Dinosaurs.

Because of four-year-olds.

Poetry is often borne of passion. And there are few passions as deep and all-consuming as that which a certain four (and three quarters) -year-old has for his dinosaurs.

This one's for you, Mitchy.

There are dinosaurs in kitchen drawers and underneath the couch,
There’s a bevy of those beasts that came before us.
When I stepped on a Triceratops in socks, I hollered “Ouch!”
But I’m quite relieved it wasn’t Stegosaurus.
In the hallway, there’s a Harpymimus and a Pterosaur;
In the bath, the Compsognathus always floats.
Though the different Saurapods can be confusing, now I’m sure;
That Omeisaurs have got the longest throats.
I hear stomping from another room, and know that it’s a boy;
For whom each Terataphoneus lives on;
And his plastic Archaeopteryx is more than just a toy;
And his Tarchia and his Iguanadon.
There are drawings. Oh, the drawings! Giant beasts with battle scars;
Of each species, genus, family and order.
And although I know I’ll miss it when he’s into girls and cars,
Then at least the names will be a little shorter.

I hate to blog and run, but...

I'm sorry, I don't have time to think up a witty sub-heading... maybe something about skidmarks...

I'm lucky enough to be completely swamped with work at the moment, which means hardly any time for blogging. But that doesn't mean I haven't had many things to blog about. Consider this a brief bullet-point festival of half-baked bloggy notions, that I'm posting now before they ooze out the sides of my overstretched brain:

• My brother and his lady friend had a baby a week ago. Welcome William!
• Mitchell is awesome and starting to write words and is a different robot, alien, animal or Magic Thing every five minutes
• Amy is awesome and is getting all girly what with dragging her doll around and making it pretend meals. She also brushes my hair regularly, which is one of the reasons I had kids in the first place.
• We're off to Western Plains Zoo in a few days. Mitch is very excited about seeing giraffes, but a little disappointed that there probably won't be otters.
• I'm writing a speech for my fantastic father-in-law's 70th birthday next weekend. It will be delivered to a small crowd that includes some Very Churchy Folk, and will include the word 'intercourse'.
• Cold-canvassing is the marketing equivalent of simian poo-flinging. I'm looking at you, Australian Gas Light Company.
• If you ever feel the need to thank God or the power of prayer for your recovery from illness or injury, please don't forget to also thank the people who studied and worked extremely hard to fix you up with real things.

Mmm. Miscellaneous. Bye!

Deus ex machina

My 'Get out of hell free' card
On our way to the supermarket today, Mitchell pointed to the epitome of architectural incongruity that is the St John the Baptist Catholic church in Woy Woy.
"What's that?" he asked.
Suddenly I was flung headlong into my first Atheist Parenting Challenge; something I knew was going to happen eventually, and for me, unchartered territory.
At around Mitchell's age, I started attending a Presbyterian pre-school and Sunday school, and was introduced to God and the Bible in a gentle, unassuming way. With adult hindsight, I'm sure this had more to do with a desire for peace and quiet at home on the part of my parents, rather than any kind of religious conviction. Nevertheless, it left me without a precedent for answering any questions of a churchy kind from my own offspring. I decided to keep it simple and see where the conversation led.
"That's a church", I offered plainly.
"What do churches do?" Mitch asked curiously.*
"Um... a church is a place where people go to talk about God," I replied, hoping it was satisfactory.
"Are there machines in there?" he asked, with growing enthusiasm.
"No".
"Oh."
And that was the end of that. No machines, apparently, equals no interest. If things stay that way, this atheist parenting business is going to be a cinch.

* There are SO many possible answers to this question.

Pechung! Pechung! Pechungggg!

Three in a row from Mr Thinky.

Mitch reminds me how much fun life can be before one gets the hang of consistent vowel use and homonyms. The following surfaced during a ten-minute car trip...

Me: "Mitch, we're going to play with Lily on the weekend. And her Mummy. Do you remember Lily's Mummy's name?"
Him: "Yes. Sian. Sian the sheep!"

Him: "I think you hurt your leg and you need to go to the doctor."*
Me (remembering that swine 'flu vaccines are now available free for sproglets): "We're all going to the doctor soon!"
Him: "Is the doctor going to give Amy a noodle?"

Him: "Are we at the shops now?"
Me: "Yes. We're in the car park."
Him: "What are we doing?"
Me: "We're looking for a space."
Him: "Are we in SPACE??!?"

*Don't write in. I'm not injured. This is a common theme of Mitchell's, just to prove he cares.

These pudgy little piggies were made for walkin'

Stagger, stagger, wait, smile, stagger, plop, ray!

As the carers at kindy, the mummies at Playgroup, the creche staff at the gym, my mother, my sister and anyone who will listen will tell you, I've been announcing that Amelia was going to walk before her first birthday since she was about ten months old.

I was wrong.

I forgot that it is the Most Random Baby In The World's job to keep me guessing, so she chose April the 16th, her birthday, to take her first few steps. And do you think she was pleased with herself? She looked like the cat who caught the canary, brought it back inside to its owner only to find its bowl full of cat biscuits, full-cream milk and four more canaries.

Proud, proud mummy.

We marked the birthday occasion last weekend at a quiet morning tea with Nan, Pop, Grandpa, Reni, Auntie Jo and Auntie Robin, all of whom brought lovely pressies, including the coolest jeans I've ever seen - baby-sized or otherwise.

Mummy and Daddy presented Amy with Bunny 2, an imaginitively-named toy rabbit that I was given (alongside Jo's Bunny 1) at about the same age. Apart from Mitchell's middle name of Thornely (which may or may not get him beaten up at school), Bunny 2 is the first thing that I've handed down to the next generation. And I know it looked like I was crying, but it was just that Bunny had been sitting in a box for 30 years and I get a bit of hay fever. Really.

Now let's just take a moment to see what 12 months can bring...

Small. squashed.

All big and pot-bangy.

Now in the interest of balancing the kiddie see-saw, Mitchell has had a few lovely breaks from saying "NO!" to everything and correcting his parents ("You DO want to squash me, Mummy!") in order to display his entertaining and frankly astounding view of the world. Some examples:

• Whenever we pass a particular tree on the walk to the gym, he reaches out towards some fallen flowers and yells, "want a frangi-penny! Want a frangi-penny!"


• He will only be happy if his right shoe is put on before his left shoe these days. My growing concerns about Obsessive Compulsive Disorder are somewhat balanced by my bursting pride at him knowing his right from left.


• Reciting house numbers on long walks (see OCD comment above) remains a favourite pastime. I may have to start a new route, however, since he seems to have memorised which numbers on which houses are displayed, and which are not. Hence, on the way past the primary school, he'll tell me that "44" comes after "52", which it doesn't in the grown-up world. But sure enough, between number 52 and number 44, there are no house numbers displayed. Smarty-pants.

Oh, listen to me, all braggy braggy and such. They do horrid things too:

• Amelia is playing yo-yo with her secondary incisors. They seem to appear one day and be re-covered by gum the next, each occasion being announced loudly several times during the night. I've got a lot to thank Science for, and Baby Nurofen is currently at the top of my list.


• As hinted earlier, Mitch is about as contrary as a toddler can get, but only around his parents and his swimming teacher, it seems. If disagreeing was an Olympic sport, he'd be short-listed for 2012. He's a little bit like Jim Trott of Dibley in his delivery.


• If I am in the same room as Amy, she will hold my legs. It's all squidgy and gorgeous, until I want to go anywhere or do anything. Then I have to either walk very slowly, or prepare for a big wail.


• When not training for the Olympics, Mitch is trying for the record of the Latest Commencement of Toilet-Training Ever. I must have read about twenty-five articles or book chapters about the 'signs' to look out for that a toddler is ready for toilet-training, and I'm lucky if I can tick off a single one. He occasionally shows interest in sitting on the loo, but it's usually to distract Mummy's attention from a less-desirable option, like having a bath or going to bed. And the moment his bum-cheeks hit the seat, he says, "finished Mummy!" and I'm obliged to congratulate him on perching there in the first place. Sigh.

Ok, enough. You're all up-to-date. Now I'm sure I can find other ways to avoid doing work...

The Mitchionary #5

Unfortunately, we taught him everything he knows.

This instalment of the Mitchionary is quite simply to record the following, which was suddenly uttered in the car on the way home from the beach:

"What was that, Mummy? Sound like a fart."

And for the record, it wasn't.

When it rains, it pours. And crawls. And bites. And drinks from a bottle.

A downpour of daughtery development.
Any idiot knows not to turn one's back on a baby for too long (well almost any idiot - I'm talking to you, crazy lady with a pram who stopped in the middle of the road to scream at your smackie boyfriend yesterday. Aaaaah, Woy Woy...). This week at our house, every blink threatened to be an opportunity to miss a major milestone of Amelia's. A quick recap:

Thursday: Tooth Number One made an appearance. Not without two nights of announcements, mind.

Saturday: Proper, forwards, tummy-off-the-floor crawling happened. And, in the not-worth-doing-unless-you've-got-an-audience style of her mother, the gorgeous wee thing waited until no fewer than thirteen members of her extended family were standing around the lounge room having pre-Chrissy afternoon tea.

Monday: She. Drank. Formula. For the first time. After three months of trying. Almost a whole bottle. Her eyes rolled back with drunken pleasure and everything.

[internal monologue]
Pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease don't be a fluke. Please be the start of something. Please let me join the ranks of People Who Hire Babysitters And Think It's Normal. Please don't stay on the boob until you're two.
[/internal monologue]

Anyway, I am once again a proud, excited, lucky Mummy. At this rate she'll be sneaking rocket fuel out of the house and coming home in a divvy van by Easter.

Now, in the interest of impartiality, I should also mention that Mitchell correctly identified a hexagon today. With only a smidge of brainwashi... erm... training.

The Mitchionary #4

My little sponge.
We've been watching our language around here, because it doesn't take long to realise how attentive and non-selective a two-and-a-quarter-year-old can be. Having said that, I was pretty impressed when Mitch refered to Karl Stefanovic as 'a nob' a few weeks ago. Here are a few poetic examples of what our chewable little bloke has sucked up from books, telly, music and twenty million pieces of junk mail (known as 'Mitchell's letters'):

Helmet like on a bicycle with Daddy and Mitchy don't hurt your head no
Helmet.

Like Roary the racing car neeeeeeeeyowm
Car.

Like Thomas woo-woo
Train.

Portant paper
Bank statements, bills, the ferry timetable etc.

Chippy-bikkie
Rice cracker

Bikkie-bikkie
Biscuit

Plis-mahi/Plis-dahi
A well-mannered suffix delivered in haste and designed to deliver a much-wanted item from either parent; for example, "Nuther chippy-bikkie plis-mahi"

Ab-see
The first three letters of the alphabet.

Watch-a-binsie...?
A question about the initial letter of words, for example, "Big A, Little A, Watch-a-binsie A?"

The Mitchionary #3: More potty mouth

Going down in linguistic history

Just when you think his linguistic development is getting boringly normal, what with verb-enriched sentences and a smattering of appropriate possessive pronouns, Mitchell pulls this one out, so to speak:

Whilst watching an episode of Bob the Builder in which a family of small, spiny English mammals are awoken from their winter hibernation, Mitch points to the screen and says, "Headjobs!"

The Mitchionary #2: Compound words

This goes with that... sort of...

One of the most exciting things about having a toddler is watching babbling become words, and then words become phrases. Below are just a few examples of what happens when a 23-month-old is given the tools of language without the instruction manual:

Turnover-toast - any piece of toast lying on a plate topping-side-down.

Make-a-wave - a kitchen appliance that uses invisible waves to heat food.

Pink-dick - a meal eaten outdoors, usually on a rug.

Hairy-daughter - a flying machine that uses rotating blades to acquire lift

Cuddle-milk - what baby sister Amelia's diet consists of.

The Mitchionary #1

Washing one's mouth out with soap.

The English language is a complex thing. And like sex, guns and ice-cream, when put under the control of a toddler, the outcome is not always predictable. With that in mind, I'd like to welcome you to the Mitchionary; a collection of explanatory notes underlying the newly adopted language of a 21-month-old.

In this chapter, we look at some of the words that seem highly inappropriate coming out of the mouth of young Mitchell, and if nothing else, they emphasis the importance of context. Lately we've heard these gems:

Bitch - a sandy area immediately adjacent to the ocean.

Bastard - a receptacle made of natural fibres woven together

Rectal - a quadrilateral shape with opposite sides even and parallel.

Twat - the sound a duck makes.

International news bulletins? What larks!

I can seeeee yooooou...
Last night while Mitchell was eating his dinner, we were watching the news on SBS. A still image appeared of a woman wearing a face-veil, much like this one:


Mitch pointed at the screen, giggled excitedly and said, "BOO!"

Then we laughed. A lot.

One, two, cha-cha-cha, three, four, plonk, waaah!

Proud, excited, squealy Mummy

Mitchell just walked.

He's thirteen months and six days old, and he just took his first steps towards me. I didn't see it at first, thanks to the Rugby World Cup on the teev - I just noticed that Mitch was over by the wall, and the next minute he was touching my shoulder in the middle of the room ("Oh, hello! How did you get here? Hey!). So, like any demanding mother who expects their kid to perform upon command, I plonked him over by the wall again, moved back and wiggled my arms in come-here-for-a-cuddle pose (cometomamasana, I think Bruddy). And over he came, all wobbly and grinning from ear-to-ear.

Woo! Wooooooo! Now... must go... gotta lock up lots of stuff and call a few people...

You can't keep a good man down.

Taking a stand for the little guys

I've been a slack blogger for a few weeks, mostly because we're in the midst of organising and packing for a whopping great holiday (four more sleeps!). So I haven't got around to posting the news that Mitchell started pulling himself up to a standing position just one day after he started crawling. Huzzah! Now he's shuffling his way around the coffee table, and has almost worked out how to sit back down from a standing position without any undignified bum-plants or tears (that's tears as in waaaah, not tears as in rrrrrrrrip!).

I'll try and post some photos later, when Blogger decides to co-operate.

Ketchup.

There have been a lot of exciting things going on over my way. None of them really need enough words to warrant a big post each, so here they are altogether.

The little crawler
Yesterday, our lives changed. Just before lunchtime, my son started crawling. Properly, that is - not just backwards with a surprised look on his face. Yep - our pride and joy is no longer reliably plonkable. He's yet to gain a real enthusiasm for the job, or to realise its potential for exploration and mischief, but if he's at one end of the room and his Maisy book is at the other, it's all systems go! Yay!

The upchuck update
Since my little dance with the diarrhoea demon earlier in the week, I've been nice enough to share this special little virus with those I love most. It was hubby's turn last night, and he proved that the bigger they are, the bigger they hurl. Now, I'm happy to say, he's eating proper meals and the bathroom smells like Pine-O-Cleen. I still have all my extremities crossed so that Mitch won't catch it from us (I've worn the antiseptic hand soap down to a sliver), but at least we'll be well enough to handle it if he does.

Three weeks until unemployment...
Last week, I resigned from my job. Hurrah! I've been "back" at work since March - working from home for a few hours most days, but we all agreed that I'd finish up before we went jetting off overseas. So the 16th of June is my first day of unemployment, and I can hardly wait. I've already got some nibbles from potential clients for when I get back to Australia, and a business idea that's been itching to happen for about a year, so hopefully I can get the income ball rolling again shortly after we land.

...and four weeks until I'm on 'un avion'
Like most families with 9-month-old babies, we're headed off to Europe for 12 weeks at the end of June. To say I'm slightly excited is a bit like saying Kevin Rudd's hair is slightly dorky. And I am, and will always be, overwhelmed with gratitude to my father-in-law, without whom the trip would not be financially possible. My folks, too, are being kind and generous enough to fork out for the sailing-in-Croatia part of the journey - an incredible gift considering it was hubby and I who planted the idea in the first place. So Paris, Loches, the Dolomites, Venice, Split, the Adriatic, Dubrovnik, Florence, the Cinque Terre, Perugia, Sicily, Malta, Gozo, Pompeii and Rome - here we come! Woo!

More Boiby Photos

Still bloody cute.
Every day I get requests from my thousands of blog readers for more photos of Mitchell.

That's not true, of course. But here are some more photos of Mitchell.

In the park, saying, "Mummy look! Some horsies pulling a boat!"

Enjoying his new whopper of a playpen, trying to keep his toys from Mummy.

Having a marvellous time in the Pit of Balls and Other Babies' Fluids.

The Winnererremy Mummy Kerfuffle

#@*!!!

Having missed mothers' group for a couple of weeks, I was really looking forward to today's gathering, at one of our favourite venues, The Flying Fox Cafe at Winnererremy Reserve. And it was indeed very pleasant. It was great to catch up with the girls and their various bubs, all of whom seem to be growing at an incredible rate. Mitch is still nearly the biggest, and quite clearly the spewiest.

Whilst sitting him on my knee after a feed, letting him experience the indescribable joy of scrunching up a napkin, I felt a tell-tale quake in the vicinity of his bottom. Before letting it turn into an 'OONE' (pronounced "ooney" - an Out Of Nappy Experience), I gathered up the change bag, scooped up the little tike and took myself off to the baby change room.

False alarm. The botty-quake was no more than hot air. Never mind. I packed away the changing paraphernalia, tucked His Nibs under my arm and turned the door handle. And that's when it fell off. I was locked in! About the time I had assessed the situation and was starting to formulate a solution, Mitchell regurgitated a couple of tablespoons of old, separated milk down my shoulder. Once I had decided not to bang on the door and yell out for help, he had sent another tablespoon or so down the front of my top and into my bra. And at roughly the same time as I had managed to negotiate my mobile phone out of my bag and ring one of the mothers' group girls, he'd chucked another one over my shoulder and into a great puddle on the floor. Bless.

Laughing all this off, I rang Megan, who was sitting at a table not 15 metres away, on the other side of the locked door. No answer. So I tried Pip. No answer. Katrina, Al and Kylie. No answer, no answer, no answer. Bugger. As I wrestled some toilet paper off the roll and attempted to clean us as much sour, curdy vomit as I could, I decided to give Megan one more go. This time she picked up. I explained my predicament, joined in when she cacked herself laughing, and less than a minute later the door was open and I was free!

This is one of the things that I absolutely love about mothers' group: you can emerge from being locked in a bathroom covered in baby chuck, and every single girl in the group will know precisely how you feel.

Boiby Photos

Still the cutest thing in the whole blummin' universe
I'm not being biased, am I?

Three months old

First day at the beach with Dad

Special Delivery #3

The Making of Mitchell - the hard bit.
About four years ago, I competed in a large, full-contact karate tournament. I was in a big room surrounded by many people, all yelling my name and encouraging me to keep going, to ignore the pain, to not give up and to really push myself. Suddenly in the Delivery Suite, I was again in a big room surrounded by a crowd of people yelling much the same stuff.

Only this was much harder.

Dr Nicholl and his protege Tania were there, as well as Alison the Grumpy Midwife and of course my super-husband. Dr Nicholl explained that when I felt a contraction come on, I should push as hard as I could until I couldn't feel the contraction anymore.

It doesn't sound like much in theory - simply push downwards with all the muscles in your body for twenty or thirty seconds, without breathing, then repeat it every couple of minutes for about an hour. On the other hand, it does sound a bit difficult, doesn't it?

The epidural was fading pretty fast now, and the contractions were quite clear. As each one built up, I said "here it comes", then pushed with all my might while hubby, who was right next to me, did a magnificent coaching job. It reminded me of our kickboxing practice sessions, when he would miraculously get me to run around the oval just ooooonce more, when I thought I couldn't. Both obstetricians and Alison the G.M. were also very vocal, and it really did help a lot.

Unfortunately, Fetie wasn't paying much attention. Despite the vocal enthusiasm of my coaches; the physical contortions I was performing with two people pushing my knees back and grinding my elbows into the mattress; and the huffy-puffy I was contributing, the little guy only moved about five centimetres, and his heart rate came through the monitor in increasingly erratic patterns. After nearly ninety minutes, we all congratulated each other on our efforts but agreed with Dr Nicholl's assessment - that Fetie needed forceps - or "the salad servers" as he called them.

I'd be lying if I said I wasn't relieved. I mean, it would have been great to go without the physical trauma of forceps and the accompanying episiotomy, but after an hour-and-a-half of pushing and no pain relief, I was pretty keen to get the whole thing over with. Dr Nicholl gave me a 30-minute rest while the epidural was topped up again (aaaaaaah lovely!), the stirrups and screen were set up and the various pediatricians were summoned to prepare for the arrival.

What seemed like seconds later, Dr Nicholl asked me if I was ready to push again. I certainly was, and my husband/coach kicked into gear right away, with lots of "come on baby!"s and "that's it - you can do it"s at all the right moments. This was, however, a slightly more delicate affair, as the doctors needed to manouvre the forceps and Fetie's head to the right spot without injuring anyone. At some point Tania performed the episiotomy, though I couldn't feel a thing.

Only about three pushes later, hubby was invited down to the Business End to see the arrival of his son. Despite the fact that we'd agreed many weeks previously to keep hubby up at the clean end of my body, he really did think it would be rude to refuse, so down he went. This was the moment that it all became real at last, and it finally sank in that an actual baby was being born. Hubby took one look and said, "Oh my God! I can see an ear!" It's certainly a moment I'll never forget.

Then, two careful pushes later, I could see him. My son. Halfway out, then all the way. Finally, after all these months and the longest day of my life, a little blue baby appeared, arms outstretched and mouth wide open. The emotional impact was indescribable (I'm a bit teary typing this!). In moments he was cleaned and breathing, and was on my chest. "Hello! Hello! Hello! Oh, hello!" was all I could say. It felt so incredibly good to meet him at last, and to have my gorgeous husband there to share the moment with me.

Apparently during the next few minutes the placenta arrived, I was given stitches and the bedclothes were changed, but as far as I was concerned, nothing else happened that day. I just fell in love with my little, battle-scarred boy.

Aw.

Mitchell, Mum & Dad.

Special Delivery #2

The making of Mitchell - the middle
Still a bit vague on the timing of things, I think it was right after I started on the Oxytocin that Mum showed up to the delivery suite. At first I wasn't sure how I felt about having Mum in the room. I was a bit uncomfortable with the idea of her seeing me in pain and full of various tubes. But she was very enthusiastic about being present for at least part of the process of her child having a child, and she promised to only stay until things got yucky. In the end, it was fantastic having her there - she didn't seem half as concerned about my discomfort as when she'd seen me fight in a karate promotion - probably because there wasn't a team of medical staff present at my karate promotion.

Incidentally, one of the reasons I keep making karate analogies is because so far in my life, there have been two major yardsticks of pain and discomfort - giving birth and getting a black belt. And yes, giving birth is more difficult, but a lot safer.

Anyway...
It took about half an hour for me to feel the first contractions come on. I finally realised the difference between the pre-labour cramps I'd been having for a couple of weeks and the real thing. It's like the difference between a tension headache and a full-blown, going-blind-and-throwing-up migraine. I felt it in my belly, in my back and mostly down my legs. I automatically took deep, slow breaths as each one came on, and quickly realised how little that helped! I found myself getting quite ecstatic every time a contraction faded, because the relief was so intense.

After about thirty minutes of contractions, I felt no further need to be brave, and asked for the epidural to start. And that was about as close to real magic as I'm prepared to believe exists. The drugs made the pain disappear completely. I could still feel tension in my belly and my legs when contractions came on, but there was no pain at all. I started to feel so relaxed that I really don't remember much of the next few hours. I may have slept - I'm not sure. I know Mum left around about that time, and a couple of hours later, after an examination confirmed that I was 5cm dilated, hubby took leave to go to the gym around the corner for an hour or so.

It only felt like a few minutes later that the epidural started wearing off, but I'm sure it was much longer. I called hubby to make sure he was on his way back as the contractions started becoming uncomfortable again. Doctors and midwives came and went and made various "hmmm"-ing noises, and at some point hubby returned to his capable-hand-holder role. After another examination it was disovered that I'd dilated to 9cm - quicker than expected! The down-side of that discovery was the decision not to top up the epidural any further, as the second stage of labour was just around the corner.

It struck me ever so briefly that it was nearly time to push, and that after pushing came a real, three-dimensional baby! In between contractions I became quite excited and amazed that the little squirmy bump I'd been chatting to for a few months was going to be outside soon. I also became a bit impatient as the drugs wore off and the contractions felt stronger and stronger. Alison, the slightly grumpy midwife and I tried putting me in different positions to aid my comfort and that of Fetie, and we found that anything except lying on my back made Fetie's heart rate a little erratic. It was fairly entertaining, if a little difficult, trying to experiment with my position whilst I was unable to move my legs at all. Thank goodness for a big strong husband trained in lifting people!

Pretty soon I started to feel something new - a strong urge to go to the loo, or so I thought. I simply assumed that's what it was, because there hadn't been any need for Number Two since early that morning. I ignored it for about 15 minutes, until Alison the Slightly Grumpy Midwife said, "let me know if you feel like you need to do a pooh". So I did. Let her know, that is. And that's when Dr Nichols and Tania-the-Registrar were summoned for the (cue dramatic music) Second Stage of Labour, otherwise known as the pushy-pushy bit. I simply couldn't believe it had come around so fast! Ok, so it had been about 9 hours, but it felt fast after all those lovely drugs.

To be continued...