Tag Archives: Labour

‘But Where Do I Dock My iPhone?’

When I had my first child, Jacob, I thought that I was going to be able to listen to music of my choice in the labour room. I THINK I read somewhere that I COULD. So I went to all this trouble of compiling a playlist – mostly hilarious stuff like Salt ‘n’ Pepa’s ‘Push It’ because I didn’t know then that I wouldn’t find ANYTHING funny when I was in labour. I do now….

Needless to say, when the nurse told us to switch our phones off when we got to the labour room, and I asked ‘But…Where Do I Dock My iPhone?’, the look she gave me was almost enough to send the labour process into reverse.

Anyway, have a giggle at my expense again – GO ON – and while you’re at it, I know you’ll appreciate this hilarious post called Jamie and Jeffs’ Birth Plan.

Enjoy x

[Like this waffle? Don’t miss Nun Gives Birth To Surprise Baby, I mean, why would you?]

My Birth Story: The (Supermarket) Sweep

When your pregnancy runs overdue, a few things go by the wayside. That mani/pedi you paid for and thought would get you through to the labour and beyond chips away. The ‘last clean’ of the house before you’re gone into hospital for a few days becomes a distant memory as everything gets grubby again. The grandparents that have been on high alert for a month to help with your toddler start getting bored and threaten to start booking holidays. All of the precision planning and bouncing around on that fucking fit ball all becomes a bit… pointless.

So at 8 days overdue, I decided to take matters into my own…em…vagina. I was already scheduled in for an appointment with my consultant that I thought I would never be attending in a million years. But as that date drew closer, there I was, still preggo and still waddling up to the maternity hospital to see him yet again. My consultant was one of those older male doctors, somebody’s da, possibly somebody’s granda, so I planned to ask him for a Sweep to get things moving along, and I had no problem with that.

A Sweep, in case you are wondering, requires your participating ‘sweeper’ to stick a couple of fingers up your hoo ha, to give the neck of the cervix a good ole stretch so that it might help the process of labour along. My maternity hospital didn’t exactly offer that as an option, so you have to request it. So yes, essentially…you’re begging someone to finger you.

When I arrived at the hospital, armed with this plan, I discovered to my horror that my old fogey consultant was on holidays, and was replaced by a 30-something handsome doc from Limerick. OF COURSE HE WAS. I was fucking mortified and nearly didn’t ask him for the Sweep for fear of actually enjoying it. (In the end, it’s actually more like getting fingered for the first time by some 17 year old who doesn’t know what they’re doing. Say, behind a tree in the woods… but perhaps I’ve said too much).

Anyway, my awkward first date had a positive outcome. I started feeling a few pains as early as going home in the car that afternoon.  At 1am I woke up with one big intense pain, and we called granny around to stay over with Jacob so that we could go to the hospital. One of the cautions the doctor had given me with the Sweep was to watch out for bleeding that was continuing 12-15 hours after the fact, and I was. I also hadn’t felt the baby move for a little while so called the hospital who advised we come straight in. Needless to say, I was crying and worried that I shouldn’t have had the Sweep at all, and that something was wrong.

But as Ass Monkey sped onto the north quays after the O2, and I remarked how beautiful & calm the city is at night, I felt the baby move for the first time since I’d woken up at 1am. There were a few more tears of relief then that everything was going to be ok. (On enquiry at the hospital, I am told that the ‘show’ I had been waiting for can sometimes separate, so you can pass either blood or mucus separately, and not just together. Great to know after the fact… ahem)

Got to the hospital for around 2.30am and was admitted straight away. We were brought to a labour room and met Sheeba, the coolest Indian woman and midwife in the world. Ass Monkey gently let her know that his life wouldn’t be worth living if I didn’t get the epidural, so she booked it in straight away (he’s clearly too handsome to lose so young ;o) ). We were all in good spirits and had a little stroll up and down the corridors to keep things moving before The Drug Man would be allowed to see me (I was only just beginning to dilate – and you can’t get the epidural until you’re at least 1cm dilated) . The dude in question actually passed us by on the corridors as I was strolling around, and Sheeba pointed him out.

‘Where is he going?!’ I asked, alarmed. ‘Don’t let him leave the hospital!’

Sheeba laughed. ‘The deal is – if you can catch him, you can have the epidural’.

Brilliant. Can you imagine twenty or so heavily pregnant women in a race around a maternity hospital to score their painkillers? I SO CAN.

Once I was properly dilated, things started to move pretty quickly. I’m not entirely sure of the time frame but we could be talking 4am-4.30. My contractions were now coming every 2-3 mins and were getting really intense. As I am a complete wuss when it comes to pain, I started having a meltdown. I wanted Ass Monkey to hold my hand, then I wanted him to leave me alone, then I started crying, then I started wailing ‘Help me… Please help me….’ (Yes, seriously).

The Drugs DO Work

The Drugs DO Work

The Drug Man arrived – thank fuck – and Ass Monkey literally had to hold me steady while I sat on the side of the bed and endured the contractions. I don’t know how he did it because I was totally freaking out. And obviously, you really don’t want to move an inch when someone is trying to get a needle into your back.  It’s SO worth it though. My contraction pains got less and less difficult to deal with over the next half an hour until I stopped feeling them at all.

And then I had a snooze. Yes, seriously ;o)

We all kept chatting and Sheeba monitored me over the next couple of hours until the baby was ready to make an appearance. This waiting time can be a little bit frustrating as you feel like you’re ready and you’re so dying to meet the little person. I kept asking ‘When are we doing this? Now? Half an hour? When?’ And Sheeba just smiled & told me she’d examine me in another while….

7am was Go Time. Ass Monkey was instructed to grab one leg, Sheeba had the other and she gave me my instructions.

‘One big deep breath, then push, push, push, down into your bum. You ready?’

I was. I was so ready.

‘Ok Sharyn – take a deep breath (I did), and…’

The door to our room opened and a voice called out over the screen between it and my bed.

‘Sheeba do you have a spare set of keys?!’

Our Sheeba looked amused. ‘Em no I don’t!’ she replied.

‘I don’t either!’, I chipped in.

‘Yeah, me either’, Ass Monkey threw in his two cents. ‘We’re a little busy here!’

The three of us went into meltdown and couldn’t stop laughing. The timing couldn’t have been any better because we relaxed entirely.

‘Ok, no laughing’ Sheeba tried to get us all back in the game. (It took another minute or two). ‘Take a deep breath, and…push’

The little baby’s head was visible (to them anyway) after two pushes, completely out at 3 (‘I can see black hair! – Ass Monkey. ‘I keep calling her a she, I don’t know why’ – Sheeba), and the body was out on 4 pushes plus a few of those little short breaths they tell you about in antenatal class.

Each of us looked down immediately to see what little present we had been given – a girl! A GIRL!! Wait, a girl? How do we have a girl? We only picked out a boy name and Jacob thinks he’s getting a little brother and – OH MY GOD WE HAVE A GIRL!!!

When I say we cried, we really cried. I’m still crying a little bit every day. The joy, the euphoria. A gorgeous little baby girl xxx

A Star Is Born

A Star Is Born

**Would you like to share your birth story with us? Send it to info@raisingireland.com**

Preggo Watch: The Labour Surrogacy Outreach Programme

You lot are great pals. You’re always there for me, clicking on my little links, being kind about the almost-nude preggo pics that I insist on posting online, humoring my articles such as ‘Is Smalltalk Really Necessary At The Gynecologists?‘ etc. I feel like your support knows no bounds…. doesn’t it?

If this is truly the case, then you might do me one last favour:  I am currently looking for someone amazing to take over this pregnancy until the baby arrives. You will need to know that there are either two OR five weeks left, depending on whether this is a Back-Of-The-Van-At-Electric-Picnic baby, or a Went-To-A-Charles-Bradley-Gig-Alone-Got-Hammered-Went-Home-And-Woke-Alan-Up-With-A-Few-Demands‘ baby. I’m sorry that I can’t be more specific, but really, my levels of irresponsibility with the taking of my contraceptive pill knows no bounds.

Your Number One duty as the new vessel for my baby will be to go through with the labour and birth on my behalf. Honestly, I can’t be arsed at this point because I am WAY too busy getting through the list of things that I’ve put on the longest of the long fingers. They include:

1. Finding the right pram (yes, seriously, I still don’t have one)

2. Deciding on what sling might work best for me, baby and my crockety back.

3. Buying a few nursing bras. Honestly, I don’t have even one.

4. Finishing off the paint work in our new house. The mixture of fumes and bending up and down repeatedly isn’t exactly working well alongside my preggo body so I’d like to get back to that please because the staircase that I started looks ridiculous.

5. Getting the car cleaned. I’ve genuinely only been putting this off since Xmas and I think the baby might prefer to come home in a car that doesn’t have melted ice cream stuck to every seat, soiled baby wipes shoved down god knows where or a humongous spider residing in the wing mirror.

6. Finish knitting the baby cardigan that I started for my nephew 4 months ago. (Although, to be fair, the kid might be better off without it. I might just go to the shops and buy one).

7. Put all the bills on standing order like a normal, grown up person, so that The ‘Has The Electricity Been Cut Off?!’ fear doesn’t hit me every time Alan simply turns off the lights in the landing when we go to bed at night.

8. Spending more time getting Jacob to stay in his EFFING BED AT NIGHT. Like, seriously, am I going to have to staple him down?!

9. Training Pearl to stop barking at the postman & black children as they walk past our house to school. Yes, her discrimination knows no bounds, although perhaps I should stop rewarding her with treats when she goes ballistic at the canvassers so that they move on to the next house.

10. Kegels. Kegels, kegels, kegels. I promise, if you take over this pregnancy, that I will do three rounds of kegels for you PER DAY. I just can’t be pregnant and do them at the same time, it really is too ridiculous an ask.

All interested parties, please contact Sharyn at info@raisingireland.com and I will arrange for you to take over my body at a time that is mutually convenient. Failing your interest in this position, there’s a bit of paint work in my kitchen with your name on it…. ;o)


‘This Body could Be Yours! No Fee, No Charge!!’

[Did you read the Irish Blog Awards Nominated Post: ‘Preggo Watch: Avoiding the Gaybours’? Read it HERE]