I haven’t blogged in a little while… and if you follow me on Instagram or Facebook, you might have seen why! We recently welcomed our sweet little baby girl Miss Nerd to the family. She is a sweetheart; a smiley, cuddly little koala. She has been warmly welcomed to our family, especially by Little Nerd, who has been beyond stoked that his “Baby Sistah” is finally here, and whenever we introduce her to someone new he hurries over importantly to stand like a sentinel beside her. She was born at 9.02am on June 28th at Fiona Stanley Hospital weighing 3.66kg, and I thought I’d share her birth story with you guys. It’s only taken me like eight weeks to put this blog post together! I knew juggling a three-year-old and a newborn would be new territory and I didn’t expect to have much free time to write… I was correct. However, with my usual penchant for writing blog posts of 374,000 words, I’ve achieved this goal by writing this post in tiny batches every day.
Please note, this post is NOT for everyone, it comes with a TMI warning, and I totally get birth stories aren’t everyone’s cup of tea, so if you come here for the house-y stuff, come back later. (Maybe six months later when I’ll get a chance to post again, haaaa.)
But I love reading and hearing birth stories – especially positive ones. I remember being pregnant the first time and going out for dinner with some friends who had all had babies and the talk turned to birth, and it seemed like every birth story shared was a horror story. I mean, not that people can help it, if sadly they were unfortunate enough to have a negative experience, but sometimes you just want to hear positive vibes, right? Especially when you are massively pregnant and your due date is encroaching! I think we need to hear MORE positive birth stories – and I consider Miss Nerd’s birth one, because it showed me that even if one of your biggest personal anxieties or worries comes true, it might actually not be anywhere NEAR as bad as you had always imagined. You might be pleasantly surprised – and wonder why you had stressed so much in the first place. In fact, it might actually turn out to be a good experience!
See, my biggest anxiety with this pregnancy was that Mr Nerd would miss the birth. Some of you might read that and be puzzled, or laugh. “What? Why would that happen?” Other women would nod their head in commiseration. See, we live in the city of Perth, Western Australia – for my readers overseas, WA is a mining state where a LOT of people who work in mining or resources now have to travel a lot, go on frequent work trips or work a FIFO roster (that’s fly-in-fly-out, for those of you who don’t know, flying from where they live in Perth up north for work and back again. Also, in case you’re wondering, you pronounce it Fye-fo, not Feefo, like your neighbour’s Pomeranian Poodle x, and the same way I pronounced it for two embarrassing years after I first heard of it).
So lots of women and men in Perth now have partners who frequently have to go up north for work or work trips – mine included – and I know from friends of mine that it is a very real concern that their partner might not make it to the birth in time.
The second thing that made me feel anxious about birth the second time around was that I had a precipitous labour the first time. A precipitate labour is basically one where the active stage of labour is considered really fast – three hours or less. With Little Nerd, the whole thing was about four hours from the time my waters broke. (You can read his birth story here – and how after my waters broke, we languished at home a while watching TV and showering before I realised crap we have to rush to hospital NOW!)
If you have a precipituous labour with your first baby, subsequent babies usually tend to arrive fast as well, or even faster. Every single midwife and obstetrician I saw cautioned me to have an action plan in place for signs of this labour approaching – if my waters broke or contractions started, I had to call someone to look after Little Nerd and make my way to hospital straight away. Once labour starts, things can ramp up soon.
I wasn’t worried about the possibility of another fast labour, but I did know that if Mr Nerd was up north and it began, his chances of making it in time would be slim to none – especially if labour began late at night, when there are no flights.
The last thing that was a bit of a stressor was that we had two possible estimated due dates, 24 days apart. Yes, I know that sounds ridiculous, but there was a mix-up with my dates. I realised I was pregnant in October, when I missed my period (which would normally happen around the first week of each month). As soon as I realised I was a week late, I knew I was pregnant and I figured it explained why I’d already been feeling nauseous and had started vomiting. When I went to my GP, she gave me a due date of June 9, according to my LMP (cycle/period). But then I had the dating scan and the sonographer said I was less far along than initially thought and changed the date to July 3. So 24 days difference. Honestly, I didn’t question it then. I was surprised, but I am going to admit at the time that I was very naïve about cycles/ovulation and knew very little. I just thought, oh, I must have got things mixed up, and I also knew individual cycles could vary widely between women. Come on, who would you trust – I know I am a flake… I trust the experts!
My GP was surprised too, but changed the date. Months went by, and Mr Nerd and I both organised our time off from work around July 3. Then I went for my first visit to Fiona Stanley. The midwife was taking my history and said to me in surprise that judging by my LMP, my due date shouldn’t be July 3 – it should be June 9. I’m not going to lie; I got really stressed about it. I bored all my friends to tears talking about it! The hospital did scans where they measured the baby each month (she was considered on the smaller side until the very last scan in the last couple of weeks, when she suddenly grew to 75th percentile) but still the obstetricians said they HAD to go by the estimated date from the first dating scan (hospital policy). Which I understand. There are policies in place for a reason – imagine if a woman was incorrect about the dates she had her period, or they induced her too early when the baby wasn’t ready to come out yet and there were complications, etc. But that said, we were also told to be ready just in case we had a baby around June 9th! The plus side of all this was that even though I got stressed at first, it definitely made me get organised WAY earlier than I would have been normally! I finished so much work up early.
The downside was that June 9th came and went and still no baby. I wasn’t surprised. Little Nerd was six days over, and I didn’t think I would have this baby on June 9th, mind you… in fact I even arranged Little Nerd’s little birthday gathering on June 10th, that’s how reasonably confident I was that I wouldn’t have a baby by then! I thought I would be maybe a week over. I was biiiiig.
However, a week passed, and despite all my spicy curry cooking, hill-walking and running Nala around the neighbourhood, Mr Nerd unfortunately had to go up north to work again. He would come back July 1st. Of course I wanted him to stay with me the whole time, but we figured, what if the ‘right’ due date WAS July 3rd, and the baby came a week or even two weeks over and Mr Nerd had taken six weeks off work just to be around me. We just couldn’t afford for him to take all that time off to ensure he was in town around both due dates.
But I still cried fat hormonal tears on the way to the airport. “Mummy, why are you cwying? You is sad?” called Little Nerd from the backseat, proffering me a sultana in commiseration (the smallest sultana he could find, but still). My stomach was MASSIVE at that point. Everywhere I waddled, baristas and wait staff looked at me fearfully. Their voices said, “What can I get for you?” while their eyes said, “Please God don’t let her waters break and ruin the carpet.” Finally on Wednesday night, on June 27th, I had my routine appointment at Fiona Stanley. Mr Nerd was still away at work, and was going to come back on Sunday. Mum came over to mind Little Nerd while I had my appointment. Even though I felt ready to pop, I’d just started to resign myself to the fact that I might just be pregnant for another week or two before they would induce me. (I even organised dinner with one of my besties Leah at my favourite Japanese restaurant for the next night, the day the baby was born! Leah said we should have named Miss Nerd ‘Yuki’.)
Little did I suspect that night that I would go into labour hours later. But I FELT close to the end – in that I felt well and truly over it and uncomfortable, more so than before. I felt like that with Little Nerd too – of course pregnancy is no stroll in the park and you feel so uncomfortable and in so much pain by the end… but both times I felt like it reached a whole NEW level of discomfort the night I went into labour.
At my midwife appointment, the baby was low. I asked the lovely midwife if it looked like I was close as she examined my tummy, because if it was close, I would call my husband and ask him to come home earlier.
The midwife said there was never any concrete way of telling. “Look, I think she’ll stay put until Sunday – but look, there’s no way you can tell – she could come tomorrow!” she laughed. And she did. Someone said to me, “Oh, what a pity you didn’t find out at your appointment!” but even if the midwife had been able to confidently say, “Yes, baby is on the way – call your husband to come home right NOW!” he still wouldn’t have been able to make it on time. The earliest flight he could have taken would have been the one he did take, the first flight in the morning. There are no night-time flights from his place of work.
Anyway, I got home, put Little Nerd to bed, had dinner… and had a nice little fight with my husband. Why? Because he told me he watched the finale of Westworld. Without me. “And it was pretty good,” he even had the gall to add.
I was furious. It was our show, and we had watched every episode together, up until then. And I was like in my fourth trimester, I was hormonal, there was a ninja in my stomach and I had cankles.
“You’re a DICK,” I spat. “You’re watching it again with me. And I’m going to sit on your phone during.”
I wasn’t letting him get off that easily. At this point, hot tears had sprung to my eyes.
“You’re a bad husband.” (I told you I was hormonal). “I was looking forward to watching the finale TOGETHER.”
“Yeah, yeah… hey did you make a start on our tax returns?
As the daughter of an accountant, it somehow falls on me every year to do our tax returns. Doing our tax is the most boring thing I can think of doing. I would rather eat wet cat food or smell toenail cheese.
“I thought about doing our tax.”
“Yeah, I bet you did… while you Instagrammed instead of making a start on our taxes.”
(He was correct). “Excuse me, I do EVERYTHING,” I snarled. “I did our child care subsidy forms. AND I did my mat leave forms. AND I go to all my stupid hospital appointments. AND I wake up every half hour. AND you watched the show WE enjoy TOGETHER.”
“You should settle down before you work yourself into labour,” he said mildly.
Ohhh. That made me livid. Ironically enough, I did go into labour shortly afterward, so serves him right. (They should add that trick to all those articles online about how to induce labour, like eating a vindaloo and having sex. ‘Get really mad at your husband so you want to cut off his balls’ etc).
“I’m going to sleep now,” said Mr Nerd.
“Unlike me, you probably actually WILL sleep,” I snarled. “The deep and settled sleep of a man without a baby using his bladder as a pillow.”
“And I will sleep, because I have to wake up at 5.30am.”
“I will wake up about 400 times in the night,” I said dramatically. “You are mean. I like watching Westworld with you.”
“You know I’ll watch it with you again.”
“IT’S NOT THE SAME.”
“The show is so complicated, a second viewing is a must. I’m going to bed now.”
“You’re a dick.”
“I’m going now, I love you.”
I didn’t respond. Yes I know… but come on. I was like 68 weeks pregnant and the size of a Winnebago. And by that point I was weeping hot, angry, pregnant tears… really that should have been my clue that birth was imminent. Instead I just ate a really big piece of cheese and then I felt SLIGHTLY bad so I texted him a cold, curt ‘love you’ just before I went to bed.
Then I went to bed after watching The Handmaid’s Tale. (Yes… after my Instagram request for good TV show recommendations, after so many people recommended The Handmaid’s Tale, I couldn’t resist… even though so many people said not to watch it while pregnant! But it was so gripping, once I started I couldn’t stop! Although I’m sure if Mr Nerd had been watching it with me together, I would never have watched the finale without him. It’s just not the kind of person I am. HA).
Once in bed I kept waking up. Nothing unusual – I seriously sleep better with a newborn than I do while pregnant. But around midnight I woke up and I felt so uncomfortable and completely drained. While I was tossing and turning, I decided that first thing in the morning, I was going to message Mr Nerd and tell him to get on the first flight he could, because my gut instinct told me I would probably go into labour in the next couple of days.
I was right. I slept fitfully and around 3.30, I woke up having what I thought were just back pains. Possibly I was in denial – because I knew if they were contractions, there was very little chance my darling Westworld-watching hubby would make it home on time. I started timing the back pains on a contractions app… and after a few of them, I realised they WERE contractions, six minutes apart. I thought darkly, Well, he’s done it now. This is all because he watched Westworld.
I texted Mr Nerd. “No way,” he said. We were both disappointed – although at the same time I was happy at the thought that I was not going to have to be pregnant for much longer. I called my mum to get her to come over to look after Little Nerd while I went to hospital.
So many people meet my mum and tell me she is a superwoman and I agree. She has many, many fine qualities, but all superheroes have their kryptonite, and my mother is not great with blood, guts or pain. She once fainted in a chemist because she bumped into a friend who told her about her daughter cutting her foot on a piece of glass. There was no way I was bringing Mum to the hospital with me in Mr Nerd’s absence, and I was totally fine with that, and so was she. She knew the plan and she knew that once this labour started, I had to get to the hospital ASAP.
My backup plan was always to get my mum or my little sister (or some unwitting, unfortunate Uber driver) to drop me in to the hospital. (I was not going to bring my sister to hospital with me either. She is young, and I did not want to put her off ever having children herself).
So, I called Mum and told her my contractions had started and she started panicking IMMEDIATELY. I could tell. “Mum, calm down,” I said irritably.
“I will be there as soon as possible!” she shouted.
“Mum, calm down,” I repeated, annoyed. “I don’t want you to have an accident driving here. Take your time.”
I talked to Mr Nerd. He was trying to organise his flight back as soon as possible. “Oh my god babe, my mum is panicking already,” I said, rolling my eyes. I told him I was going to jump in the shower while I waited for Mum. Shit. By the time I got out it was only 4.30 and in that short time my contractions had merrily sped up to less than two minutes apart.
I called my mum again. “WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU?” I bellowed.
“You told me not to rush!” she said, bemused.
“I didn’t mean take your sweet time! I bet you are waiting at every red light even though it’s the middle of the night and no-one will see.”
“I will be there soon!”
My mum and little sister arrived in a flurry and Simone rushed me to Fiona Stanley hospital. “I’m coming in with you,” she said.
“You don’t have to, go home,” I said.
“No, I’m coming in.”
“Fine, but you have to leave the room whenever there is a gory bit.”
And even though that was never my plan to have Simone there, it actually was really great that she was. She is unflappable, and not too annoying. Well, mostly. I didn’t realise until later that she decided to Snapchat her experience as the birthing partner, starting with her getting in her car. I asked her later if Snapchats were saved. “Only when you save them,” she told me and showed me the ones she had, and they cracked me up so I thought I’d stick a few in this post. (I didn’t realise she took a Snapchat video of her sampling the gas while I went to the toilet).
We got to the hospital and the midwife said I was 6cm dilated. “That’s great! Can you start prepping me for an epidural?”
I knew I had to get onto this epidural thing FAST if I wanted to get one in time, unlike last time.
The midwife said she thought I was doing just fine without one. You don’t know, I thought darkly. She tried to dissuade me, and I felt defeated… for about five minutes. Don’t get me wrong, I know why some medical professionals don’t think epidurals are a good idea because it’s intervention blah blah, but this time round I was more adamant than ever that I wanted one. Then she left Simone and I in the room for what felt like a very long time even though it was probably only ten minutes.
Simone had been on her phone the whole time, and was now taking selfies.
“What are you doing?”
“Snapchatting.” I’m not on Snapchat. “NO SNAPCHATTING.”
“Go find a midwife and ask them to start prepping me for the epidural.”
Twenty minutes later she wandered back in with a mug. “I asked the midwife where I could find coffee, and she said I could use their lounge whenever I wanted. Hey! You’ll be able to drink coffee without throwing up soon!” She took a sip and looked horrified. “This is not coffee.”
“Where is my epidural?”
“I think they’ll come back,” she said affably.
“Go ask them to start prepping me for it NOW.”
Things ticked on. The midwife who didn’t want me to have an epidural finished her shift (I can’t say I was entirely unhappy, goodbye!) and I got a new midwife who had just started her shift. And oh my god she was an angel. I absolutely loved her. Midwives are another breed aren’t they? All three I had for the majority of my birth were absolutely wonderful. They knew that it wasn’t looking likely that Mr Nerd would make it in time and I was upset about it, and they were so kind and lovely and really made me feel comfortable. I could not have asked for a better support crew.
The whole time I was in labour I was texting Mr Nerd, talked to him on the phone a couple of times, and Simone would Whatsapp him or take the phone from me whenever a contraction knocked me off my feet. Aren’t we lucky to have technology like this?
And aren’t we lucky to have nitrous oxide? The new midwife hooked up some gas for my pain relief. Ahhhh! Sweet, sweet gas. With both of my labours, I didn’t find that it diminished the pain, but it did make it easier to tolerate. Did not realise that Simone decided to try it herself while I went to the toilet until much later (she Snapchatted it).
Like a broken record I kept asking for my epidural… I got it, probably around 7am. I was 8cm dilated and by then I kind of wanted to punch someone – Snapchatting Simone would do. I remember deciding, That’s it! If I can’t have a husband, I want an epidural. I could have kissed the anesthetist when he walked in, a cheerful Asian guy in a blue shower cap thing who looked the equivalent of a Greek god to me in that moment.
But my joy was short-lived, because the epidural didn’t really work. This was possibly my fault… Snapchatting Simone said there was a point where they were trying to put the needle in and apparently they said it was VERY important if I felt a contraction coming that I told them and that I didn’t move… but I didn’t hear them, and I did. I was in so much pain by that stage that I honestly didn’t even realise all three people were yelling, “DON’T MOVE.” Maybe it is because I am almost deaf? Not sure – but it was the second point in my life where I have been in so much pain you kind of black out all noise. I do remember shouting at my sister. “STOP PATTING ME LIKE A DOG.”
“Okay….” she giggled, catching the midwife’s eye… and then I can’t be sure, but I’m pretty sure she mouthed ‘b*tch’ to the midwife and laughed to herself some more.
I was then seized by the most horrific pain yet and wanted to yell. But I had an epidural! I was happy. Ten minutes later, I called the midwife. “When does this start kicking in?”
“Ohh… it should already be working.”
Not long later though, it did bring the pain down a level, something I gratefully accepted.
But then when the contraction pains ramped up again, they were much worse than before, stabbing shooting pains down my left side right through my leg. I actually think that this labour and birth was much more painful than my first, even though I got my epi. (Maybe because of a bigger baby? Miss Nerd was half a kilo heavier than Little Nerd was). But no regrets! I was happy I tried it even if it didn’t quite work as I thought it would. The good thing about the epidural was that things started to slow down a little… and my blood pressure, which had gone really high, decreased. I started to feel more relaxed and had a chance to catch my breath.
In fact, things started to slow down so much, it was looking like Mr Nerd might actually just make it in time after all! Hooray! But then one of the midwives came in just before 8am and told me very kindly that the epidural had slowed down my labour too much and it wasn’t good for the baby, and with my permission they needed to break my waters.
I tried not to cry… but I did. Because I knew that as soon as they did it would be on like Donkey Kong.
“My husband will miss it after all,” I cried. He was literally just about to get on the plane.
“He might still make it,” said the midwife kindly. “You don’t know how long after your water breaks that the baby will come – it could be hours.”
But I knew it would be fast. I told Mr Nerd as he was boarding. We were both disappointed, but what could you do? Simone was ordered to leave the room (again) and I texted him this pic just before he took off… the only time I was smiling, mind you!
45 minutes after that, we had a baby! I remember seeing her propped up on the bed and thinking, “Woah….. that’s a big baby” and also laughing at how much hair she had (she had so much you could see it waving around in the scans). It was a harder delivery than Little Nerd, maybe because she was so much bigger – she took a few minutes to push out, and I did so kneeling on the bed resting my arms on the bedhead. I could still feel everything which wasn’t fun, but at least it was still fairly quick and I knew it would be over soon and then I could have a coffee.
This time, I tried so hard to only push slowly bit by bit and to really listen to the midwife (unlike my first labour, where I distinctly remember the midwife saying, ‘Don’t push so much, you’ll tire yourself out’ and in my head, I was like, “Pffffft I’m fit as, watch me go” and I pushed him out in one big push – nearly 40 stitches later, BAD IDEA. I swear to God, I know I can be a stubborn, annoyingly obstinate person sometimes, but it was like THE worst timing for that particular ugly character trait to rear its head).
Buuuuuuut guess what happened this time round, even though I was like, “Ok, this time I have a baby, I’m going to push nice and slowly and properly listen to the midwife”. I will tell you – but if you are eating breakfast, or you don’t like queasy stories or whatever, or you’re a man, or my mum, maybe just keep going down past that blank space a bit and then skip over the next three paragraphs until you find another big chunk of white space. I’ll wait.
Yeah I’m still waiting, keep going.
So, here’s my little birth war story. I TORE MY CLITORIS. What the hell, guys? Who even knew you could do that? I did not, and I know everything, because I am a chronic Googler. I had to get stitches there AND my labia, which also tore. I didn’t even KNOW you could do those things, but somehow I did. Who even knew they could put stitches somewhere so small? And you know what was even worse? I had to get my stitches redone two weeks post-partum under a local anaesthetic (that may or may not have been my fault, as I did some light gardening in the week after the birth, but I was so bored of sitting inside) and let me tell you that was even more painful than the birth. It was SO painful. And you can bet I told everyone. You know that new Ali Wong special on Netflix Hard Knock Wife where’s talking about visiting her ladylike friend who just had a baby and had a horrible delivery and she busted her vagina and Ali goes round the friend’s house and the friend opens the front door and is like shouting, “ALI! Look at it!” That friend is me. KIDDING. Ok, so I wasn’t shouting ‘look at it’ (and I was never ladylike in the first place) but once you do something like that, I don’t know, you kind of want EVERYONE to know so they feel sorry for you and hopefully bring you treats. (My tribe did not disappoint).
In those first few weeks after the birth, all my sweet friends would come over holding their flowers and their cakes and their home-cooked meals and they would ask, “How was the birth?”
I would screech, “WELL. Do you REALLY want to know?”
They would look at me nervously and say, “I don’t know if I do now.”
Tough. “I had to get STITCHES in my CLITORIS,” I would hiss and they would hiss while recoiling in fear. One of them even instinctively placed her hand over her own self as her jaw dropped, as if she could ward off the possibility of it ever happening to her.
One friend (this one delights in a gory story) was intrigued when I told her I now had stitches in my clit. “Oooooh. Maybe it will be BETTER.”
NO TANYA. But, I must say, it has healed remarkably well. And look, I 100 percent don’t believe in scaring new mums, so if you are pregnant, can I just tell you all it happens VERY, VERY rarely, so please don’t stress. I even met midwives at the hospital who hadn’t seen it in any of their patients.
I know there are people reading this who are currently going, “What the hell, I thought House Nerd girl said this was a positive birth story?!” but really, I DO consider it a positive birth story, because it wasn’t difficult, my fear of my husband not being there didn’t turn out to be as hard as I had always worried it would be, and I had a healthy baby at the end of it, and aside from the clitoris thing I felt REALLY good physically post-partum this time; I just stomped around my house bowlegged and angry for the next week, like a small shouty goblin.
All I can tell you now is, Miss Nerd is so lucky she is so sweet and adorable. Because I can see the story of how she broke my clitoris becoming one of my party things. You know how everyone has a party thing that always comes out after a few too many champers, like a shocking Tinder date story or a drunk story, or they can turn their eyelids inside out or whatever? My party thing has always been my first driver’s licence photo from when I was 17. It would always win ALL those ‘let’s see who has the worst ID photo’ competitions, because I looked like a depressed man, even though my usual look is more like ‘cheerful chipmunk’. Even the most grim-faced bouncers who looked like they never smiled in their life would look at my driver’s licence and snort. Look, I’ll prove it to you.
You can bet when Miss Nerd is 18 and it’s her birthday party, I will fully be drinking a nice red and climbing up onto the coffee table and telling all the guests about the day she was born while she and Mr Nerd and Little Nerd will be all resigned like, “Great, Mum’s talking about her clitoris again.” Anyway, so as luck would have it, Mr Nerd’s plane touched down in Perth exactly an hour after Miss Nerd arrived.
I had texted him the first two photos of me and Miss Nerd while I was up in the air, so that the moment he landed he would receive them. I don’t know if that was ‘tacky’ or whatever to text photos, but to me it felt right, as when he is away for work so much of our communication has to be done via message. He told me she was beautiful, and then his parents (who had rushed to the airport to pick him up) rushed him to the hospital, and he arrived and knocked on the door… literally JUST as they had put my feet into stirrups to do the stitches. I even told the surgical team and my midwives, “Look, I bet my husband will arrive just as soon as you start… so if he does can you tell him to wait outside, mmmkay?”I didn’t want THAT to be his first memory of walking into the delivery suite and meeting his daughter. “I have a beautiful baby girl!!… oh sweet Jesus.” I know what you’re all thinking, he is so lucky to have such a kind and considerate wife. The kind of wife who would NEVER watch the finale of something without him.
If you have skipped the gory bit you can read again from here.
Anyway – the surgical team (who were very, very nice and made me laugh – I swear to God everyone at Fiona Stanley is super nice) – finished up and then Mr Nerd came in, a vision in high-vis. It was a wonderful moment. I would even say one of life’s best moments, seeing his great smile. Did I say, “Meet your daughter!” or something kind of cool and momentous like that? No, I did not. “You’re looking very orange,” I commented.
Still, it was a very good moment. I still remember my FAVOURITE moment of Little Nerd’s birth was not seeing him myself or when they put him on my chest for the first time, like a lot of people say was the best part, but seeing Mr Nerd hold him was my personal fave bit. Meanwhile while he held her for the the first time, I gazed lovingly at him (although at moments it may have been more like stared at him with an edge, I hadn’t quite forgotten about Westworld).
And then our parents all came to visit, and then I stayed one night, and we went home. (Little Nerd was THRILLED to have his “baby sistah” out at last. He does not leave her alone, poor thing. From day one he constantly pounces on her and peppers her with kisses, while she gives us ‘save me’ eyes).
So my husband missed the birth – but it was all fine in the end, and in the whole big scheme of things, even though I got really worked up about it when I was pregnant, I can tell you honestly it doesn’t seem important now. It was still a good day, and our best moments with this little girl are yet to come 🙂 Maya x