Things have been really quiet here on the blogging front. Blogging just simply has to take a backburner when you’re 38 weeks pregnant & up until only last week, … still entirely unaware of where you’ll actually be giving birth.
The Braxton Hicks have been coming thick & fast every night, & with each one comes a mild sense of (oh-my-flipping-God!) panic that I still wasn’t actually booked in to give birth anywhere. Please don’t think for one moment that this is as a result of a lack of organisation on my part, I can assure you I was booked into a birth centre two days after I pee’d on a stick way back when we were just maybe five to six weeks along.
The very next thing I did after pee’ing on a stick, excitedly calling Dave, googling birth centres, & then booking into my preferred birth centre was contacting this incredible lady & firstly, just admitting that I had a big ol’ crush on her incredible photography. You see, it’s the way she celebrates family, & the different perspective she takes, & then the way she views things in a way that non photography-type people would. But for me personally … it’s really just especially the way she celebrates beauty in what others might even regard to be mundane, i.e the serving of breakfast to your children, the mischievous crayon inspired art upon plastered walls within the home, the daily crafting, the daily baking, the nudey runs that follow a bedtime bath, the sleeping eyelashes while your littles sleep, the bed hair when they wake, & just … the celebration of all things ‘little’ really. She just seems to celebrate the same things that I do, views things in the same way that I do, but captures them all in a way I’ll never be able to.
Following this admission of my crush saw me then plucking up the courage to ask if she had ever considered birth photography, all the while trying desperately not to come across as ‘I’ve never even met you before, but through your photography alone – I just know you’re the perfect person to photograph our impending birth’ psychotic.
She said yes. I exhaled. Partially because I was just relieved she didn’t think I was a complete madwoman, but mostly because the only photo I have of Max’s birth was snapped from Dave’s blackberry. This one photo was taken directly after I had birthed him, & features me (& my three – count em’ three! - fluid-y chins) in the foreground, & then a completely blurry newborn Max in the background. I am entirely chopped off from about the nose up (& three chins down), Max on the other hand is just entirely blurred.
It’s not good.
With a birth centre & birth photographer booked, I didn’t feel like I needed to do much else other than do my very best to grow a healthy baby. And so that’s exactly what I did for 28’ish weeks. And then I went & flicked on a faulty light switch in my own home one day, & subsequently electrocuted myself. And as a result of all of this silly-ness, my healthy baby & healthy pregnancy haven’t really been as healthy any more. In fact, I’ll be entirely pleased if I never have to entertain a toddler for hours on end in the waiting room of the women’s clinic at the RWH again.
Last week I finally found out where I’m giving birth. I told myself not to burst into tears if they told me I couldn’t give birth at the birth centre we’d originally chosen, but then they went & told me that we were just a little too high risk for any birth centre shenanigans, & I did cry – because I’m pregnant, & I’m allowed to (just ask Dave). And so I had my ridiculous cry, … & then I got over myself.
Some women would give birth on the side of the road if it meant just being able to have the opportunity to give birth at all, & here I was crying over a slightly different birth plan?! Granted, we don’t get the birth centre we wanted, nor are we allowed to have a photographer present to photograph our birth – but, there are other things on our birth plan that they’re completely ok with like; immediate skin to skin (& hours of it), delayed cord clamping, not separating me & baby unless absolutely necessary, & if this is the case – allowing baby to sit inside Dave’s shirt so she can enjoy skin to skin with Daddy instead, & then giving her the colostrum that I’ve been manually expressing & then freezing as of this week as her first feed (in the event that I’m not there for any reason).
For this, I’m grateful.
Sure, I’ll undoubtedly get another three-chinned-me-plus-blurred-newbie-babe snap from Dave’s blackberry again, but that just means I’ll need to see if Tahnee might be free for some ‘welcome home baby’ shots instead.