Massaging with almond oil

‘You can try using almond oil’ Eileen suggests at the antenatal class. ‘It can really help stretch that delicate area of the perineum and reduce the need for stitches’. My insides somersault and knots itself in fear at the very thought of stitches.

I nudge Special Bloke, hoping for a reassuring squeeze or wink. No response. He is away in a world of his own. He is practically asleep. He has no idea what Eileen has been talking about. He is going to be my birth partner and yet he isn’t paying a scrap of attention. So much for the ‘we’re in this together’ speech he recites regularly. I dig him hard in the ribs. He glares at me harshly. ‘It was the baby kicking!’ I lie without a modicum of guilt.

On the car journey home, I berate him for his lack of interest in the pregnancy, labour and challenge him that he will probably make a terrible Dad. This may be slightly unfair but I am feeling unreasonable and I want to provoke some reaction.

I want him to tell me that he loves me. I want him to tell me that everything will be o.k. I want a cuddle. He sits in silence absorbing my white anger and barbed comments. This makes me madder. ‘What is wrong with you?’ I yell in desperation. ‘You don’t even care enough to respond. What kind of man are you?’ I demand furiously.

‘The books said you’d get like this at the end of your pregnancy. I wonder if that means you will go into labour tonight?’ he analyses rhetorically. ‘I am not going into labour tonight. I am going home to eat ice cream and watch a video. You are going to get the bits and pieces Eileen said we had to get’ I order, handing him the photocopied list of essentials.

Special Bloke returns home with bags of potions of raspberry leaf tea, arnica, witch hazel, tea tree oil, lavender oil and a whole host of other lotions. ‘I couldn’t find almond oil so I got these' beams Special Bloke, producing a bottle of almond essence, blanched almonds, ground almonds, flaked almonds and sugar almonds. He is delighted with his booty. Clearly he feels he has exceeded my expectations and waits confident of getting a gold star for his efforts.

‘I know I have a bun in the oven’ I quip, ‘but there was no need to raid the cookery section of Tescos. The idea of me trying to massage myself down there as Eileen calls it with flaked almonds cracks me up. I roll around the sofa laughing, clutching my sides with mirth.

Special Bloke looks on puzzled. ‘It really is true. Its just like the books say. It’s a roller coaster of emotions. One minute you’re down and the next minute you’re high as a kite. I can’t wait til you have the baby Daisy. I really miss you’

Reading up on labour

The pregnancy manual has been so well consulted that it is nearly falling apart. Despite this, I have not been able to read the chapter on labour. My throat dries up and tears start to build behind my eyes just imagining labour. It’s ridiculous how scared I am. But it’s now or never.

‘Oh my God’! I slam the book shut in disbelief.

‘Whats up hon.?’ asks Special Bloke running into the room dropping the dimmer switch he’s fitting in the baby’s room.

‘I’m reading the chapter on labour and…’

‘Its ok Daisy. I know it’s freaking you out. You will be ok. I’ll be with you all the way’ Special Bloke reassures me, stroking my hair.

‘No, its not that! Listen to this line from the book ‘Don’t worry if you defecate on the delivery table’. Can you believe that? I might poo in front of other adults while they are literally looking up my rear end.’ Ha, ha I laugh semi-hysterically. ‘This is just not funny. How the hell am I going to get through this? I bawl like a baby while Special Bloke rocks me and holds me close.

‘I’m really shitting myself about the birth’ I confide. Special Bloke looks tenderly into my eyes and before you know it we begin to giggle hysterically like some naughty kids in the back of class.

Tired & Emotional

Special Bloke returns home to find me on the sofa, clutching a duvet and scoffing a pack of jaffa cakes. ‘Hey what are you doing here. Your girlie lunches are legendary. I didn’t expect to see you here for ages. So what’s girl wonder up to these days?’

‘Had a shit day. Don’t want to talk about it’

‘Hmm. That bad huh? Want a back massage my little hippopotamus? He tickles my tummy gently.

‘That’s not funny’ I smile lamely, with tears in my eyes.

‘Daisy, what’s wrong hon? You’re really upset. I thought you had a girlie heaven day planned. Weren’t you getting coiffed and styled; dressing up and meeting Kate for lunch. What happened? Has something happened the baby?’ He looks really worried.

‘I’m just fed up. Maybe I’m being silly but well Jay says I might go bald after I have the baby; Kate thinks I am fat and boring and I just read my baby book and it says you bleed for 9 weeks after the baby is born. I’m going to be a big, fat, bald, bleeding mother..’ I sob in his arms.

‘Oh Daisy’ he kisses me tenderly on my head. ’I’ll still love you even if you are completely mad and insist on heating paint pots in the microwave! Come on woman, lets go wild and open hobnobs and drink a whole pot of tea.

Ladies who lunch

I stride across town full of confidence. I look good and I know it. Make up has been applied; hair is freshly cut and blow-dried. I’ve even artfully arranged a groovy scarf to distract attention from my bump…. well not completely obviously! I’m really looking forward to a nice relaxing lunch.

I open the door and spot Kate making her way towards me with her arms ready to embrace. ’Sorry I’m a bit late’ I apologise ‘I couldn’t find a parking space’.

‘Hello heffalump!’ She greets me warmly and I follow her] to the table. [Ever so slightly miffed ‘heffalump?’]

Crash! I don’t believe it. I didn’t leave sufficient space for my bump as I followed size zero Kate and have managed to bump into a waiter, sending cutlery flying across the floor. I am mortified.

‘I’ve taken the liberty of ordering us some white wine’ she beams. ‘I’ve already had a couple of glasses while I was waiting. Well you were a bit late’ she teases.

‘Ahm I’ll give the vino a miss as D-day could be anytime now’ I chuckle. ‘Well shame to waste it! I guess I’d better drink it all then’ she cackles draining her glass and pouring another. ‘Right then lets get the orders in and then we can catch up.’

I consult the menu. It’s a bloomin minefield…prawns, goats cheese, tuna fish, smoked salmon, crab claws, béarnaise sauce, mousse etc. ‘Excuse me,’ I beckon the nearest waiter. ‘Is the goats cheese pasteurized and can you find out if there are uncooked eggs in the mousse? Thank you’

Kate glares at the menu. ‘You are not the first woman in the world to give birth you know. Don’t be such a drama queen. We are meant to be having a fun lunch’

‘Yes I know but I am pregnant and the books say..’

‘Oh for goodness sake, I know you are preggers but I really don’t want to spend the whole time listening to your innermost thoughts on pregnancy. Now then, the baby’s due in a few days right? So when do you plan going back to work? You don’t want your brain to turn to mush after you worked so hard to get your degree.'

‘Well..’

‘No, I’m not being critical Daisy but lets face it, you weren’t a natural student. There’s no shame admitting that you had to work hard at it.’

‘I’m not sure what my plans are yet. I’m just enjoying my final days of pregnancy and taking one day at a time. I feel pretty content just now and I can’t work up much enthusiasm for anything else right now. I guess its just a special time.’

‘I don’t get it. Everyone talks about pregnancy like its some kind of miracle or something. It’s a highly predictable process. Woman has sex, gets fat and puffy with little piggy eyes and swollen ankles, clucks like a mother hen and pops out a baby. I’ve never understood why people think pregnant women are beautiful. They’re just swollen and fat looking. Now, have you been to any good gigs or plays recently? She enquires.

‘Kate, I think I’m going to have to go. I’m pretty tired and I just need to go home.’ Sorry again for being..’

‘Flat and a bit touchy’ she states matter of factly.

‘I was going to say ‘late’ ‘ I hiss and storm out of the joint. Bloody cheek. Definitely out of the running for Godmother. Humph!

Things are getting hairy

‘I need to look gorgeous’ I whine to Jay, my long-suffering hairdresser and confessor. ‘Absolutely gorgeous mind! I’m meeting an old friend for lunch’
‘Ah one of those? He eyeballs me knowingly, tousling my hair.’ Now what are we doing with this mop today?’

‘How do you mean – ‘one of those ’friends?’ I mimic.
‘Oh everyone has an old friend like that. ‘ Now spill…. while you sit yourself down and stick this around your shoulders,’ Jay orders as he passes me a protective gown.

‘Well we grew up together and then we went separate ways during our late teens. We meet up every now and again. Kate metamorphasised into one of those willowy completely pulled together go-getter types. If you looked up ‘well-groomed’ in the dictionary, it would simply say ‘Kate’ I explain as I look gloomily at my reflection in the salon mirror.

‘And let me guess you wouldn’t dream of mixing her with your regular pals and you find her a bit of a pain but you shared a childhood together. There’s no way you would become pals if you met tomorrow but you understand each other irritatingly well. Am I right? He beamed smugly. ‘Ha should have been a psychologist?'

‘Well anyway, I am meeting Kate for lunch while she’s in town and I feel so tired I need to transform my image radically. I’ve decided to cut it short. I don’t care what you do with it. I’m in your hands. Just make me look thin, gorgeous, trendy, sophisticated, sexy, smart, young and please try to disguise my newly formed double chin.’ I implore.

‘In a word – No! Daisy love, I will not cut it off. You’ll be sooo busy with the baby you won’t have time to come in for regular trims. Much easier to tie it up. And you can have it in bunches during labour …stop you getting all sweaty while you’re on the birthing ball.’

‘Eh hello Jay. It’s me. I will not be on a birthing ball. I will not be sweating. I will be getting an epidural and having a thoroughly modern, pain free birth thank you very much.’

‘Oh Daisy, I dunno. My sister had a natural birth and she says within minutes of the birth you’re up on your feet. If you have the epidural, you won’t be able to move for hours!’

‘Well I’m not actually planning on moving once I squeeze a turkey out of my birth canal. In fact if I can’t move after the birth, so much the better. I expect to be waited on hand and foot with regular supplies of chocolates and champagne brought to me . If I don’t have the energy to consume them, my birth plan gives the nurses full written consent to hook me up and feed me intravenously.'

‘Look hon, after you’ve had the baby, all those feel-good hormones are going to leave your body and of course your hair will reflect this. It’s highly likely that your hair will fall out. Oh yes, in clumps. The number of women I’ve had in here crying would amaze you. And anyhow you can’t go eating chocs and necking back the bubbly because it’ll affect your milk’

‘What? I’m going to go partially bald after I give birth? Childbirth is just one sick joke. And who said I was going to breast feed anyhow? Just tidy it up and take an inch off all round will you’ . I crumple wearily and fight back the tears.

‘Oh dear! I’ve been very insensitive. Come on now Daisy let me get you a nice cup of tea and a reviving finger of fudge while I make you beautiful, so you can meet the waspy Kate in style.

Birth plan

Eileen advises us to write up a birth plan so that we feel more in control of the situation during delivery. Louise comes over to help me with this odd task.

We select the music ‘Fun loving Criminals’ and the candle [vanilla with cinnamon flecks]. Louise thinks I should try and remain standing for as long as possible before demanding a birthing ball. ‘Do you actually know what a birthing ball looks like?’ I ask suspiciously. ‘It looks like a giant beach ball and you kind of roll over and back on it’, she smirks. ‘My cousin Jane had one!’


‘I don’t know Lou. This is daft. I haven’t a clue what labour will be like…well apart from sore. So how the hell am I supposed to write out an essay on how I want the birth to go? It reminds me of being a child, just after Christmas. I had to sit there, writing thank you letters to relatives. Of course I could never remember what they had specifically given me so I used to try and fudge it by using suitably vague sentences.’

‘Well I’m not sure it has to be an essay. I know, pretend you’re writing to Santa and bullet point down what you want from your ideal birth! She claps her hands excitedly.

‘You are mad, you know that don’t you! Right so! I want a pain free birth that’s as safe as possible for Peanut and me. I don’t want anyone yelling at me .I want a cup of tea afterwards.’

‘Is that all?’ asks Louise. ‘I mean it doesn’t sound very comprehensive. Are you sure that’ll do?’

‘Its not a written exam Lou. From what I can gather the practical exam is the one that counts!’

The phone rings. ‘Its Fiona’ I mouth to Louise. ‘Yes, another productive morning. I’ve just written my birth plan’ I announce proudly. I put the phone down a few minutes later.

‘Well Fiona says they probably won’t even look at the birth plan. They just do what they think is best medically. She says you can’t anticipate what will happen. When she was having Megan, she wanted an epidural but she was too late to have it, so she had to have it naturally!’ I say with a shiver running down my back.

We put the kettle on and munch on a curly wurly.