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Rory was born on 23rd December, 7.02 pm, weighing 7lb, 7oz. Full head of the most gorgeous golden-brown hair, and blue eyes that will almost certainly stay that way. The Badeggs Daughter has made it her sole aim in life to make sure that his little baby buttocks never rest on anything other than a lap.
Mr B and I are overjoyed and under-rested.
Full delivery story to follow. It was a doosey, but I think he's worth it...
We've decided to go to hospital after all. Throughout most of my pregnancy, the idea of a home birth has felt absolutely right. I could picture it in my mind and was really looking forward to it. But now it doesn't feel right, and when Mr B and I stopped to think carefully about it, we realised it's just not that important to us. My main reason for wanting to have the baby at home was to be in my own bed shortly after delivery. The OB assures me that if all goes well with the delivery in hospital, I can discharge myself after 6 hours, so I could be back home quite quickly anyway. That was enough to sway me, and once I allowed myself to make that decision, I felt a hundred times better.
Of course, I had hoped to use a birthing pool in early labour as pain relief, and since there is only one in the hospital maternity unit, it's unlikely that I'll get to use one. But even that's just not important enough. My losses have primed me to expect the worst and be grateful if it doesn't happen. I need, for my own sanity, to be near to high tech medicine for that 0.001% chance of something going wrong. After all, I've been in that tiny percentage before.
The OB confirmed that Bad Boy has started to engage (1/5th apparently) and she predicts that I will deliver at 38 weeks as I did with Badeggs Daughter. That would be next week! God I hope so. It would be bliss to spend Christmas without the world's biggest bauble (that's ornament in Amerispeak) poking out in front of me!
Things to remember about 37 weeks:
Bad Boy has turned and is now head down. This news should make me very happy, seeing as it means a home birth is now absolutely possible, given that all is still well. But I had a bit of a meltdown with the midwife yesterday. I'm really struggling with fallout from my previous losses, feeling terrified that something will happen to my son if he's not removed promptly from my womb, and soon. The midwife told me that she would refer me for an elective Cesarean if I'm finding it this hard. Now, quite why I should be irrationally concerned about the risks associated with a natural birth and not at all concerned about those associated with an elective C-section is quite beyond my capacity to understand at this moment. I am what is commonly referred to as a basket case, and am unable to make sense out of pretty much anything right now.
Mr B thinks that if I go for a section, I may end up feeling like I have somehow dodged a bullet--i.e. temporarily cheated God out of an opportunity to break my heart again--and that it will come back to haunt me. In essence, he thinks I should stand up to the school bully (God, that is) and go for the home birth, complete with birthing pool, Abba on the stereo and champagne in the fridge, as has been the plan since I made it to 14 weeks. And given that he is a lot smarter than me, I am inclined to go along with that plan.
I'm off to the OB-GYN today to get the final go-ahead to have the home birth. While I'm there I might just broach the idea of a planned section or even a planned induction just to cover my bases. But for now it looks as though Bad Boy will make his appearance at a date and time of his choosing, and not mine. I just hope he's as impatient as I am.
