Birth story – Stuntboy gets revved up…

This is Stuntboy’s birth story. He is the youngest son of Helen Neale, who blogs over at Mummys Little Stars as part of her Reward Charts business, KiddyCharts. He is now five, and though rather lovely, doesn’t half wear her out. Helen also has a personal blog at Stickers, Stars and Smiles. She can be found far too much faffing about on social media when she should be washing up, cooking, cleaning, or indeed, working; by writing and selling stuff.

It all began with a smack on the arse from rather a fresh-faced young lad…
Most people wouldn’t have got in a car for a 45 minute drive to see a friend when they were 2 days overdue.
As you may already know though, I am not most people…so erm, I did.
i was already feeling a little peculiar. I had a sweep the day before, because, well, I was getting rather impatient. So was Chatterbox, my eldest daughter; though at nineteen months she wasn’t expressing it quite as frequently or vocally as I was.
Being rear-ended in the car, by someone who had possibly only just passed his test, while he was on the phone, may have made Stuntboy decide he wanted out.
It certainly made for an interesting expression on the face of said teen when he got out the car and saw the size of the lady he’d just smacked into.
White…
Sheet…
Spring to mind.
I suspect that he won’t be using his phone again while driving; hitting pregnant ladies up the arse will do that to you.
Upon exchange of pleasantries, and much apologies from him, I got back in the car and carried on to the friend for lunch. I should have gone home then. But I was only 5 minutes from her, so that seemed silly…at the time.
I was in the middle of the lunch was when I realised that the close encounter with the teenager may have sped things up a bit. Who knows? However, the contractions began as I was tucking in. And by the end of lunch I thought that perhaps it was best to declare this to my lovely host.
Luckily, she had a little boy herself, so she didn’t panic. Far from it, she just suggested I get home fast. She even offered me a lift.
However, I have already mentioned I am not most people. So in true nutter style, I declined and drove the car home myself, while in the early stages of labour.
In hindsight, this was not the most sensible of things to do. I blame hormonal fog. Or stupidity. Or a rather misplaced sense of having to be independent. Whatever the reason, I phoned Brad, told him not to rush as the last labour had taken about 30 hours, got in the car and drove 45 minutes to our house.
It was during the journey that I realised that things weren’t going quite as slow as the last time. Stuntboy was being true to his name, and was rather determined to come out into the world faster than his big sister. Been competing with her ever since.
I phoned Brad to hurry him along. I then got the friend I had just left to take Chatterbox overnight. When she arrived with me an hour or so later, husband was back and I wasn’t able to talk through contractions. That wise friend told me to get to hospital fast, because if the pain was that unbearable it was likely that the labour was progressing fast.
Brad got me in the car and we phoned the hospital on the way.
“How far apart are your contractions?” they said. They seemed to be trying to put me off going…
“Don’t know – hang on – bit hard to talk, quite painful. Maybe three minutes, not sure, hang on…”
“Are you sure you need to come?”
“We are on our way, I need to come. I know I do.”
“Are you certain?”
“YES I definitely well am. We’re in the car!”
“OK. IF you’re on your way.”
Thank goodness we were on our way, as otherwise Stuntboy may have had a very different birth story. I a 100% certain the nurse was that close to sending us home again. I may have sworn in fact, but I can’t actually remember. I like to think I was the epitome of polite. However, the fact that I was actually in rather a lot of pain may have meant I swore vociferously. Thank goodness for mother’s intuition though; Stuntboy was born just over an hour after we got there you see…
When we arrived, we discovered why they weren’t keen for us to come.
I demanded asked politely for an epidural and was told there was only one more delivery room left.
It was a low risk room
There wasn’t a cat in hell’s chance I would be allowed an epidural *bugger*
So gas and air only for me again. I swore I wouldn’t do that again after it was all I had with Chatterbox through some misplaced need to be an almost-earth mother. I hadn’t been able to get that breathing thing right with Chatterbox, so, guess what? Couldn’t get it right this time either…had to give up trying…Stuntbox was born sans painkillers *Ouch*
The midwife we had examined me and discovered I was already 6-7cm dilated and too far gone for one anyway. The baby was also back to back, so we had to work hard to move him around.
This was the point I finally got a bit worried. Chatterbox was back to back, and the labour had gone on for what felt like days. In the end, I had had to have a Ventouse delivery, after a spinal block because they hadn’t spotted it early enough and she got stuck. I didn’t want a repeat. I adopted all positions known to man, woman, and single person’s Karma Sutra to try and turn the little blighter, with midwife and Brad cheering on from the sidelines…
..and thank Christ he turned…
I wanted to push like hell…and then I remembered that I hadn’t done this before. Chatterbox was Ventouse, and I didn’t know what the hell I was doing? I hadn’t done any of this but before; they got Chatterbox out with the gynecological version of tweezers!
Now again, most people might have thought that BEFORE they actually got to the final stages of birth, rather than when they were actually in the middle of it. However, I am not most people. I think I may have said that already.
So without a clue what I was doing, I followed the instincts of my body, and screamed like a bloody banshee. Despite being of the quite reserved sort of lady normally *honest*
Doing the banshee worked; Stuntboy landed. Making his first spectacular entrance into the world.
He was born with a shout of “It’s a boy!” from the midwife.
Followed by me thinking that Brad was supposed to say that…no-one read the birth plan in all the chaos…can’t say I blame them; and I’ll forgive the midwife. That wonderful woman got him to turn round, and delivered him fast. So, suite frankly, I love her. Just wish I could have had some pain relief…
However, in the end none of it really mattered then. He was here, our beautiful boy. We had done it. He had the most gorgeous black eyes. Never seen anything like them since. Deep dark pools. He looked like he was taking it all in even then. He hasn’t stopped since.
It was only 7 hours since that smack on the arse.
Not bad, Stuntboy, not bad.

Thank you Helen for writing your birth story for my blog! Really different from my stories!
You can also find and get in touch with Helen:

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