THE BLOODY BABY YET!’ I shouted and hung up the phone.
Wednesday 30th September
- 7 days and not sure the baby will ever come out
5 pm
In hospital.
Just had the induction pessary inserted by a junior midwife.
This basically entailed even MORE messing around with my vagina, and not even by a trained professional. That area hasn’t had so much attention since Nick and I first got together.
The induction doesn’t seem have done anything.
I’m pretty sure I will be pregnant forever.
On the labour ward right now, listening to people giving birth.
Just heard a woman screeching, ‘BLEEDIN HECK! IT’S LIKE SHITTING A WATERMELON!’
It’s always fruit, isn’t it?
The junior midwife said cheerfully, ‘That could be you soon.’ Then she laid out three cardboard sick bowls that looked like cowboy hats, telling me they were for if I needed ‘a little vomit’.
Thursday 1st October
- 8 days and sort of in labour.
1am
The induction pessary has kicked in and I’m suffering from nausea.
Have just thrown up in all three cardboard cowboy hats.
Asked Nick to tidy them away in the bedside cabinet.
Must remember to warn the new midwife about that, because the junior midwife and her trained companion have gone off shift now.
9am
Still only 2cm dilated, despite contractions all night.
Mum’s just been and gone.
Nick had to go outside while Mum was here because I’m only allowed one person with me at a time.
I think Nick was pretty glad. He was dying for a ciga
rette.
Mum regaled me with birth stories – her proudest being that, by the time she had baby number three (Brandi), she was so relaxed she ate cornflakes and watched Only Fools and Horses at 10cm dilated.
When Mum left, the midwife told Nick he could come back.
Nick actually clung to Mum’s hand and said, ‘Don’t leave us!’
But Mum had to get back to the pub. One of the regulars was kicking off and Dad needed Mum’s brute strength to throw him out.
Friday 2nd October
- 9 days and THIS IS BLOODY AWFUL
1am
This is horrible!
Pain every few minutes, but the midwives say they’re not real contractions because I’m not screaming enough and still writing my diary.
It f*****g hurts!
All that hypno-birthing stuff is bullshit.
If this gets worse I’m going to pass out.
Can’t write any more.
Feel like I’m on some terrifying rollercoaster and can’t get off.
2am
This is the worst night of my life.
4am
I can’t do this anymore. I will never, ever get pregnant again.
Why did no one warn me?
Saturday 3rd October
Who cares how many days?
THE BABY IS HERE!
7am
This is the best day of my life!
She’s here.
My little girl.
All the clichés are true.
This baby is the most beautiful thing I ever saw. I keep crying when I look at her. She is perfect. Her face is all scrunched up and tiny and I know I will take care of her until the day I die.
Saw daisies growing outside the hospital window, and have decided to name the baby Daisy.
Nick doesn’t get a say in the name – not after everything I’ve just been through.
