You want all the gory details?! Read on!
So, giving birth at the young age of twenty was quite a shock to the system and my vagina……..
Actually thinking about it, giving birth at any age is a shock in general.
So that’s it, twenty years old, fadge ruined for life and mentally scarred.
Nah not really…It still works I think. To be honest, I don’t really remember what it was like before! I think I’ve always had to tuck it into my waistband! Just kidding. Sort of.
Honestly, giving birth is outrageously painful but not as bad as I thought it would be. I went on to do it again at twenty four, know what I mean.
I often watch ‘One born every minute’ and wonder why women at 2-3 cm are screaming like someone is hacking at them with a chainsaw. I didn’t feel the need to scream or shout at any stage. I didn’t even hypno-birth, which I now hear is a magical thing!
I went into the experience blind. I didn’t attend any antenatal classes, because I couldn’t stand the judgemental stares off other mums. I looked quite young. I was twenty, in a stable relationship and was financially sound but I just felt intimidated. (Not every mum gave me the disgusted looks might I add, just some.) Attending the classes on my own would also have just tipped me over the edge of cringedom, I think. Mr Feral couldn’t get the time off work, so I just didn’t bother going. In some ways I’m glad I didn’t because I just don’t think anything can prepare you for labour, in my humble opinion.
I also had no birth plan (glad I didn’t because that shit would have gone straight out of the window). I just did a bit of casual reading up. At 10cm you can push, you know, that sort of thing. My birth plan was simple: Push the fucker out with all your might.
I probably should have had a tour of the hospital though. Just to see how incredibly minging it was! Going to the toilet whilst in labour and discovering it was COVERED in blood was not ideal. (Four hours after the last birth by the way!)
I felt sorry for the poor bastard who had to clean it. Needless to say I had a tour of my hospital for the next birth.
Anyway, I digress.
Here are my tales of vaginal ruin and destruction.
Right so I was twenty, already told you that.
I didn’t have a fucking clue what I was doing. Told you that too.
I started getting pains about 10 o’clock at night.
Mr C was out at his mates playing on the PlayStation. He was royally pissing me off so I told him to go out with his mates, because I felt like smashing his face in. I was fat and pissed off that I was overdue.
He came home at about 11pm and I told him what was going on with my pains. He didn’t even bat an eyelid.
See the thing is, I’d had these exact pains a week earlier, for them to all but vanish an hour later.
He thought it was a similar affair, so off we went to bed.
I must have had about an hours sleep when I woke up. The pains were a touch worse so I thought I’d call the hospital.
“Only come in when you feel like you can’t cope anymore” they told me.
I was coping fine, but I just kept thinking how quickly does this labour shit take and how do I know how bad the pain will be before the the baby actually makes an appearance. You know, how long is a piece of string? It was baffling!
I didn’t want to give birth en-route to the hospital. That shit is not magical.
So at 7am I decided I would just go in anyway! Still bossing it, I had pains but nowt major.
On arrival I was examined, 4cm! Get the fuck in! I was nearly half way there and this shit was easy! Hadn’t even sampled the gas and air at this point.
Screams echoed down the corridor! Which was quite off-putting to be honest, but Mr C and I just had a nervous laugh about it and I tried not to look shit scared.
Famous last words….
So the next time I was examined I thought ‘this is it, I will surely be ready to push!’
4cm again! What the actual fuck?!
The midwife told me the contractions had all but stopped. They would need to break my waters to speed things up.
When the midwife came at me with what could only be described as a knitting needle, I knew she wasn’t about to knit me a scarf. I fully shit one. Petrified I was.
A sharp poke seemed to do the job, sped things right up! Fuck my life, I wasn’t cruising anymore. I thought I was fucking dying to be honest. Writing my will out and all sorts.
Mother feral arrived in the nick of time, thank God, as Mr C was sat there complaining of tiredness and moaning about how uncomfortable the chair was. Tit! Could have killed him right there and then.
So, my arse felt like it was going to explode.
By this point, the gas and air had now been fully abused and I kept saying to my mum that my arsehole must look like a cauliflower! I still don’t know why I kept saying that, but it just felt like it was hanging out. Vile, I know but I never said this was a fairytale.
Just as I thought my life was over the midwife peered down into the source of my despair and declared,
“Oh you’re 10cm.. Oh hang on, no your not. I’m just going to leave you a tad longer”
So she just fucked off and left me! That’s right, LEFT me!
So I was on my own with mother feral and Mr C for over an hour! She stuck her head in twice to see how I was, but that was it! I felt neglected and terrified.
I was ringing the bell like a maniac when she decided she had best not leave me again.
I told her in no uncertain terms more pain relief was needed, gas and air wasn’t touching the sides anymore.
Meptid is shit! I really wish I had never had the bloody stuff! Falling asleep just as I was about to start pushing, was not ideal.
So yep, there I am knackered, drugged up pushing..and nothing.
I pushed for an hour, before the doctor was called. Then another hour after that.
The professionals chatted amongst themselves about my options.
“You don’t want the forceps Freya” mother pipes up!
‘Fucking hell mum’ I thought, ‘what happens if I actually NEED them’. Putting the fear of god into me. Very helpful! NOT!
Anyway, Doc decided on the ventouse. The fanny hoover.
Did I mention the doctor was a right unit of a fella! Over six foot odd and built like a brick shithouse.
So that was fairly awful, I obviously loved him inserting his full hamshank hand into my vagina to attach this Hoover job. With about ten people watching.
‘An audience with Freya’s vagina’ if you will.
My dignity fucked right off when I looked up and saw him dragging my baby out with his foot on the bed for leverage. Splendid.
I can’t begin to describe to you ‘the burn’, when the head is coming out! It felt like acid had been thrown on my flaps. It didn’t last that long to be fair as the doctor was still swinging off my fanny and the baby got yanked out fairly quickly! Poor bastard.
So there he was! Bloody gorgeous!
It was all a bit of a blur after that! Everyone says it’s the most special moment of your life holding your baby for the first time, but I was that fucked after the Meptid I can’t even remember it.
I remember the trauma of getting stitched up though. Vom.
I also remember Amelie and Clara ringing me from their feral holiday in Zante totally pissed asking how it went. I’m told I just uttered “fucking awful” and hung up.
I felt euphoric when I woke up two hours after the birth, preening like a goddamn hero.
I was absolutely buzzing with myself and was even more thrilled later on because baby feral slept that WHOLE night in hospital! Absolute result!
The next day I picked my dignity up from the door step of the hospital, and went home to start our new life.
I had stupidly assumed that there would be no more pain after the birth but my lady parts felt like they had been beaten black and blue. Like one massive kick to the flaps…..by a fucking elephant.
Simple tasks were difficult.
I attempted a food shop about two days later and felt like I had run a marathon.
Also, having a wee proved difficult. I had to resort to pouring a cup of water on my bits to stop the vile stinging sensation whilst I was weeing. This worked a treat. Top tip for you there ladies!
Now, let’s not even get me started on breastfeeding! Not only has it left me with coat hanger nipples, but the pain when your milk starts coming in is really quite awful. Mother feral suggested placing cabbage leaves on my boobs. I thought she was pissed again, but it actually worked. A bit of respite from the tenderness.
I didn’t enjoy it and I’m not ashamed to admit that either. I started to introduce bottles after about a month and stopped completely two weeks after that.
Nobody should be made to feel bad about not breastfeeding. I thought I should give it a go, which I did, but it just wasn’t right for me and who are people to judge you? It’s your fucking body!
This was quite different really. I think he practically fell out given the destruction feral child one caused!
I woke up at 1:30 am and thought,
‘yep, something is going on here’
So I had a leisurely shower, did my hair and make-up then strolled into hospital at about 3am.
The midwives left me in the corridor for about an hour and a half because the hospital was full. To be honest, I was fine with that. The pain wasn’t outrageous and I had access to the staff toilets. Winning! I had explosive diarrhoea and the patient toilets weren’t up to scratch.
So, when they were finally ready for me I was put in a bay with a load of women that had just had c-sections.
The midwife hooked me up to a monitor which was frankly a complete waste of time as I was backwards and forwards to the toilet every five minutes. I really have no idea what happened next, but the pain went from zero to ten in about two seconds.
“Get the fucking midwife” I panted at Mr C.
I was 8cm dilated!!! Yes!
Thankfully, some other poor bitch had just had her baby so they whizzed me into the next available delivery suite by wheelchair, because at this stage I sure as hell wasn’t walking.
I kept saying to Mr C,
“That’s it I’m dying, tell me I’m dead”
Have I ever told you that I’m dramatic?
So at about 5:30am I was ready to push. Handy really as Mr C had by now turned into some sort of mute! Absolutely useless! Not an ounce of banter there. I remember trying to start conversations with him to try and take my mind off the pain and that awful familiar sensation again; that my arse was about to explode.
The oldest feral child was due at a party later that day and I said to him,
“I’m glad we don’t have to go to that fucking party” repeatedly, it was just a diversion tactic for me I think.
Anyway, I pushed for an hour again with similar threats of getting the doctor in like my last birth. No way I thought, I’m getting this bugger out.
Hurrah! I pushed him out all by myself this time!
The ‘burn’ was worse this time round though. I felt like it lasted so much longer. I reckon it probably did, as I didn’t have the poor sod yanked out.
Baby feral two arrived at 6:28am after a five hour labour and I remember holding him this time. I must admit it was pretty special.
I thought I’d be home for midday.
Oh no, guess again.
The placenta was stuck!
I was absolutely gutted! Really upset. I couldn’t believe I had been dealt another crappy hand.
The midwives tried everything, but it was a trip to theatre for me and a bastard epidural.. An epidural AFTER I had had the baby! So unfair when I had survived the birth on just gas and air.
In theatre they explained that the placenta would be ‘scraped out’. Lovely!
I thought that meant with some sort of special instrument, but no, some fuckers hand would be doing that job.
I asked to see the chosen one in question and they pointed at a very petite woman who had very small hands. Every cloud and all that.
Still, it’s always quite disturbing seeing someone elbow deep in your vagina.The whole ordeal was over in a few seconds and that I was glad of!
I asked to see the placenta, as you do. (I love shit like that! I didn’t want to eat it like, I’m no Kardashian.)
And that was that, back on the ward, temporarily paralysed, a new baby to contend with and another overnight stay in the hospital.
I was spoiled by my first born, as he slept through the night but this one was something else!
Mad for the breast! I literally fed him all night till my nipples were hanging off! He just wouldn’t settle at all.
The midwife came in and asked me if I had been up all night to which I sorrowfully replied “yes”. She asked if I wanted to try a bottle. What a wonderful lady, I could have kissed her! None of this ‘breast is best’ or turning her nose up when I replied “yes please!”
Anyway, the little bugger went straight to sleep after that. My A cups obviously weren’t enough for him.
Toilet visits were fine afterwards. No need for the magic cup, even though I’d had stitches again.
I was out and about relatively quickly.
I even went and had my hair cut about a week later and the hairdresser asked me when I was due, I felt absolutely mortified! Not exactly what you want to hear when you have about four stone of baby weight to lose. I must have looked a bag of shite even though I felt fabulous. She should have seen me after baby one, I was a physical mess for weeks!
Anyway, that’s me.
I do love a good birth story! I’m a huge sicko and even if I don’t know the person that well, I want all the gore.
Come on follow my lead and tell me about how your arse felt like it was exploding too.
I can’t bloody wait.
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