Healthy Fundraising. Putting Children’s Health first.

We all know we should eat more fruit and vegetables, and less processed foods. We also should cut down on salt and fat. As a nation, 61% of us are overweight, and nearly a quarter of us are obese. And our cancer rates are rising. At school, we should promote healthy eating, and provide safe nutritious food for our children. I’d like to argue that we replace our regular sausage sizzle with some healthy alternatives. Here’s why:

A sausage in bread contains twice the daily allowance of salt for children.

The Australian Division of World Action on Salt and Health (AWASH) warn that only 2% of sausages in Australian supermarkets meet acceptable salt levels. AWASH revealed that one single sausage sandwich could contain as much as 6 grams of salt; 100% of the maximum daily recommended amount for adults and almost double that recommended for children. Other products commonly eaten at barbecues, such as hamburger patties, tomato sauce and white breads, are also high in salt.

Processed meats (sausages) are carcinogens.

The World Cancer Research Fund advised eliminating processed meat from the diet. That’s bacon, ham, pastrami, hot dogs, bologna, sausage, pepperoni, beef jerky, liverwurst, and certain kinds of ground beef and meatballs. They are considered carcinogens.

A study, published in the British Journal of Cancer, found the risk of developing pancreatic cancer increased by 19 percent from eating the equivalent of one sausage per day.

World Cancer Research Fund announced that eating just one sausage a day increases the chances of developing bowel cancer by 20 percent.

Aside from this, most Australians eat only half the amount of fruit and vegies recommended. The government recommends 2 serves of fruit and 5 serves of vegies each day. Eating plenty of fruit and vegies not only contributes to good health, but also protects against a number of diseases and helps maintain a healthy weight.

Here are some ideas to replace the sausage sizzle with nutritious, low fat, low salt options. I’m hoping we could trial some of these alternatives to promote healthy eating and show our commitment to children’s health.

BBQ corn cobs, veggie burgers (with wholemeal bread, salad and  coleslaw), and veggie kebabs.

Pumpkin soup, vegetable fried rice, pancakes.

Fruit Muffins and savoury muffins (these suggestions are from the NSW Department of Health “Healthy Alternatives to Sausage Sizzles”).

Fruit kebabs or fruit platters, vegetable pasta dishes.

Air popped popcorn, homemade muesli bars, healthy cookies, banana bread.

I’m happy to provide recipes, source ingredients, cook, and coordinate  for events.

Baby-Led-Weaning vs spoon-fed.

You’ve heard of baby-led-weaning (BLW), right?  When the baby is ready for solids, you give them a selection of finger foods to feed themselves, instead of choosing for them, pureeing and spoon feeding.  (You don’t have to stop breastfeeding).  Well my first child was fed the traditional way (spoons and mush),  but I did baby-led-weaning with my second.  They both ate really well as babies, refusing nothing.  Number 1 continued to eat everything in the vegetable kingdom.   So imagine my surprise when number 2, my Sumo-baby, put down his broccoli tree, and never picked it up again.  I’d given him free choice of whatever he could shove in his mouth, and he’d rejected vegetables. 

It’s been a battle of wills ever since.  I’d put vegies on his plate, he’d eat around them.  I’d put salad in a bowl on the table, he’d pop a few pieces on his plate, but they were strictly garnish.  I’d encourage him to taste some each time, but my reward was his mask of disgust and it’s accompanying shudder.  “Good boy for trying” I’d say, relentlessly positive. 

In the meantime, I’d make dishes with as much “built-in vegies” as I could get away with.  Wholemeal pasta with vegan-bolognaise made a regular appearance.  Carrot cake too.  On a bad week I’d pull out the baked beans, because they count as vegetables, I’d tell myself.  But disguising veg and counting legumes wasn’t a solution.  I needed strategies to change his attitude.

The mighty power of bribery.

I know what you’re thinking.  Eat your vegies or you don’t get dessert, right?  Well that never worked.  He steadfastly refused the vegies anyway. So here’s what I did, and it worked.  At morning tea time: “Who wants crackers and dip?” ME! “Here’s your dip, and a bunch of carrot sticks – when you’ve eaten the carrots you get the crackers”.  Starting with just a few, the carrots got eaten.  After a while there was no complaint about the carrots.  Sometimes there didn’t need to be crackers to follow.  Now he’ll happily eat carrots by themselves.  Without dip.  I may have lost the battle 2000 times, but eventually, I won the war.

The challenge of competition.

We also engage in vegetable challenges: like bean-eating races.  First person to devour their bean is the winner.   Another favourite: who can do the best impression of a monster eating a tree? Who can make their muscles bulge by eating vegetables, like Popeye (“who’s Popeye?”).

Strategic advances.

And what of my strategy of perseverance?  Serving vegies in a variety of ways, although they are always met with disdain?  I choose to believe that it’s working.  He’s only 4, and he now likes carrots.  I take great enthusiasm from the Great Carrot Coup of 2012.  If I can get him eating other plants, albeit under sufferance, sooner or later he’s going to realise that they’re pretty good.  I’ve got many more years to enamour him with the rest of the vegetable universe. 

I also figure, that maybe some vegetables get in through osmosis, just by being on the same plate.  We’re also working on another picture book, where eating vegies gives you super powers.  These psychological strategies will pay off one day: I’ve heard him say that Honk (Incredible Hulk) is strong because he eats all his vegetables. 

So now I’ve got baby number 3, and she’s well and truly eating solids.  I’m not game to do BLW exclusively, just in case it had a role in the vegetable war.  She gets a happy mix of finger foods and spoonfuls of mush.  So far, she likes all types of food.  But even if she does declare war on veggies, like her brother did, she doesn’t stand a chance against my relentless optimism. 

Mostly solids just roll off the stay-dry linings of nappies, but every now and then they need a hand.  Not my hand, thanks, but a medium-pressure stream of water that goes straight into the toilet.  There are devices on the market designed for exactly this purpose, or you can build your own.  DIY is much cheaper and it comes with the satisfaction that only “do it yourself” projects have.

Lets go shopping

Take a trip to your local hardware store or somewhere that sells plumbing and gardening supplies. I went to one that rhymes with cunnings.  There you’ll find a trigger sink spray, that comes with the long flexible hose ($18).  Sold separately is a kind of double adapter that fits it to the water source of the toilet (sorry, didn’t notice the price).  That’s one way of doing it. 

But if you want a more pimped-up spray gun: troll the gardening aisle for a trigger spray attachment, or a pistol nozzle.  Mine cost $4, and looks like a weapon Lara Croft might wield.

Wander over to the plumbing section.  You’ll find a flexible hose for $10.  Ask the plumbing guru to help you with the attachments (a threaded pipe nipple $1.80, plus a double adapter thingy).

Take it home and put it all together: there you have it: a DIY spray gun, under $20.

This was written by my 5 year old son (with a bit of help from me).  It is based on a true story*.

*true: we really did see an enormous pair of undies on the way home from school.

Political Message shirts

I love political message shirts.  I made my first one for a protest against mandatory detention, back in the Howard era. I found a shirt with Arabic writing along the top, so I wrote TERRORIST underneath.   It parodied the hysteria of the time, so was a hit in activist circles.  Whenever I wore it,  I had people coming up to me, asking if I could make them one.  So I made them.

I’ve made a few other t-shirts,  often using stencils and spray paint.  My favourite is a stencil of Barack Obama.  Now I can wear his face on my shirt… but I really want his voice on my phone’s GPS (I need all the confidence I can get when following directions). 

Vegan Activism

With 3 children, my usual style of vegan activism is to bring a tray of super-enticing vegan food to morning tea at playgroup/kindy, with a little sign saying “vegan”.  Chocolate cupcakes with white icing and cherries on top were really effective.  The immediate effect is get people talking about what’s in their food; it generates recipe swapping and talk about veganism.  Over time, there is a gentle shift in the culture to include vegan food in all morning teas, where once there was none.  I’ve seen a couple of mums go vegan, and a few others commit to vegetarianism.

Carcinogenic Culture

Now my biggest child is at school, I am up against a culture of sausage sizzles.  At every event there’s carcinogenic processed meat being fried; there’s no vegan-friendly or even vegetarian alternatives.  To elicit some change in this tradition, I’m going to have to get involved in all the organising committees.  Last year I tried to be a committee mum (at kindergarten) but failed, due to the overwhelming sickness of pregnancy.  I was absent at most of the meetings or I was silenced by nausea.  But this year will be different: it’s the first of many years as a school mum and I’m not silenced by the nausea of pregnancy. I’m wearing my position loudly on my shirt; I’m determined that my kids not be overlooked in a carcinogenic culture. I hope to introduce healthy, environmentally-friendly food to social events, and ensure that no one is excluded because of catering decisions.  I don’t expect the whole school to go vegan, but I do expect inclusion for all children in the diverse school community.

Hubby’s put up with a lot from my hair.  There was the many years of dreadlocks, rough as rope and always unwashed.  In order for me to sleep comfortably I’d have to splay them out on the pillow, away from my face and neck.  The long velcro snakes would go slithering across the pillow and into his face.  He’d often wake up with a nasty dread imprint on his cheek.  But he didn’t mind.

He didn’t even complain when I started coming to bed with various foul scented potions on my hair.   This happened about a year ago when my happy easy dreadlocks got a bit itchy.  Usually that meant it was time to wash my hair.  So I shampooed (a fairly rare occurrence I’ll grant you).  It still itched.  I sprayed some aloe vera on my scalp, in case it was dry.  Itch.

Then I noticed the kids had itchy heads.  It was the height of summer and their sweaty little heads seemed to have some heat rash.  Ever the optimist, I treated them for heat rash.  Then we heard that there’d been some head lice at kindy.  Suddenly the slight itch turned into a totally convincing crawling, biting sensation.  I imagined bugs the size of helicopters with sharp, pointy teeth going “nyah”.  I bet you’re get itchy just reading this. Scritchity scratch.

I started treating for head lice. The kids were easy – conditioner and a fine tooth comb.  My head was a whole different story.  I’d had dreads twice before and lost them to head lice each time, so I was familiar with the problem.  You can’t comb the critters out.  I was also pregnant, so I couldn’t put anything too noxious on my head.  I was left with a bunch of home remedies and “natural” products that were safe.

Remedies for head lice while dreadlocked and pregnant

Here’s what I tried (not what I recommend).  Methylated spirits – tip full bottle on head (in well ventilated place), cover hair with plastic bag, leave for as long as you can bear.  I found that if you wrap a  towel on top, you can go several hours before the alcohol runs relentlessly down your neck and into your face.

Vinegar – as above, but leave it in.  Olive oil – supposed to stun the critters.  Combine with vinegar for a gourmet head lice remedy.  Didn’t work, but I went well with salad.

Anti-dandruff shampoo – leave it in overnight.  Essential oils – individually and in lotions – leave in for several days.  Neem oil – incredibly greasy and smelly – leave in for several weeks.

Store bought “natural” lice treatments. Chemical lice treatments (carefully chosen for pregnancy).  Heat via a hairdryer with a towel cocoon on head.  Heat via a hair straightener.  Several other remedies which I’ve surely forgotten and various combinations of all of the above.  All up, I spent hundreds of dollars on products and had very smelly greasy hair for about 4 weeks.   Much of our bedding succumbed to the fumes, grease and smells, but hubby never lost his sense of humour.

One day I just couldn’t stand the smell of neem oil/vinegar/assorted other lice treatments any longer.  I’d tried everything and my hair was still itchy.  I suspected the critters were gone, if indeed they’d ever been there at all.  But I knew I’d never get rit of the psychological itches until i got rid of my dreads.  I handed hubby the kitchen scissors, and took a seat.

Hair by Hubby wasn’t too bad at first.  It was short but spikey.  I got a few hair cuts that looked ok post dreads, but it quickly reverted to hideous. I even got it re-cut  at the same place that did it well, with a terrible result.  I just had to grow it long.  So that’s what I’ve been doing for the last 10 months, and its look terrible for most of that time.  It’s shoulder length at the back, but shapeless.  I’m pretty scared of hairdressers, because it always seems to end up worse.  But seeing as hubby has finally noticed, I figured I’d better get a hair cut.

Note to self: when asked “layers or one length?” the answer is NEVER layers.

Or this might happen. This is not me.

I once had a haircut even worse than the one pictured: mine had the long wispy bits all the way around at the front too.  They floated up my nose and in my mouth, irritating me to tears.  I had a 360 degree mullet.  I went back to the London hair academy (where I had stupidly agreed to be a hair model) and burst into tears. “Just shave it off” I sobbed through melodramatic tears.

I looked pretty crap with a bald head, but at least I didn’t have wispy mullet dregs going up my nose.

Today’s hairdo isn’t as bad as that.  It turned out horrible, but I don’t think its much worse than it was.  I can still hide it with clips.  Damn those little critters getting into my dreads… or was I just imagining them?  Scritchity scratch.

The first I heard of this issue was few weeks ago when a customer asked me to repair the elastic in one of her nappies (Extremely Nappies have a 12 month guarantee). She sent it to me and I was surprised to see that the clear elastic was broken in several places. I replaced it and sent the nappy back.

Since then she’s returned several other nappies for elastic repairs. I was thinking that perhaps her laundry powder was the culprit, because no one has ever had this problem before.  But just then, one of my own nappies came down with a case of broken elastic. It was a new nappy (5 weeks old), and my washing powder is fine. So I realised, with a sinking feeling, there’s something wrong with the elastic.

Naturally I panicked.  This could be the end of Extremely Nappies. Breaking elastic is a disaster for the reputation of my nappies. People will notice leaking (from gaping legs) before they notice breakage.  It’s taken years to build my brand- a good reputation and word of mouth sales are essential; those things are both compromised by this malfunction.

I emailed my supplier to let them know there was a problem with the clear elastic and to ask if they’d had such reports from other customers. They called to give me the bad news: all the clear elastic sold in the last 10 months has caused problems.  There have been several different types.  It all tested ok, but several months down the track, complaints started coming in about it’s performance in the real world.

I’ve bought 100 meters of clear elastic in that time. That’s a lot of nappies.

So I am writing this blog to disclose the problem and offer a solution. If you have an Extremely Nappy, you may have defective elastic in the legs. You also have a 12 month warranty on materials and workmanship! So send it back and I’ll replace the elastic, free of course.  Or alternatively, contact me to send you the replacement elastic.  It’ll be cut to the right length, and it’s easy to sew.  You may never need to use it.

Extended Warranty

I’m also extending the warranty on all Extremely Nappies to 18 months.  So you can relax. Your nappies will be covered if you run into problems down the track.  I’m very glad Extremely Nappies have a warranty, but unhappy that people may be inconvenienced by repairs.  

Other Australian MCN businesses are likely to be effected too, because the clear elastic I use, comes from a major supplier of MCN materials; a big wholesaler in Australia.  My business is tiny, a micro-business.  If they’ve sold me 100 meters of potentially defective elastic, they must have sold millions of meters to the bigger nappy retailers. 

Finally, I want to apologise for any inconvenience this malfunction may cause.  Extremely Nappies are made from the best quality materials available, and I would never knowingly use an inferior material.  As  customers, you have trusted me to make a good product. You invested in me, and I have a relationship with each and every one of you.  Your satisfaction is essential to me.  

I hope to make you all happy, despite this hurdle.  In that way, perhaps Extremely Nappies might survive.

I reckon you should get an extra hand each time you have a baby. Don’t you think that’s fair? So I’d have 5 hands by now and would be able to multitask really well. I could type my blog, while breast feeding the baby, while playing cards with the boys, whilst sewing nappies.  My head is sometimes trying to do all these things at once, so it’d be nice if my body kept up.

This year I was one of 3 kindy mums who was pregnant with our 3rd.  We each had 2 boys already.  i also had 2 friends pregnant with their first.  We all kept it a surprise, and so far we have all had baby girls.  There’s one mum left to give birth, (who already has 2 boys) and she’s been watching with increasing panic this wave of baby girls being born, because it seems like we’re using up all the girls.  Illogical; but understandable.  Is there a quota?  Do our 50-50 odds stay the same despite the birth patterns around us?

When i lived in Indonesia i used to tell my street punk friends about life in Australia.  They particularly liked the concept of hard rubbish (kerbside collection); they’d be blown away that people actually throw out perfectly good bikes, white goods, TVs, and furniture.  And indeed, when we arrived in Oz 4 years ago, most of our belongings came from hard rubbish.  Until recently, everything in our house was acquired second hand.  Something has changed.  As things break or become inadequate for our growing family, we’ve been replacing them with actual new things. Covered by warranty. 

For instance, I bought a new washing machine.  I know, I’m becoming a consumerist, sucked in by the capitalist machine and manipulated into buying stuff in the "big sales" – but truth is, I’ve never bought anything new and never needed to, but suddenly we can afford it and we need to upsize everything. Also, there’s been nothing else to do but shop when it’s raining every day over the holidays.  I suspect a lot of the present economic recovery is thanks to appalling weather.  And although it’s hard to get stuff dry, my nappies have never been cleaner.  I didn’t know washed nappies could smell so fresh! 

Happy 2011 everyone!  I’m really looking forward to this year… my oldest boy starts school, which is going to be awesome (for us both!).  I’m predicting glorious morning walks to school, peaceful days(without the boys fighting), Zumba classes (for me), karate classes and swimming (for him).  I’ll be allowed to start running again too, for which I‘m doing my Kegels diligently.  I feel so good when I’m super fit, and so crap when I miss a day of exercise.

My baby girl gets bigger and more beautiful each day, and already some of her handmade dresses are designated dolls clothes.  I can’t wait till she’s big enough to play with dolls (and I can’t believe I just said that.)  Little guy is now 3 which has gotta be better than 2.  He’s super cute and ultra naughty.  I look forward to seeing how all my kids change and grow in this year.

What are you hoping for this bright and shiney new year? 

Nine days ago, I gave birth to my third baby.  It wasn’t too bad, as far as childbirth goes.  It didn’t go exactly as I’d imagined in my fantasy, but it was pretty close.  In fact, I’d say it was better.  Here’s the story.

I was scheduled for induction at 5 am.  I was pretty keen to spontaneously erupt, so the night before D-day I walked up a small mountain, pressed the relevant acupressure points, jumped on the trampoline etc.  Mild contractions started at 3 am.  Yes!  I was going to beat the induction.

Mum was home, ready for the kids to wake up, so hubby and I headed to the hospital in the wee hours, as arranged.  We parked a few streets away and walked 10 minutes up the hill to the labour ward.  After admission, I laboured on with not too much pain while the staff changed shift from night to day staff.  I didn’t feel like dancing; hubby was doing his best with the acupressure points, but I was pretty tired and just wanted to lie on the bed.   Someone suggested I try the shower before the day staff came in and got things moving.  So I stood in the shower with hot water on my back and my tummy simultaneously – it felt awesome: I could have stayed there all day, but then the staff were back and it was time.  

At 9 am they broke my waters and hooked me up to a monitor to see my contractions.  Because there was meconium in the waters they wanted the baby out soon.  They went about preparing the drip to speed things along.  My contractions were strong enough, but not quite regular enough.  I was having 2 in 10 minutes, but I needed to be having 4 in that time.  Just tell me what to do, I said.  By the time the drip was ready, I’d been having 4 strong contractions every 10 minutes.  Keep this up and you won’t need the drip at all, they said.  Yes!  I beat the drip.

The contractions gained intensity and I found myself asking for the gas. My moans were getting louder and longer: I was so uncomfortable on the bed but unable to move.  The gas spun me right out,  the radio was playing trippy music and only the pain of contractions kept bringing me back to earth.  I think I even slept between contractions at one point.  This went on for an hour before I started to feel pressure down below; I was gesturing to my bits during contractions: words had gone out the window.  The pressure kept getting stronger, and I knew it wouldn’t be long before baby was out. 

“I think I want to push soon.  Tell me what to do!” I said to my midwife.  She said she’d get the baby doctor here soon so I could start pushing with the next contraction.  At this point, contractions were so painful that I was howling through them.  I tried to breath, I tried to relax, but all I could do was scream and howl, and suck on the gas.  The pressure was getting unbearable; I was gesturing wildly.  I had a strong feeling that the baby would be here very soon.

“OK Lara, with the next contraction, I want you to push.  No more gas, no more screaming.  Hold your breath and push”.  The next contraction came and I started screaming but my midwife told me firmly, once more, how to shut up and push, which is what I needed to hear.  I located the switch in my brain that flicked from dealing with the pain to using the pain: I began to push.  I felt the baby descend in the birth canal, that same feeling of control that I felt when my second son was being born.  It was an “aha” moment… I actually said “oh, right, that!”.  Keep telling me what to do, I told her.

Each contraction my midwife told me again to push, (and how to push), and I flicked that switch and pushed.  Hubby was holding my hand and saying encouraging things- he was down the business end and could see what was going on.  I was flying blind.  I must have been doing something right because there was almost no break between the contractions and the pressure had become searing burning pain.  I was screaming and pushing; I almost couldn’t stop. 

“You have to wait for the baby doctor” said my midwife. “Breath, breath, breath” she said.  I breathed instead of pushing for as long as I could but then I couldn’t stop myself… “Pushing! Pushing” I said. The paediatrician must have arrived because I was suddenly allowed to push as much as I wanted.  But I didn’t want to anymore- the pain was too insane.  I looked into my husband’s eyes and said to him “no more babies”.  He agreed with great emotion.  Then, I was pushing; everyone was cheering me on; hubby said “one more push!” and I pushed through the pain and out came the baby. 

I was stunned. I’d done it. There was a slimy, bluey-grey baby. One second ago it was inside my body, and now it was here.  Hubby said, “ITS A GIRL!”  In disbelief, I said “No way! I don’t believe you.  SHOW ME!” They lifted up my baby for me to see, and placed her on my chest.  A girl! We have a daughter. Hubby smiled at me with tears in his eyes and said “No more babies”. I was too stunned to say anything.

That feeling of disbelief has stayed with me until now.  I look at her beautiful little face, her perfect skin and dark wavy hair, and just can’t believe she’s here.  I can’t believe we have a girl.  After having two sons, I guess I just expected another boy.  All my friends from growing up have had sons.  In fact, all the girls I know from high school have had sons. Not one of us has had a single daughter.  Until now.

So how did the actual birth compare to my imagined story?  Labour was spontaneous, although racing the induction clock probably helped.  The pain was only really bad from when my waters broke, so for about 2 hours, and I only pushed for about 10 minutes!  Hubby said it was only 5 pushes!  The little lady arrived with no major damage to either of us.  She weighed 3.48 kg and breast fed straight away. There was no need for stitches, and they let us go home the next day. 

These last 9 days have been amazing (as well as challenging, of course).  It’s great to be home.  The little lady is quite settled here: she’s used to the chaos of our house.  Her brothers think she’s wonderful, and our families are thrilled.  I was walking the streets today, showing her the world from her pram, and I couldn’t get the smile of my face.  The process of giving birth still seems ridiculously brutal, but it’s so totally worth it.

First Baby: Nightmare birth.

It was February 2006.  Hubby and I lived in Indonesia but had come to Melbourne for the birth.  It was a glorious summer- we’d been riding bikes along the beach to St Kilda, swimming in the ocean, strolling around the street markets.  I was one day past my due date: it was midnight and Fight Club was on TV, when contractions started.  They must’ve gone all night but I got some sleep in between, and then they continued next day.  I went to the hospital when things were getting too much.  I remember the 25 minute car trip was hell, as I didn’t want to be sitting down and couldn’t bear the seatbelt.

First babies are notoriously slow and difficult, and this was no exception.  After 12 hours I was only dilated 2 cm, which seriously depressed me. I’d been coping with the pain until then, but it was sort of like when you’ve sat through 4.5 hours of tattooing and you know you just about reached your limit, and they tell you there’s 10 hours to go.  I thought I’d need some pain relief as I was exhausted, and still had such a long way to go.  So I got an epidural.  Big mistake.  I must be super sensitive to drugs because it made me pass out, and when i came to, I couldn’t speak, or could only mutter incoherent nonsense.  It was self administered, so I’d have to push the button to get the pain relief.  When my brain swam back into a semi- functioning state, I stopped pushing the button.  I couldn’t feel my body and had no control over it, but the pain continued. All was fuzzy and confusing. Hours passed and I still couldn’t communicate. 

Then they were telling me to push.  I couldn’t feel if was pushing or not, but whatever was going on, it wasn’t working.  I was howling in pain, but if I pushed the button I’d pass out.  I was trapped in this torturous state of pain – my mind numbed, my body unresponsive.  I was shaking violently and freezing cold, but they wouldn’t let me have a blanket because I was burning up (40 degree temperature). For an hour or so I was pushing and screaming and crying, but nothing was happening.  The drugs had rendered me physically incompetent, and unable to communicate.

Then baby was in distress: people came running with lights and machinery, suddenly there was people everywhere and a cacophony of intervention ensued.  My birth plan said to try vaccuum first, which was hurled across the room when it failed.  Baby was stuck in the birth canal, and they needed to get him out fast. They figured I’d been pushing my button for pain relief so I was given an episiotomy without anaesthetic and then a forceps delivery which was more brutal and horrific than I could ever imagine, and yes, I felt it all.  I was still screaming minutes later, consumed by my own pain and misery.  I had no concept of there being a baby in the room, until they placed him on my chest.  I saw it was a boy, and my first thought was “thank god he’s a boy- he’ll never have to go through that again”.   It was a 23 hour labour and I was traumatised.

I felt suicidal for the first few days- my body was mutilated and I couldn’t imagine ever recovering.  The baby picked up a bug on the long journey out, when I was burning up, so he spent the first week of his life in neonatal intensive care.  That whole first week was horrific, but the baby was perfect: 3.5 kg.  My body healed eventually (much to my amazement).  I swore I’d never do it again.

Second Baby: Dream birth.

It was New Years Day, in Brisbane, 2008. My due date was tomorrow, and I woke up grumpy that this birth had not begun. By 9 am I knew it was finally happening, and my mood brightened immeasurably.  I felt calmly excited as contractions established themselves.  Hubby and I got on with our day: we walked around the streets with our 2 year old son; I collected fallen flowers, moaning but not stopping through contractions.  I bounced on my fit ball, downloaded some acupressure points and drew them on my body so hubby would know exactly where to press.  I started timing contractions from 1pm: they were  3-7 minutes apart and ranged from 40-90 seconds long. They were definitely gaining in strength but still very bearable so I felt like it was just pre-labour.  I’d had weeks of contractions the first time, so I thought things were still a long way off.

I rang the hospital at 4 pm when my mum insisted, and no one answered. It’s New Years Day, so probably the hospital is shut, I joked.  Eventually I got through to a midwife who said I should come in or I might end up having the baby in the car. Surprised, I got the last of my stuff together and said goodbye to my 2 year old, who’d be staying home with my mum. The slightly frenzied state of activity brought contractions closer together, maybe every 2 mins.

We arrived at the hospital at 6 pm and I was in a great mood. I was joking with the midwives and could still laugh during contractions. They gave us a great room with big windows overlooking the city. I was able to watch night fall, leaning on the window during contractions while hubby “pushed the button” to activate the acupressure points drawn on my shoulders and bum in marker pen. The pressure points really helped, relaxing the pain away while strengthening the contraction to do its job. The pain was halved. I spent a while dancing around the room to a mixed tape I’d made.  The pain got more intense.  I tried out the shower, fit ball, beanbag and floor mat and avoided the bed.

At 7 pm I asked for an examination to see how far I was dilated: 6-7 cm. Awesome!  After that things started getting full on. Clearly this was NOT pre-labour; I could no longer stand up for contractions. I was getting tired so I stopped dancing, and tried to rest in a position where I could quickly be ready for the next one because they were coming fast and hard. I had a hard time getting the midwife’s attention to ask for gas, as the moans turned into howls. I was kneeling on the floor with the beanbag and hubby. He asked her when could I start to push, she replied “anytime she wants, she’s  fully dilated”.  By the sounds I was making, she could tell I was in transition.  It sounded primal.

She asked if I felt like pushing but I couldn’t really tell if I was already pushing or not, the pressure was so great. I felt wet suddenly as my waters began to trickle. I sucked on the gas and exhaled in long screams as things shifted into extreme. Some women were there suddenly and they said his head’s down really low, but it’s still in its membrane and that seems to be pulling him back. I could feel his head move down and back, so I let them rupture the membrane and water went everywhere.
They encouraged me to push instead of screaming, to use the pain to get him out. They were right, I realized, because screaming was like trying to block out the pain and resist the urge. The screaming was involuntary, but if I really tried I could convert the energy into effort to move the baby out. When that became clear I suddenly connected with my baby, and began talking to him by name.  I conceptualized working together to achieve an outcome, rather than being stuck in a zone of “me against the pain”.

I could feel his head getting further down the birth canal, and I felt in control, sort of. I was still fighting the pain but began to have thoughts like “I really want to meet you, I want you out”. It helped that I was so thoroughly OVER being pregnant and waiting for labour. It actually felt like something that I was doing rather than something that was happening to me.

The midwife told hubby to hit the call button and women filled the room. They were really encouraging. I managed to say”keep talking to me” as I’d felt really alone until then. They were great, talking me through what I was doing and directing me. I was so immersed in pain and determination, screaming and trying to push. I still had the gas but was crushing the mouth piece with my teeth. The Dr said, don’t worry about the gas, hold your breath and push. It hurt like crazy and I wanted to scream but I pushed (and screamed and grunted). I could feel the baby actually turn in the birth canal. “He wants out” they said.

I knew suddenly it was time, I was going to have to take control and get him out or this was never going to end. I’d been pushing a really long time and heard myself say “I’m sorry baby, I cant get you out”. Someone said “you’re doing great, you’re pushing him out: next contraction, big breath, big push.” So I did. Oh. My. God. I felt my body open up: the pain was insane and I wanted to stop but it still hurt as much if I pushed or tried to stop it, so I screamed and pushed.  I felt like I WAS DOING THIS. Between contractions I was allowed little pushes as he was crowning.  “Push through the pain”, they said, but it hurt too much, but I pushed and screamed and it burnt and stung but they talked me on.  I could feel his head coming out (every millimetre!) “He’s nearly there” they cheered and I pushed through the pain and his head was out!!! At this point I was still gasping and crying and doing whatever they said. There were little pushes and big pushes, I couldn’t really tell coz my body was pushing on it’s own but I hear “next contraction you’ve got to push out his shoulders”.  The pain was so constant I couldn’t tell if there was a contraction or not, and I didn’t care I just wanted this over. So I pushed with all my might and I did it! I pushed out his shoulders and his little body slithered out. There was my baby! I said hello. I could talk.

To my great surprise I was fine. They asked if I could move, I was like, sure, where do you want me? They helped me to the bed and they gave him suction.  Hubby cut the cord and he began screaming like a devil child until they put him on my chest, where he instantly calmed and looked me right in the eyes as if to say, “hi there, so that’s what you look like”. It was amazing. He was amazing.  I was amazing. It was a dream birth.

It would have been awesome had it ended there, but I began haemorrhaging, which caused a cascade of interventions that took three hours to fix.  The pain of the local anaesthetic was equal to the pain of childbirth, believe it or not, so it felt to me like torture. In the end I had 12-15 stitches for 2nd degree tears, I lost 600 mls of blood but managed to avoid a transfusion. 3 hours after he was born I was stable and they finally weighed and checked him: he was fine: 3.3 kg. Labour was recorded as 9 hours in all, including 1.5hours of pushing.  But only 3 hours were really bad.

Third Baby: Fantasy.

Seeing as this hasn’t happened yet, I’ll tell it like I hope it will happen.   I’d like to go into spontaneous labour at home.  I’ll kiss the kids goodbye (they’re just under 5 and 3 now, so they know what’s going on).  Mum will hold the fort while hubby and I duck out to have the baby.  We’ll go straight into hospital as contractions will be strong already.  I’ll have a little gas, the acupressure points will work really well, and I’ll be dancing.  After no more than an hour, I’ll reach transition. Then I’ll push for only half an hour, and will have a perfectly healthy baby, weighing 3.2 kg.  There’ll be no need for stitches and I’ll be able to go home the next day.  All up, it’ll be a 3 hour labour.  A likely scenario?  I’ll let you know how it goes.