In Utero

Ha! If you think this is icky
you should see the state of my Mum.

On hearing a friend of mine has just had her first baby, I am reminded of the experience myself.

Don't worry, friends, there are no photos.

I feel obliged to write a quick ready reckoner for all Mums to be. Frankly, I don’t think any of those pregnancy books are telling it like it is. But don’t fear; the Misssives will.

The following is to be viewed by those that are ready for the truth about childbirth. If, like Tom Cruise in A Few Good Men, "you can’t handle the truth”, look away now and come back in a few days time. Or go and have a look at some fluffy Mommy bloggers’ sites and read about how magical and spiritual it all is.

These blogs also act as natural insomnia remedies, if you are in need of something soporific.

Midwives
People who work in maternity units do not spend all day waltzing about with bluebirds on their shoulders and going on about how amazing the miracle of childbirth is. This is their job and they sometimes get sick of finding bits of afterbirth in their hair after a shift. As you would.

Like any workplace there are good guys and there are wanks. There are people who love their job and there are people who hate their jobs. The good guys will help you through this rather challenging time in your life and make sure you are well cared for. Given a few choice narcotics, you may even tell some of them that you love them.

The wanks will ram a loaded tea tray through your ward door without opening it first and switch the strip lights on a mere five minutes after you have dropped off to sleep after fourteen hours of labour and a sleepless night with your new baby. If that doesn’t wake you they will holler some thing like “Right ladies, you cannae sleep all day. Yer breakfast is here. Up ye get!”

These are the same people who on receiving the answer to their question about the name of your baby, will say something like, “Aye, well. It’s up to you”.


Doctors*
If a doctor comes in the room when you are labour it will be for one of three reasons:

1. You are in big trouble. Be worried.

2. They are students who will want to do unnecessary procedures on you and your unborn for “the practice”. Remember, the chances are these people are only four or five hours clear from mainlining tequila at a drinks promotion at the University Union.
Tell them to “Fuck off”. No really; use that phrase. You’re in labour ,so people expect that kind of language to be coming from your mouth. Take advantage. These students are trained to handle it. That’ll be the only “practice” they get from you.

3. They are lost.


Nastiness
Your undercarriage will be rent asunder like something out of a Quentin Tarantino film. I’m not going to lie to you. You may also poo and not notice. There you go, I bet Miriam Stoppard or Dr Spock don’t tell you that! Ahh... the beautiful miracle of the human body....

Your relationship
Your husband may find it difficult to look at you for a few days after the event. Mainly due to item the stuff I mentioned in Nastiness, but also because in the last 24 hours you’ve called him “The biggest, most useless twat that ever lived” just because he offered you a sip of water. You’ve forgotten about it, but it might take him a wee bit longer; he didn’t get any pethadine, after all. Even though he asked for it repeatedly.


The sweep
If you aren’t going into full blown mega labour quickly enough they will suggest a membrane sweep.

This may sound like they run a little implement like a metal detector over you, or gently stroke your belly.

But no, it’s nothing like that. A nurse is going to stick her whole hand and fingers in your lady-bits and rummage around in there like she’s looking for a lost kirby grip in a massive handbag. Effectively, she is going to claw at your cervix roughly until your baby shouts, “Okay enough already**, I’m coming!”

The sweep also never works. All it does is make you feel sick, sore and violated. I swear, the membrane sweep is worse than labour itself. Pregnant ladies, if offered a membrane sweep say, "No, I read this blog once that said it was tortuous unnecessary barbaric bollocks. So, I'll just politely decline, if it's all the same to you."

If I met the woman who swept my membrane tomorrow in the street, I’d instinctively cower away from her like I was a dog whom she had once mistreated.


Getting your own way
You can say “no” to people in white coats. This is a well kept secret. In fact, they pretty much have to do anything you ask. No-one tells you this. This is because it will open a whole Pandora’s box of patients asserting themselves and the NHS would fall to pieces. Old ladies know this, this is why no health professionals want to work in geriatric care.

However, in the heat of battle, you may forget what it is that you want. And you may also find that only swearing will fall out of your mouth whenever you do try to communicate.

This is why I advise all pregnant friends to get t-shirts printed with the following on them:

“Bring me the finest painkillers known to humanity.”

Then everyone is clear.


The day after
Warning: You will still look full-tilt preggers the day after baby is out. The bump will still be there in its most humungous state. The only difference will be that it will be wobbly like a darts player's belly. You will be able to sink the whole of your hand into it.

Do not pack your skinny jeans into your overnight bag. They will be of no use to you. You know that scene in Jaws where Captain Brodie turns round to Hooper after an attack by the shark, and says, "We're gonna need a bigger boat". Well, that same scene happened to Meester and I at the hospital, except the boat was my trousers and the shark was my postnatal ass/belly combo. You get my drift...

That said, you will be placed in the bed next to a sixteen year old new mum who will be pulling on skin tight lycra and a boob tube with ease the next day. Pulling a curtain to separate yourself from such scenes is useless. You will need earplugs. These will be handy when her neddy, bum-fluff moustachioed, Kappa wearing boyfriend comes in for visiting hour and you are bombarded with proletarian banter and an overwhelming desire to call social services.

Other babies
All other babies will be so hideously ugly that you will look upon their mums will ill-disguised pity. This must be a chemical thing to make you bond with your own child. It will take all the strength you have to be shown someone else’s kids and not turn away in horror and exclaim, “Oh you poor thing!”.


So that's me blogged childbirth, I will never return to it, I promise.

I tell you, it’s just as well you get a kid at the end of it, or else no-one would do it.

* My two doctor friends (who are also Misssives readers) are going to spit in my tea next time I'm round at theirs because of this. Sorry, B and D!

** All babies talk like American Jews until they reach the outside world. Fact.