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.

See more of this kind of stuff at:

www.misssymartin.blogspot.com