Ada and Santa

It has been a busy couple of months for all of us here. I have been consumed with study and revision, and had my exam on Friday. (it was awful - I'm sure I've failed spectacularly). But once I've done the exam I'm pretty good at putting it behind me and focusing on what's ahead. Which mean Ada's first Christmas and spending time with her and Dave.

So on Saturday we had a lot of things to do. We had photos for Christmas cards to get, a Christmas tree to buy and Ada's first photo with Santa to take.

There are a couple of Santa's Grottos around London but we choose the one at the Museum of London at Docklands, which had a 'Victorian Christmas' theme (it was all very Dickens-like). We had to wait in line for a bit, but when we got to the front, a lady asked who Ada was, and how old was she. Then she said something to Ada and she (Ada) freaked out and started crying. A sign of things to come surely. 

I knew it wasn't going to go very well - Ada generally absolutely hates going to strangers. Even with people she knows it can be touch and go. Throw in a creepy old man with a white beard and I knew what her reaction was going to be. And she didn't disappoint

We distracted her with food, a toy tiger, dad, and sitting on my lap and got a less 'this is the worst thing that's ever happened to me' photo.

Here's to the two-thousand and fifteen photo.

Back to work

Tomorrow I start back at work after having just over nine months off. It's a really odd feeling - like this first day back at school but a lot worse. 

Don't get me wrong - there is a part of me that will be really happy to go there and not be thinking about what bad dance move can I do next to made Ada laugh, but a lot of me is just sad.

I'm never going to have this maternity experience again. If and when Dave and I have another child it will always be different to what we have had / are having with Ada. It doesn't necessarily mean it's going to be worse, just different.

I've loved my maternity leave. Not just for the not working bit (and that has been great) but I've loved spending all this time with Ada. I've loved our walks, our coffee stops, playing in the park, meeting our NCT mums and babies, but most of all I love the simple moments (clichéd as it is) like lying on the bed with her and trying to make her laugh. 

I need to remind myself that I'm only going back three days a week and to cherish and remember the amazing nine months that have just gone, and the moments that we're going to have.

(Who am I kidding - I'm really going to miss watching Pointless) 

How can I be leaving this face?

Swim little fish

I decided early on to take Ada swimming - she was around six weeks when she first went. On reflection I don't know why I took her so young - it's pretty crazy. I think I thought 'it's something to do' and also swimming is always going to be an important life skill. 

We went with a company called Puddle Ducks. They are really great. Each lesson is thirty minutes and the first lesson I think she cried for fifteen minutes, I feed her for ten, and there was five minutes where she was tolerant of it. The be fair to her it was probably extremely overwhelming for her, not to mention cold (her bath is around thirty-seven degrees, the pool just over thirty degrees). But slowly, lesson by lesson she got better. And then we stopped for summer holidays, so didn't swim for nearly eight (?) weeks or so. 

On our return, she moved up a class (she was in 'floaties' and is now in 'splashers') and one of the NCT mums that I went with stopped going because she moved further away. There was was one mum from the floaties class that I knew, but everyone else I didn't. It felt like the first day of school - all the other mums knew each other and were quite cliquey (in reality that are really quite nice and I was just being overly sensitive). And Ada absolutely hated it. It was like she had not gone to any previous swimming lessons at all. I thought maybe it was because she hadn't gone in such a long time but the next lesson was equally as bad, if not worse. There was a moment in the class where I thought I might cry - Ada was that upset. And then I thought 'she hasn't asked to be put through this, this is something I've decided for her, and if she's upset it's not her fault {not that I think when she's ever upset it's her fault}) So with this epiphany moment I realised I had to change my attitude about it all (I'm sure Ada was picking up on my apprehension as well). We did some extra swimming the day before our normal swimming  classes to get her a bit more used to it and she really enjoyed it. And then she in turned enjoyed her lessons more too. The teacher, Kirsty, realised that Ada is (generally) fine if I'm holding her and I would swim her under the water to her and not vice versa. She would get a little upset about the underwater moments, but this was only for ten seconds or so.

And then last Friday something wonderful happened. I sat Ada down by the side of the pool, with Kirsty and she cried (as always) until I got into the water and she came back to me. She was then smiling and splashing around. During this lesson, I would give her to Kirsty and she would swim Ada back to me, first above the water and then underneath. We discussed that we would see how Ada would do firstly above the water and if she got upset, I would do the underwater swim to Kirsty. But Ada was completely fine. And then the second time around Kirsty was able to swim Ada to me, without any tears. When Ada surfaced again no tears. She was really, really happy. Some of the other mums mentioned how good Ada was as well. It was the best lesson she every had. I don't want to count my chickens before they've hatched (but let's face it, I already have) but I'm really hoping we've turned our swimming corner.

Her 'anxious-about-swimming' look

I mean, seriously, look how little she is - what was I thinking?

Sleep

Sleep is a thing that most new (and existing?) parents fret over. We are constantly told before the baby arrives to make sure we enjoy our sleep because it will never be the same again. And it's true but also ridiculous. It's not as if I can bank my sleep before having a baby, cashing in six months later when I'm walking around all zombie like.

I remember in the first two weeks (the 'fog') I would become extremely anxious about the evenings. It was winter here still so it would get dark around four or five, and I would start to panic thinking 'what if I'm up all night, how am I going to function the next day?' It was actually really awful, the feeling still so vivid - I can feel it in my stomach. Dave would send me to bed after I had fed Ada and he would stay up with her but I felt as though I was meant to be up with my new family too. Same went for naps during the day. Dave would look after Ada but I thought I should be around them. Eventually I learnt to nap during the day and to not worry so much about the impending nights. I wasn't up all night and even if I did get less sleep then I had hoped too I always figured I could nap during the day and catch up on what I missed the previous night. 

The next fews months things got better, at least in the night. Ada would wake every three or four hours, and my body just got used to the broken six or seven hours of sleep (Also, I realise that in the grand scheme of things, this is pretty good - some mums have it so much more rough then me). And then when Ada was four and a half months old we went to Australia for three weeks to visit family and friends. The first night was horrendous. She, obviously, was all over the place and I think I had about two three hours sleep. I was so upset the next morning. My mum took Ada and I crawled back into bed with Dave and just cried. My emotional state was probably dictated by my sleep depravation, but I felt so so guilty that I had bought Ada half way across the world, trying to coerce her (in a completely non aggressive way) to sleep at a time when she wanted to be awake. In the end we just bought Ada to bed with us and she slept on me most of the night. But that Australia trip was probably the worst jet lag I've ever had. It gradually got better and by the time we were in Melbourne, she was (mostly) sleeping through the night once more. But then we had to do that twenty four hour plus flight again, and start the jet lag process all over again. Except this time I didn't have my Mum and Dave to take her while I slunk back into bed. I was in struggle town.

And then again, we got into a better sleeping pattern, slowly but surely. We did some sleep training and we were able to put her down at seven thirty and she would, ninety-nine per cent of the time, sleep through the night. The occasional wake ups when she had four teeth coming through, or was just having an 'off' night, and you're catapulted back to newborn days. 

So lack of sleep, in the end, wasn't as scary as I throught it would be. Like most things in life (mine anyway) it was the fear of the unknown that was worrisome - the reality is never as bad as you imagine it to be (a mantra I need to remind myself often). However, I will stake a claim though that parents (and insomniacs, probably) know the real value of sleep.  I mean really know the value. That one hours extra sleep before the alarm goes off after having been up for four hours with a teeth baby? Oh man, that's the sweetest dream. 

Amsterdam

Last weekend we took a little family trip to Amsterdam. I (and Ada, obviously) had never been before, but Dave had gone a few years ago, but it was nice to go with the three of us.

Day one

For the first (?) time, I booked a flight that wasn't at six am from an airport on the other side of London (Stansted, Luton), but a more baby-friendly time of eleven am from Gatwick - a mere thirty minute train ride away. However we missed our train from Victoria which put us slightly behind schedule. By the time we got to the check in desk we had 50 minutes until our flight departed (check in closed forty-five minutes before departure - so we were actually cutting it very close). Needless to say, Dave was a bit (a lot) angry with me. He may even had said (did say) if we miss this flight we're going home. But we were ushered to the front of the queue at check-in and made it to the plane as it started boarding. Ada was wonderful on the flight - I fed her on take off and she fell asleep the whole way (to be fair it's only forty-five minutes though - it took us longer to get to the airport). As we were getting off some people said 'we didn't even know there was a baby on the plane'. Cue smug parents look and silent high fives.

When we got to Amsterdam we found out apartment. I say we, but really it was Dave. He is frightenly good at directions, like it's his super power or something. We dumped our bags and ventured out to the walk around, bought some groceries and explored the city. 


Day two
The second day started off grey and miserable and pretty much continued that way until the afternoon. I had booked a restaurant for lunch. So after getting ourselves and Ada ready, we set off. Lunch was really lovely, we were the only people there for lunch. Dave said that in the past he would have felt uncomfortable being in such an empty place, but now, with a nearly nine month old it was bliss. We didn't have to worry about her annoying anyone else, we could take our time and she could make as much noise as she wanted.

Day three
Sunday started off on a much brighter note than Saturday. We decided to hire bikes, one with a baby seat for Ada. We got our bike around nine-thirty and set off. I was planning on cycling with her most of it, but my bike was so high that I found it almost impossible to ride. I could get on it, but felt unstable if I were to come to a red light. So Dave, being a couple of centimetres taller than me (and generally a better cyclist as well) cycled with her on the road. I was a bit worried how she would react - if she would start crying, or if it was too cold for her. But she loved it. She was so excited. We cycled to Vondelpark which was beautiful. Loads of other families cycling, people exercising, tourist meandering. Around lunch time we headed to the Van Gogh museum, and a bite to eat. We ate, Ada ate and fell asleep. The line to the Van Gogh museum was so long, that we decided to give it a miss (sorry Van Gogh, but I've seen Sunflowers at the National Gallery anyway...). Instead we walked around the markets that were in the square and bought some cute things for Ada. After lunch we cycled to the Rembrandtpark, which was much quieter than Vondelpark but no less beautiful. After stopping to feed Ada her lunch, we headed back home, via one last cycle around Vondelpark.

Day four
Monday it was time to head home. We planned our journey with much more time to spare than the flight there, so no tense husband and wife conversations.  However our flight was delayed by at least an hour, which was slightly annoying. Ada was the opposite of the angel baby on the flight to Amsterdam - she was a super miserable grump. There was no smug looks from Dave and I, instead, it was the 'I'm really sorry my baby is grizzling, I'm trying the best I can' look. Of course she fell asleep ten minutes before we had to land though. And then promptly woke up fifteen minutes later as we were going through immigration. We arrived home at five pm to a very excited cat, and a very tired baby. She ended up going to bed without any milk because she was so tired (she did wake up at ten pm and I gave it to her, which she gladly took).

We had such a wonderful time, but coming back it felt a little bittersweet to me. I was looking forward to this holiday so much, but now the only event on my horizon is my return to work and Ada starting nursery. I knew it was going to happen, but it feels likes it's come around so quick.

This is how we eat and entertain in a studio apartment with a sleeping baby

The little pokey outey tongue? - it slays me!

Ready to go home 

A letter to Ada

Little dove! You are eight months young today! Again, you're with your dad because I'm at school, but I know you're having a wonderful time. At eight months you have six teeth. Before we had you I thought that teething would be a horrendous ordeal but these six litre chompers haven't been that bad (I'm sure your molars will be a different story entirely). We've only had one or two mid morning wake ups where it seems all you want me to do is hold you but only if I'm the most uncomfortable ever. No lying on the couch at four am. No, I have to sit on your bedroom floor, with my back resting against the wardrobe cupboards. You seem to sense of I've even put a cushion behind me. All in all we've handled it pretty well.

You are *this close* to crawling. You can worm across the floor, but haven't quite worked out that getting on your knees is much easier. Either which was (I suspect) you hate it and get really frustrated when you can't get close to me. I don't know how long to let you get upset and figure it out for yourself or just help you. (Typical answer - not very long)

So you don't like crawling/worming but you love standing. And this week, if your dad or I are holding your hands, you love walking too. You can pull yourself up using the coffee table as leverage and hold onto it with one hand, and it gives you so much delight. Your balance isn't quite there yet and you do sometimes fall over and give yourself a bump. But a little kiss and a cuddle and you're standing yourself up again and it's soon forgotten.

You're a really funny baby and love smiling at strangers on the bus, who in turn smile back at you. You think the funniest thing is when I or your dad make silly noises at you (the pig snort is a particular favourite) or when we dance really badly (I mean really, really, badly).  I know it's a bit of a cliche but there is no sweeter sounds than your laughter, so we will do whatever we can to make it happen.

Your favourite food is porridge with banana. You get quite demanding in the morning which is quite funny. You'll bang your hands on your highchair if I'm too slow giving you your next mouthful. But really, you love all food - especially if I'm eating it. 

We heart the mornings

Mornings are great for us. Ada is beyond happy first thing in the morning. She hears one (or both) of us creaking into her room and her little face just lights up like it's Christmas morning. She is absolutely crazy over breakfast - she loves porridge and toast and if I'm eating cereal get's super cranky if she doesn't get some. 

We have mornings naps down as well. She generally wakes up around seven am, and goes down for her morning nap around nine-thirty / ten. Again, when she wakes up, she is delighted to see me once more (seriously Ada - I'm always going to be there).

This morning I got our proper camera out and took some shots of her. Because I've never used the camera before she is fascinated by it and the shutter sound which makes for some great photos.

A good day

Seven and a bit months is a great age. She can sit up and interact and is interested in things going on around her, but isn't on the move so I'm not constantly chasing her around (although side note: I'd love for her to start crawling . She can be incredibly clingy if i put her down and figure if she was crawling she could just move to where she wants to be).

Today we went to Archbishop's Park in Waterloo and met up with Allie and Poppy. Ada had been in a really good mood all morning (side note two: we don't set alarms anymore because Ada normally wakes us up around six-thirty with her chatter, and wants us to get her out at around seven. This is usually great until she sleeps into seven forty five and Dave has thirty minutes to get ready for work which means I have thirty minutes to feed her, shower and express) and was in a jolly mood when we got there. We headed for the sandpit as the swings were busy. Ada has always like the sand (or rather putting it in her mouth) but this time she loved it (and my feet).

The week in review

Monday
 We went to see out health visitor to get Ada weighed (she's seven point eight kilos). I really love our health visitor, Faith. She was the person who came to our home in the first week that I saw her, and has just been a really lovely person to talk to about any concerns I have with Ada, without passing judgement. Afterwards we went to the playground at Clapham Common and played on the swings and the sandpit. She also ate (and loved) pasta for the first time. She is her father's daughter

Tuesday
 We met Allie and Poppy for a lovely lunch, where the girls were on their best behaviour at the restaurant. Then we went to Southwark Park and played on the swings. 

(photo credit - Allie Keys)

Wednesday

 We stayed closer to home to make sure we were home for a delivery that we missed the previous day, but once it arrived we went for a little walk to Clapham Common again (most of these walks involve me getting a much needed coffee to see me through the rest of the day). We didn't make it to the playground, but had fun playing with the grass and watching the crow, watching us eat our food

Thursday
 We made a trip to Camden to surprise Dad for lunch. We ate lunch in his office with his work friends and then went for a walk around Regent's Park and managed to squeeze a little swing in the playground. On the trip home however I completely got my tube lines wrong (I've been living here for eight years!) and had to walk down a (spiral) staircase of around fifty stairs. Silly mum!

Friday
 Friday is swimming day. We started the new term last week. We moved up from Floaties to Splashers and it's been a bit of a rough time for her. I'm hoping she just has to get into the swing of things after such a long break over summer. She pretty much cried the whole lesson. But then we took a long walk home and she fell asleep in the buggy and woke up much happier

A letter to Ada

My sweet love, you are seven months old today. Just writing that blows my mind. Seven months in the grand scheme of things is a mere drop in a vast ocean. But for me it has been everything. I wasn't able to be with you for most of the day. I was studying. I am conflicted about this, even though I shouldn't be. Even though I'm only gone for seven hours, and I know you're having an amazing time with your dad, I still feel guilty, like I should be there with you. But I want to show you that, when you're older, you can be a career women, a student, a mum all at the same time. I am striving now to be a better person for you. I fail, and will fail, but I'll never stop trying.

A case of the giggles

Ada and Sophie

When I found out I was pregnant it was my dream that the baby and Sophie would become best friends. Not straight away, but eventually. This was always going to be difficult because Sophie is a very particular cat (aren't they all). She won't sit on your lap unless you are sitting on the her expensive armchair with a cushion on your lap (never, ever directly on your lap). She won't sleep anywhere in the bed - it must be in the lower right hand corner of the bed i.e. exactly where I want to put my feet. 

Now that Ada is sitting up and taking things in she loves to look at Sophie and watch her walk across the room, jump onto things/out the window. For her part, Sophie has a healthy tolerance over her, coming over for a sniff or a hand nudge every now and again. She has never shown any aggression towards her (well apart from the first day we bought Ada home and she hissed at her, but I'm putting that down to her thinking it was another cat or something) which is good.

A couple of weeks ago Ada and I were lying in her room in the afternoon, just being silly. The afternoon is the best time to get Ada to laugh - she is just the right amount of contentedness and tired to find anything I do amusing. However that afternoon, she reacted to Sophie in a way that I've never seen her do. Although I found it really funny, I quickly picked her up and reassured her that everything was okay

For the record their relationship is usually like this

Ramblings about the last six months

I still find it odd to know what I was doing 'x' months ago. This time six months ago I was waiting to get discharged from hospital and take Ada home. (Side note: my anti-natel teacher told us when we want to get discharged to be incredibly insistent to everyone who came into to see us. And I mean everyone. Every nurse, porter, person bring me food, we would tell them that we need to get discharged, we are leaving today. The post labour ward was horrendous. The midwives there were awful, and the polar opposite of the midwives on the delivery ward. Part of me understands their attitude - they probably have twenty or thirty mums and babies to deal with, but it didn't stop me hating them any less. At one point during the first night, Ada was crying and crying and I couldn't get her to stop. Dave had gone home and I felt all alone. I called a midwife to help me and she said that Ada was probably hungry and why not try feeding her. Because she was little and I think newborn babies get tired very easily she wasn't feeding well. The midwife put her hand on Ada's head and practically shoved her face into my boob. A lot more roughly than I would have done. Again, I understand that babies are a lot more resilient that one would think, but she wasn't even a day old. It a lot to take).

Where was I? Oh yes, 6 months ago. I feel like having a baby has both made time stand still and fly by. A complete contradiction, but babies, or at least Ada, always is. I think some of the reasons for this, for me, was that I was living day to day, and then week to week. When she was say, two months, I wasn't looking down the line to five, six months. I was just in the moment, dealing with whatever was happening in that week. Consequently, when you stop and take stock of your life you think 'do I really have a six month old baby. How the hell did that happen?'. 

I was looking back at a video I sent one of my sisters when Ada was around two months, and said something like 'Ada really loves the toucan (a toy she had on her playmat). Looking at it now she was so disinterested but I was so excited. Comparatively, Dave and I took her to the playground yesterday and she loved the swings (not like last time)                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                 and was so expressive. But it makes me think, in six months from now, will I think the same about her and the toucan? Who knows, but it will be fun to find out 

I'm still breastfeeding her (except at night when she has a bottle of {expressed} milk). I really didn't think i would be at this stage, especially since she has one tooth that has broken through. In fact I remember saying, aloud, I'm going to stop breastfeeding her when she gets teeth. But there is something really special about breastfeeding her. A connection that only her and I share. Don't get me wrong, I'm not going to feed her until she's two or three (not that there's anything wrong with that) and I completely and utterly understand why people do it. It's just not for us, long term. Also I'm going back to work in November (sob) so logistically it just wouldn't work.

Dave's boss at work said to Dave before we had Ada, watch out for the NCT mum's group - they tell each other everything. Dave laughed it off, thinking 'yeah right, that will never happen', but we probably do. I certainly don't (consciously) censor myself. I love my NCT mums. It's an odd concept NCT. Pretty much pay a couple if hundred pounds to make friends. And it really is pot luck as to whether you'll all get along. But we all do. There is something comforting about going through the same together, roughly around the same time. We catch up every Tuesday and take about everything under the sun, but poos always feature. I don't know what I would do without these girls. In the first weeks, months, I would be messaging the frantically about something that Ada was doing (pretty much always feeding related) and they would always reassure me that everything is okay, that their babies are doing the same thing too.

                        

Flying solo

On Wednesday Dave went to Lisbon for work. I say work in the looses possible way because it was more eating and drinking. And by eating and drinking, I just mean drinking. Which meant that I was playing single mum for a couple of days, which is hard work. 

We tried to keep busy by filling our days up. On Wednesday, Allie, her baby Poppy, Ada and I went to 'The Cornershop' a shop where everything is made entirely out of felt. It was pretty impressive. I wish I had the dedication to sit for seven month and make endless amount of felt crisps. 

(continued after the jump)

A birth story

I ummed and ahhed about posting this. Part of me thinks does anyone really care? Is it incredibly self indulgent? Do I want acquaintances (hello!) knowing? But then I thought, I'm already forgetting what it was like, six months on. Who knows what I will remember a year, two, six years from now. And it is something I would like to tell Ada, if and when she wants to know.

Ada was due on the second of February and that day came and went with not a peep out of her. I had seen my midwife the week before and she said that she was spine to spine and not engaging. I was devestated. I had planned to have a home birth and the longer I went overdue the more chance I had of being induced and ergo not having the baby at home. 

I tried to keep myself busy with various things - meeting my NCT mums, seeing people for lunch. On Thursday the sixth of February I had a pregnancy massage booked that Emily, a NCT mum, recommended. I told this lady, Fiona, that I was four or five days overdue, that I was feeling a bit down about it, planning on having a home birth etc etc. She gave me a lovely massage, and afterwards gave me a big hug and a kiss. It was almost as though she filled me back up with positive energy. I left the massage feeling less sad about the situation and went to meet Dave for lunch. The next day, the Friday, I had another meeting with my midwife. Nothing had happened with the baby, I don't think it was spine to spine, more on it's side. She did a sweep (it's gross and I wont go into the detail, suffice to say it is supposed to bring on labour) and I left to meet two good friends for lunch. I was relaxed after my massage and lunch with Dave the previous day, and this further added to it. Great food, a nice glass of wine, and laughing a lot with friends. I left feeling rejuvenated.

Dave and I lounged around that evening and around midnight we went to bed. We had only turned the lights out for ten minutes or so when I felt a distinct drop, which was most likely the baby dropping into my pelvis (I presume) followed by a contraction. But not knowing what the baby engaging would feel like, or a contraction for that matter, I kept saying to Dave 'I think this is labour? Do you think this is labour? It must be labour, I haven't felt anything like this before'. So we (or I) concluded that it must be labour. 

We had also hired a birthing pool, which Dave set up that evening. About an hour or two into it, the contractions were coming strong and fast (in hindsight) but I just remember feeling incredibly tired. I kept trying to sleep between contractions, but it was no use. I was also prescribed cocodamol, which is paracetamol and codeine, which I was told could make me nauseous, but was good for pain relief (at this point all I had at home before a midwife came with gas and air was the birthing pool (water) and a tens machine). After I took it, I was violently ill and threw up that night's dinner in the middle of a contraction and lost my mucus plug (again, gross, and I wont go into the detail). I completely freaked out. We called the home birth midwife, but the local midwife was not available so we were redirected to the second on call midwife, who was an hour or so away. But at three in the morning, it only took her forty-five minutes to get to me. 

Once she was here, she checked to see how far along I was, and concluded that I wasn't four centimetres dilated and that my waters probably hadn't broken (either of which would have meant that she would have stayed with me). She said to call back when my waters broke or I had three contractions in ten minutes. 

Looking back, Dave and I were timing my contractions completely wrong. I had an app on my phone and would tell Dave when the contraction started, but it was more like when the contraction was getting strong. I went to a yoga birthing workshop and the teacher said that contractions are like walking up a hill. It starts off gently, you get half way and then when you think you can go no further, you're at the peak of the hill and the contraction has stopped. I was telling Dave they started when I was halfway up that hill.

So we trundled on, mistiming our contractions. Somewhere along the way my waters did break, but I have no idea when, or why I didn't call a midwife then. I think I was waiting for the contractions to be more frequent. I would move from the birthing pool, to kneeling in front of the couch and back and forth. The water was good, but I was so tired, I just wanted some where to lay my head between contractions, so the couch was good. 

At some point that morning, perhaps around seven am, I went to the toilet and noticed (what I thought was) a lot of blood. I panicked. The thoughts that ran through my head was 'something is wrong with the baby and I've made this really selfish decision to have this baby at home, and now i've endangered this baby's life'. We rang the local midwife, but still couldn't get through to them, so we were put through to the midwife that came out at three am. She was now an hour and a half away, and it probably would have taken her at least that time to get to me, given the fact that it was early morning now. We didn't know what to do and she said to call an ambulance. 

So Dave called the paramedics. Whilst he was on the phone to them, the first responders came. They took one look at the blood and said 'it's nothing'. But not knowing what a normal and abnormal amount of blood is during pregnancy, they said my reaction was normal. The paramedics in the actual ambulance arrived not long after (the first responders probably took three or four minutes, max, to arrive). Dave was on the phone to the midwife as well as speaking to the paramedics. They asked what I wanted to do - did I want to stay at home or go to hospital. I couldn't make a decision. A huge part of me wanted to stay at home, but desperately wanted someone to stay with me. The night shift home birth midwife was switching over to the day shift midwife, and we just couldn't get hold of anyone close by. In the end, the midwife on the phone to Dave just said take her to hospital (side note: I went to two home birth workshops and one of the things that came out of it was that the always err on the side of caution). So with the decision made for me, Dave and I got in the ambulance and made our way to St Thomas'.

I got into the labour ward at around eight / eight thirty, and had a midwife, Olivia, came and checked how far along I was. She was a young midwife, perhaps mid twenties but beyond lovely and positive and kind. She said she was newly qualified to the head midwife would come in from time to time. I remember Olivia asking how far along did everyone think I was. The head midwife said five centimetres, Dave agreed with her, and I said seven centimeters. It turned out I was right. I had gotten to seven centimetres dilated without any pain relief except for a tens machine (and a bit of gas and air in the ambulance ride over). Olivia said that she would be staying with me now and that the labour would move along quite quickly. I think I contracted for the next two hours and around eleven am, I got a strong urge to push during a contraction. I told (or rather screamed this) to Olivia, and she said if that's what my body is telling me than just go for it. 

Now if someone were to say to me describe on contraction, apart from comparing it to that walking that hill, I have no idea what the pain is like. I remember after I gave birth to Ada I thought I would never forget it, but now? Nada. However, the sensation of pushing her was horrendous. But a good horrendous. I think in my mind I knew the pain wouldn't last, so I could handle it. And, obviously I got to meet our baby in the end. 

After an hour of pushing, the baby crowned and Olivia said that it would be out with the next contraction. And pop! next thing the baby was out, and Dave told me it was a girl. Our Ada was born, on the eighth of February at eleven fifty-seven pm, weighing seven pounds eleven ounces. 

I didn't get the home birth that I wanted, and part of me will always wish that I did. I would have loved to have crawled into our own bed with our baby afterwards, but it wasn't meant to be. I still had a great birth, largely due to our midwife who just a ball of happiness, and no matter where I gave birth, as long as Dave was beside me, I would be okay.

We didn't have many pictures of the birth, but I'm pretty sure that this is the first photo of her