The adventure begins.

Our masterpiece finally arrived on Oct 25, a tall baby with dark hair and grey blue eyes, looking like a cute little elf.

The story that I'm sharing may be a bit graphic and personal, but I think I need to see it on paper in order to appreciate the intensity and magic that it brought into our lives. Bear with me if the hormones go into overdrive and I gush.

So. Technically, my labour started with pretty painful and irregular contractions about a few days before the 19th, which was my actual due date. By the time we reached early evening on the 25th, I'd had about 3 hours' sleep total. So we went to the birthing centre, but they sent us home, because I wasn't far enough along. They did give me some pain killers to manage the pain though.

Yeah. That didn't work. And by 1am, my body was in such bad pre-labour, that I was telling the mister in low growling tones "I've had enough. Thisss iss too much and I neeeed to get the hell to the hospital..."

At that moment, I kicked off the evening in style by projectile vomiting all over the bathroom floor whilst clutching the door frame and feeling totally helpless (apparently, it was because I had had a massive hormone surge to kick the active labour into gear). Nice, eh?

We sped to the hospital with me howling in the car like some kind of dying jungle cat. We got to the birthing centre. I was still howling. Luckily, no one was there, it was rather quiet. They showed us to a room, and gave me a shot of dimorphine, a mild loopy medication to take the edge of my contractions and to let me sleep. The mister and I both lay down, and about 15 minutes later I was in heaven, my contractions had calmed down and I was just drifting off when…

I felt a huge pop. My waters had broken. And the contractions came back faster, stronger and more hideous. I started howling again.

The nurse came back, told me to suck on nitrous oxide (which worked in the beginning, but I’ll tell you, I’m convinced that it’s mostly psychological, it didn’t take the edge of the massive pain towards the end), and she’d fill my pool. Hurray for my waterbirth, right? Keep reading..

I got into a massive, warm, blissful pool. I had my bottles of Lucozade, my Tootsie Roll pops for some sugar boosts, my bikini top was on, and the mister was holding my hand. I was still howling in pain and sucking on that tube of gas, but the water just made it all worth it and calmed me down. I could focus. I could DO it. It was heavenly. I even got to a point where I started having delirious visions of us being at some country estate and planning how to rebuild our bathroom... (apparently, the mister has loads of stories of me spouting nonsense at various points).

But after about 2 hours in there, I wasn't making enough progress, and the midwife noticed that the baby's heartbeat was getting stressed with each contraction. Not good. So they advised me that they were taking me to the labour ward. So I got out of the pool. And my contractions seemed to triple in pain, unbelievably. The mister was trying to help me, but every time a contraction hit and he wasn’t there with the gas, I almost throttled the man. He did tell me afterwards, that it made him absolutely mental to see me in that much pain, and that there was nothing he could do. He said he actually ended up going to into an empty room a few times and throwing some stuff around, out of sheer frustration.

I was wheeled onto the labour ward, put into a bed, and was told that I would be given 20 minutes to try and push this baby out before they needed to come in and intervene with the ventouse, because baby was in distress. I was determined to do it myself, but it became harder and harder and more exhausting, and I was determined to do it with no pain relief whatsoever, so I was really pushing myself to the limit. Finally, the specialists came in, out came the suction cup, and out came baby, while mister was playing me Foo Fighters on full blast for inspiration (songs used were "The Colour and the Shape" and "Best of You"). She was a bit traumatized and had swallowed some meconium at the birth, so she’s congested and not breastfeeding as yet (which is much harder than it looks, let me tell you), but I am completely besotted with her.

I won't describe the kind of pain it was and how gory it ended up being, but I’d do it again 3 times over (which I remember saying, as soon as they pulled her out of me). One of the most amazing moments I'll remember is looking at the mister's face so close to mine, in between them yelling at me to push, and him being in absolute tears, telling me how proud of me he was and telling me how strong and beautiful I am. I'll never forget that as long as I live.

We are totally humbled by this little creature..I could stare at her little elfin face all day. She especially loves her father, she's fascinated by his face, immediately perks up when he enters a room, and would much rather fall asleep on his chest than in her moses basket.

I don't think I've slept for more than 2 hours since Sunday, for fear that every cry means something's wrong, and that if she sleeps more than 3 hours at a time that I've somehow drugged her by mistake. Hey, it's all a learning process, right?

Our adventure as officially begun, and I feel incredibly blessed that she's a part of our lives. My heart is more full than I ever imagined it could be.

Nope.

They say that it's fashionable to arrive at a party late.

Our baby is extremely fashionable.

To be honest, I think it's unrealistic for anyone to think that this 40-week contract is set in stone. I had a feeling that nature will take its course and do what it needs to do, and whenever our dinner guest decides to arrive, it will do so when it's healthy, happy and ready to play.

That being said, it's not without its frustration. Luckily, I love being pregnant and I don't have any physical issues, so I don't mind another bit of time to wait. Plus, it's more time that the mister and I get to have to ourselves, to possibly re-think the name that we like (yes, our baby will potentially be nameless at its birth. Hilarious), and to catch up on sleep, so that's fine by me. The frustrating bit is more on the emotional side- we're finally ready to be parents, and we're excited to meet this strange little creature that we've created. It's a bit of selfishness on our part, but hey, every soon-to-be-parent is allowed that, I would think.

I'm avoiding phones and any social contact like the plague right now- I just don't feel up to explaining to people that yes, I'm fine, no it's NOT here yet. Don't call us, we'll call you. The mister is doing our PR from now on. He's become my brain, for all intents and purposes, as I seemed to have lost mine about a week ago. 5th grade math would be a strain for me at this point, I feel.

My midwife has told us that from the symptoms I'm experiencing, I could pop any day now. That's really nice of her, but I'd rather not hold my breath, so we've stopped "watching the pot", so to speak. Things are operating as normal over here, and I prefer it that way.

Okay, now going back to eating ice cream and watching bad TV. I won't be able to have that luxury for a while, so I might as well take advantage of it. Small victories.

Listening

Sometimes I feel like I don't know
Sometimes I feel like checkin' out
I wanna get it wrong
Can't always be strong
And love it won't be long
Oh sugar, don't you cry
Oh child, wipe the tears from your eyes
You know I need you to be strong
And the day is as dark as the night is long
Feel like trash, you make me feel clean
I'm in the black, can't see or be seen

Baby, baby, baby...light my way

You bury your treasure
Where it can't be found
But your love is like a secret
That's been passed around
There is a silence that comes to a house
Where no one can sleep
I guess it's the price of love
I know it's not cheap

Baby, baby, baby...light my way

I remember
When we could sleep on stones
Now we lie together
In whispers and moans
When I was all messed up
And I had opera in my head
Your love was a light bulb
Hanging over my bed

Baby, baby, baby...light my way

Calm before the storm

A couple weeks ago, something interesting happened.

I was walking into town, tending to a few appointments, organising the week ahead. As usual, I encountered the requisite number of morons and rude people, most of whom are the type to never offer me a seat on the bus or train (don't worry, I have absolutely NO problem speaking up very loudly and asking for a seat). I also managed to trip up the stairs at one point, and several times I dropped my handbag, spilling its contents onto the pavement- all due to my clumsy pregnant self.

And for the first time, I didn't really care.

I've notice a weird serenity hang around me all the time. I'm not without my small weepy episodes mind you, but on average, I'm seemingly blissfully unaware about this little creature that's preparing to shoot out of my lower half in less than 3 weeks.

We haven't set up the nursery yet. My hospital bag is almost packed (the important things like makeup and face cream are already in there- oh, the vanity...). We still have some last minute things to sort out, last minute dinners to organise, friends to see, trips to take, and my birthday is rapidly approaching this weekend. Should I make a To Do list? Probably. Have I? Nope.

I need to wax rhapsodic for a bit. Bear with me.

I've entered this blissful state of reverie, as if I'm looking back at my life and watching a montage. A kaleidoscope of amazing moments and private jokes and adventures. I look back at my life when I was 16, 22, 28, 30.. I feel like I've lived so many lives already. But where I am now, living my life with the person who gives me butterflies every day, amazed at this little thing that we made.. this is the best of the best. I can honestly say I've never been happier than I am now, and I swear it just keeps getting better, if that's even possible.

I'm still learning. Still growing. Still adding pages to the book of me. Of us. But this new adventure completely astounds me in its profundity. My heart is so heavy with emotion and wonder, I seriously think I could sit on my ass all day (which isn't a difficult thing to do for me at this point) and write about it.

I'm very lucky to have the partner that I do. He made the past 8 months (well, to be honest, 3.5 years) go by so smoothly. The songs he's written, the notes he's left, the dinners he's cooked, the times that he's stayed up with me at 3am massaging my feet and talking to me when I couldn't sleep. He's made my smile wider, and for that I remind myself how incredibly blessed I am to have his hand to hold.

I'm sitting here with mild back pain, aches and pains and kung-fu kicks to my ribs. Odd combination. I'm finding myself walking slower, feeling more tired. I'm now technically full-term, little fish now has its head in the firing position, so the days are now going by at lightning speed, tinged with a bit of excitement (and not a tiny bit of melancholy).

I've reached the end of the road so to speak- the end of one part our of our life and the beginning of a new one. And yet I walk into the unknown with a glazed, euphoric look on my face, knowing that soon enough, my heart will expand to a size that I never knew was possible.*

* Though I'm hoping my ass will shrink back to normal.

Do me a favour: don't do me any favours.

I have a little something that I'd like to get off my chest. Specifically with girlfriends.

I'm not a needy friend. I do my own thing, and I let others do theirs. I check in, but I don't hover. Friendship shouldn't be something that you struggle to maintain. It doesn't need to be an every-day check in or a twice a week check-in. I think that a strong friendship is something that exists in between the lines: whether you see the person/write to the person once a week or once a month.

However, even if it is a monthly occurrence, it should be a reciprocal relationship. Full stop. And by that I mean, one person shouldn't be doing all the chasing. It's a two-way street.

My history with women has always puzzled me. I've always been fast friends with men, but women? Nope. I've never had a gaggle of girlfriends that I've hung out with, gone clubbing with, called on the phone to have a chat with, talked about my sex life with. My first real "best friend" was this girl Margee Krohn. Catholic school. I was 11, I think. I was so enamored with her. She had short red hair, freckles, and was really cool and had a great sense of humour. We lasted for about 4 months. Then one random day she started ignoring me, and dumped me for Stephanie McNulty, a wavy-haired blond girl. I was heartbroken, and spent the rest of the day crying onto my dark-green plaid school uniform.

My next relationship though, was the one that really affected me and my self-esteem, I'm embarrassed to admit. It was with this girl that I thought was the coolest girl ever. Both her parents and my parents were friends, we went to the same school, she was Ukrainian, we attended the same Ukrainian school and dance ensemble, I thought she was perfect. Dark brown pixie hair, big doe-eyes, thin frame, had a huge bedroom with lots of sparkly clothes and fancy-looking toys. I'd known her since I was 8. She did tend to make fun of me for things like singing in the car when we were being driven somewhere, or rolling her eyes at me when I would act like a "dork", but I didn't care. I loved being her friend and being part of the "cool" crowd at school. She sometimes pretended I didn't exist when she was with her other friends, but I never seemed to mind.

One day, when I was about 15, I was at dance practice. She would hang out with the rest of the group (thin leotard-clad girls with cool hair), and would ignore me if I tried to come over and chat with her. I was ostracized a lot because I was different: braces, big curly hair, no boobs, a bit pudgy. So I tended to hang out with the male dancers, who seemed to welcome me. One guy in particular paid attention to me, and he happened to be the cutest boy in the troupe, and had just joined. Dark hair, olive skin. All the girls loved him.

On this particular day, he came up to me and slipped me a note. I read it later, and it was a really mushy love note. I was speechless. He called me over to a room on the side and wanted to talk to me. I told him how much I liked him and how special the note was to me. I was beaming from ear to ear and so excited. I think it was my first real heart-pounding crush.

And just then I heard faint giggling outside the door.

The group of girls (with my one 'friend' leading them) then burst into the room and pointed fingers at me and started laughing, and so did the boy. It became very clear to me that it was a set-up, and everyone was in on it. One giant joke to play on the girl that they referred to as "fat and ugly" and that I couldn't have friends unless I "paid them". I was devastated.

These things happened more often than I care to admit.

My parents forced me to go to month-long Ukrainian camps (like girl scouts, only much more wilderness-survival), and I hated going. I fought tooth and nail, explaining to them that I would get made fun of and picked on. They just told me to suck it up and "fight back". I didn't know how, even though ironically I had a black belt in karate by then (which made my dork-status even worse). Even when I was around 17 or 18 and running the camps, every time I made genuine friends with a guy, I would be made fun of, my stuff would get stolen or ruined, no one would sit with me in the canteen, and someone would spread rumours that I was a creepy boy-stalker, which would inevitably end up reaching the guy that I was friends with, and he'd end up ostracizing me as well. Sounds like a movie, right?

The only time I can remember ever defending myself was when I was in catholic school, at 12 years old. A girl kept pushing me on the playground, and taunting me. Again and again. And I snapped, running at her, pushing her down on the ice-glazed ground and pulling a clump of hair out of her head. And I finally got some respect.

This is not a sob-story by any means, and I don't need any sympathy. But what this does is give an indication of possibly why I've never let myself fully open up to women. I don't fully trust them (except for my sister-in-law).

Case in point: I've known this British girl for 3 years. I've gotten close to her, and it's been a rather lovely friendship. Though I've always been the one to call or email her to ask her what she's up to, and I have felt like it's been a bit one-sided, I've tried to ignore that.

Until now.

She lives only 20 minutes away, and yet she's never seen me throughout this pregnancy. Doesn't email or call to ask me how I am. Yes, she has a 2-year old and she's a stay at home mother, and I do understand it can get stressful. And granted, I didn't really tell anyone that I was expecting until mid-summer, so I could tell she was mildly offended that I didn't tell her until late in the game. But nevertheless, I've been chasing her. Emailing to ask her how she is. Chasing her to meet me for lunch. Chasing her to meet me at SOME point before the baby gets here. But she's totally tuned me out and her entire focus is on her son, his activities and her other friends (which she tells me that she sees on a regular basis, which makes me even less enamored of her, let me tell you). There's also another girlfriend of mine here that is a stay at home mother with a 3-year old, and I've emailed her twice. No response. Though they both seem to update their Facebook status quite a bit and spend time organising meet-ups with other people. Including each other. Am I annoyed? Yes.

I really don't get it. Am I doing something wrong? If anyone out there can enlighten me about this female game-playing phenomenon, I would love to get more information. And I'm not trying to sound like a heartless bitch here, because I do understand that life gets in the way, and I will see how much a child will overwhelm me as a parent.. but at what cost to my relationships? This shouldn't be that complicated, should it?

What makes me angry is that I'm a giver by nature, to my own detriment. I will listen, I will be there physically, I will be there on the phone, I will give you the shirt off my back if you need it. I'm realising that this isn't an admirable quality sometimes, and I end up looking like the needy chick waiting by the phone.

If this is telling me that I need to just let go and find friends who actually give a shit about me and don't always take take take, then I think I've finally learned my lesson.

Got milk?

I'm obsessed with boobs.

Before you start drooling.. like most women (and every male on the planet), I've always had a healthy appreciation for their aesthetic properties (my own, as well as others), but lately, I think my brain has gone into some kind of mammary overdrive. It's all I think about.

One of the reasons could be that mine are getting much bigger than I thought they would, and I'm fascinated with the fact that I actually have cleavage (please understand, as a 5'7" 105 lb person, this word has never been in my vocabulary).

The other reason is because since I will soon attempt to use my lovely pair to feed another human being (yeah, that still seems really weird to me..), I've entered a whole new world that uses strange and highly sadomasochistic vocabulary like panelled feeding tops, nursing bras, nursing pads, nipple shields, electric breast pump, and the ever-popular controversial debate: Breast vs Bottle.

I live in a country where the National Health Service (NHS) and pretty much every midwife strongly encourages breastfeeding. And by "strongly encourages", I mean they really go for the hard sell- posters everywhere, advertisements to attend free seminars that encourage you to "persevere through the tough first few weeks". I even asked if someone could advise me on the practice of "mixed feeding" (sometimes breast milk, sometimes formula), and the midwife very gently shook her head with a sigh and tried to steer me back to using my boobs as the only way to go. I mean, at this rate, it would've probably been acceptable for her to scream in my face while shaking me by my shoulders in the hopes that I would not endanger my child by -insert collective gasp of the entire world- FEEDING IT FORMULA FROM A BOTTLE.

Okay, I get it. It's nutritionally beneficial, they're there for a reason... but shouldn't people be given other options so that they can make their own decisions? I think choosing how to feed your child is a rather subjective and personal decision that a mother should be entitled to make on her own, and ideally, she should have as much support and information to help her in that respect.

And because it's such a hot topic here in the UK (if you remember a post from about a year or so ago, I still stand by my assessment that this country is generally obsessed with any size and shape breasts), the choice that a woman makes, whether to breastfeed or not, becomes a minefield of an issue. Just because you're pregnant and about to be a mother, does it really allow your friends/family/general public to comment and make suggestions about your breasts and how you intend to use them?

Them: Will you breastfeed?
Me: Not really sure. The whole idea seems weird to me, but I really won't know until I get there.
Them: Oh... well... you should really try.
Me: Sure. Okay.
Them: It really is the best thing for them, and did you know that if you don't breastfeed you increase your risk of breast cancer by 50 percent?!???
Me: Great.
Them: Yeah, the first few weeks will be hard, but you have to persevere. It's best for the baby. You should do it for at least 6 months.
Me: Umm. Okay.
Them: Poo is much smellier on formula, too.
Me: Great.
Them: How do you feel about feeding in public?
Me: You mean setting up a stand in the park with a "Breast milk for 5 cents a cup- 4 cents if you use the boob" sign? Not too keen on that either.*

*That usually shuts them up.


I once said that I thought breastfeeding in public (i.e how some mothers whip their boobs out naked in all their glory while a child is dangling off of one and fondling the other) made me feel a bit uncomfortable (though to be fair, I don't think I would even do it in front of friends and relatives either.. I don't choose to put that kind of an intimate moment on display, frankly), and lo and behold I might as well have been struck down with a crisp bolt of lightning directly from La Leche League. The amount of anger and nastiness and righteousness that resulted in that one comment (aherrmmm.. my opinion) was extraordinary. Women hurled taunts like "what if someone denied YOU lunch when you were hungry", and "it is the most natural thing in the world and you should be proud that you're able to nourish your child"... it was insane. I never knew that Breast vs Bottle could turn into a WWF mud-wrestling match.

I think when it comes to this, we all need to calm down a bit, eh? No mother or mother-to-be should do something for their child. There's no rulebook. It's their child, and they can choose to feed it however they like, without fearing the judgement of all the earth-mothers or posh bottle-mummies out there.

Breasts should be off the table for discussion. Unless, of course, they're an integral part of winning an argument. To that I say: lay 'em on the countertop. And dress them in something lacy.

I'm slowly joining the Android revolution.

Now, I'm the kind of person that's kind of a dork. Okay, a big dork. I don't really like Facebook, I don't have a Twitter account and don't really know how it works, I don't do De.Lic.ious (or however you spell it), I don't Digg, I don't StumbleUpon anything, and I never MySpaced.

Now, I'm not saying that those qualities deserve some kind of award, and I'm not putting down people who are experts at communicating with all of this media. Hell, I'm married to someone that has his own communications company, so I'm well aware how important these things are. I know that I should probably be more connected to the universe considering I'm in the advertising/media business. I can converse with the most senior executives on the power of social networking and the resulting brand exposure that can result from it, but for me personally, I don't use it.

I just don't really like having all my information out in cyberspace where everyone can potentially see it and track me down. I don't really feel the need to tell people what I'm doing all the time and where I am, and I don't really want to know when their next bowel movement is either.

The other day, my parents told me that a really old acquaintance of mine contacted them the other day (long story short: I knew him when I was 16 and he was 20, he totally chased after me, but I wasn't interested)- he's married now, works at a supermarket I believe, and has kids from various relationships. He's a nice guy, but weird that he contacted my folks specifically looking for me.

Well, he asked my parents what my last name was, and, being that they're blissfully unaware of Facebook or anything of the sort, they saw no harm in telling him. And he said "yeah, I thought so, I found her on Facebook. I've sent her loads of messages to 'friend' me, but she's ignored me. Hmm."

Creepy.

Sorry, but this is why I tend to be inactive in groups like this. I like my anonymity. And I really don't need married fathers contacting me to rekindle some long-lost relationship.

However..

What I did realise, is that the one thing that I've been lacking in a technological sense is a decent phone. Whoopdeedoo, you're thinking. Okay, okay, I know, it seems trivial, but it was an exciting thing for me. I've had one of those basic candy-bar phones for about 5 years now, a delicious little black Sony Ericsson that has been indestructible. When I moved to the UK, I kept it and just got a UK number, and managed to do a pay-as-you-go system, avoiding a contract. I've dropped it in the water, on the concrete, stepped on it.. and it's been amazingly intact. I love things like that (not that I have a sadistic personality, I just tend to be a klutz).

Why get a new phone then? Well, it takes about 5 minutes to write one text because the keys are all condensed, the software on it is quite old so the service kept cutting in and out, and all that it was good for is talking and texting. Nothing else. So, after about a month spent debating whether to get a new phone (something with Internet access and diary management), I decided that it would be a good idea to send myself off on the Motherhood trip with a carry-everywhere-access-everything phone.

it took me about 3 weeks to do all the price comparisons, read the independent reviews and software research. I almost got a Blackberry Curve (I LOVE them), but realised that I get one for work, so I'd rather not carry two Blackberrys around if I can help it. I'd rather have a different phone on a different operating system.

And no, the iPhone wasn't in the running. I was determined NOT to get it. Every one's in this iCult at the moment, and I think it's iRidiculous. Yes, they look lovely, but I find joy in having something that most people don't. I decided to be an Android.

So I got this.

And I love it. It does look a tiny bit like an 90s Palm Pilot and it's a bit hard to get used to the touch-screen keys (every time I text, it comes out looking as if I'd gone on an Absinthe bender), but its functionality is pretty immaculate, its applications are very similar to Apple's, and it'll be useful when I'm out with the little one and trying to text with one hand and feed with the other.

Anyway, that was my treat to myself, and I think it's perfect timing, because with one month to go until D-Day, it'll take me that long to figure out how to program my voicemail.