We are having a couple of exhausting days. Lots of screaming – or should I say shouting? barking? – as soon as I try to put little L down for only a second. The only thing that seems to sooth her is my nipple in her mouth, her little body clutched closely to my chest. We went from feeding every three to four hours to nonstop feeding. And as quickly as my sleep deprivation increases, my sanity goes out of the window with every new feed. Only a few weeks into little L’s life and I already feel like a failure. Why can’t I give her what she needs?
When you are about to have a baby, everybody is trying to warn you about sleep deprivation. But I didn’t really understand what they meant unless I got there. And maybe this is a good thing; as to me having very disrupted nights feels like constant torture, like someone hitting me constantly on my head.
In my attempt to go over 42 weeks (despite UCLH hospital protocols and the likes), we went to have a check and the 3rd sweep at the post dates clinic on Monday, 6th. This is when they found out that the amniotic fluid had diminished. The consultant admitted that one of the sweeps could have caused a little whole and the leakage. Well, thanks for that! After a whole day of sitting around and waiting for scan appointments etc., I had to stay and finally agreed to be induced. The cost of a natural water birth seemed to be too high when paid for with a health threat for our unborn daughter.
After exactly 42 weeks, and when the hospital decided to keep me in for induction after a check rather then letting me go home, my waters broke all by themselves and little L began her journey towards us.
To my own surprise, I slept like a baby the night before our dreaded Post Date Clinic appointment. Apparently Big M soaked up all my frustration and my anxieties, as he was rolling from one side to the other and muttering in his sleep. Honestly, I think I would have gone mad by now, if he wasn’t at my side.
Welcome to week #42. My pregnancy will be officially considered post term as of tomorrow, which is why I am booked in for the ‘Post Dates Clinic’. And I am getting very tense about it. Only reading about the tests they usually run makes me feel sick and scared stiff. To add insult to injury, the online pregnancy calendar I have been following sends me congratulations on my newborn baby.
don’t know what is more unnerving – the fact that little L has missed her due date and that every passing day brings me closer to the whole drip-epidural-induction-nightmare; or people that keep on calling, texting and commenting on the fact that my belly is still occupied territory.
When my big brother recently mentioned one of the songs we loved to listen to and sing along to as children, I thought he was going to get me in the mood for some good old sentimental dwelling on the past. I should have known better…
Last night – just as almost every night since little L started visibly moving in my belly – I was taking turns with Big M in tickling her right foot and rubbing her tiny back through my skin…
What is it with the NHS and midwife shortage in this country? How come they abandon you when you could need a little advice and hold you in their tight grip when you just want some peace and quiet?