And then there were three....

Born at 8pm, after a 4 hour labour following a hospital induction, gorgeous, pink Betty lay in my arms, her first instinct to immediately start feeding from me.

Despite the fact that she was 14 days past term and had to be induced, her labour had been absolutely perfect, allowing us the opportunity to laugh throughout and even for me to exclaim mid-contractions “this is brilliant!”

You see, her brother’s birth 2 ½ years earlier, had been a different story.

Following an amazing pregnancy, my braxton hicks had turned into true contractions on Dylan’s due date and on becoming 5 minutes apart, we had gone excitedly to hospital. However, as is often the case, on entering the maternity ward, contractions practically stopped and when they never returned again, I was sent home at 2cm dilated and told that I would probably return that evening.

In fact, I returned to hospital 3 days later after a weekend of on-and-off contractions where I was told I was 5cm dilated. Labour didn’t progress very well so I was induced and after 15 hours, gas and air, and diamorphine, I was exhausted. I felt no urge to push and was instructed by the midwife when I was getting a contraction to ‘chin on chest and push’. The whole thing was awkward and uncomfortable and I have never been so tired, having missed a whole night’s sleep. Eventually Dylan had a ventouse delivery.

The poor baby was also exhausted and couldn’t feed. It was 12 hours before he had his first feed - from a cup - and he was the only baby on the ward to sleep through the night that night.

I have to say, I slept very little. The ward was busy and noisy and there were midwives coming round hourly to check on us and to see if I could express any milk. I also had so much adrenaline pumping round my body that I couldn’t keep still. The whole event was traumatic and disappointing and I left the hospital thinking that I never wanted to go through that ever again.

Thank goodness the bad memories soon fade, otherwise few mothers would go on to have their second child!

It was never going to be an option for me to have anything other than a hospital birth with Betty. I was expecting the same delivery as I had had with her older brother and was very anxious heading into hospital that morning to be induced. I had spent the previous evening crying with worry, and having kissed goodnight to my only child, Dylan, knowing that it was the last time he would be the only baby in the house.

However, on having my waters broken at 4pm, I went straight into labour. I was totally in control, I felt all the pain. I was delighted to announce of my own accord “I need to push!”

I used gas and air but then realised it was making me dizzy so just used the nozzle to bite on, and 4 hours later, at 8pm, little Betty was there having her first feed. Absolutely perfect!

But then, despite the wonderful birth, because my daughter had been born at 8pm, it was going to take until at least midnight before all her checks had been done and the paediatrician had been around so I was encouraged to stay in hospital. That was a bit devastating, and once again, I got very little sleep on the ward and I missed Dylan terribly.

It was this that brought me round to thinking another 2 ½ years later, that we would have this next baby at home. Knowing how wonderful our birth had been last time, it made sense to have our birth in our own bedroom, with Dylan and Betty in the house with us, ready to be brought up to meet their brother as soon as possible.

In my head of course, I saw me going into labour as soon as the kids had gone to bed, labouring a few hours through the night, giving birth in bed and then the kids joining us in bed a few hours later - our little family complete.

I spoke to my midwife about it who was wonderful and said how much she loved home births. In fact, all subsequent midwives that I had appointments with were very reassuring in telling me that they enjoyed home births. I had real niggles about the fact that I would undoubtedly be getting a poor midwife out of bed, after a long shift in hospital, to come out and deliver my baby. It was a huge deal to me, but every single lady that I saw said it was absolutely no problem at all and that they all got excited about it.

I was so disappointed to discover at my first midwife appointment that I was high-risk, and that if I remained on the high-risk spectrum that I wouldn’t be allowed a home birth. My BMI was low and I had to see a consultant throughout the pregnancy. Thankfully, at 30 weeks, I was discharged and handed back to midwife-led care and was reassured I could still have my home birth.

Then, another concern - if I were to be induced again like Betty, I would have to have the baby in hospital. I was pretty sure this would be the case. I had heard that each pregnancy lasts longer with each child so I was pretty convinced that I stood no chance of having the homebirth that I now really hoped for.

I booked myself in for acupuncture a few days after my due date and hoped that it wouldn’t come to that.

It did! I went for acupuncture and then had a sweep a few days later with the midwife. I sat there like a mad thing, recording all twinges and contractions all week. When nothing happened, I went for another sweep but was gutted when the midwife said that she couldn’t do it because was the baby wasn’t engaged. Seeing my disappointment, she booked another sweep over the weekend, 3 days before my date to be induced.

Unfortunately, it was the same story and the sweep had to be abandoned again.

I think it was then that I lost all hope and decided to just embrace the idea of having a hospital delivery. I made the most of it and cleaned the house and prepared meals and was able to organise childcare and plan the whole thing. I guess it almost made me feel a bit relieved that I could plan it all.

We had had our baby’s moses basket set up in our room for 3 weeks and had told our kids that their brother would arrive soon. They ran into our room every morning to check if the basket had been filled. I feared they would start getting bored of waiting.

The evening before our induction, I packed my hospital bags for the last time and made the kids’ beds with fresh sheets. I was having my usual contractions - I’d been having them for 3 weeks - and was trying not to time them and get my hopes up.

We did the bedtime routine, got the kids into bed and my husband and I settled downstairs to watch the Sons of Anarchy finale! I sat astride a dining room chair, the sole purpose to try and encourage the baby to be engaged in preparation for the imminent induction. My contractions were coming every 7-9 minutes but when my dad phoned and we had a half hour conversation, they had practically stopped again.

Reluctantly I went upstairs at 10pm to get ready for bed, knowing I had missed my chance.

However, I noticed something that had never happened before - my contractions started again, very painfully, and never stopped despite my walking around.

Standing up and holding on to a baby changing table in our bedroom, I timed contractions for ages until I discovered I was having them every 7 minutes each lasting a good minute or two and at 10:30pm, we called the midwife!

We couldn’t believe it, but both my husband and I fully expected the midwife to arrive, examine me and say “sorry, false alarm”.

Even so, I texted my close family and a few friends and told them that the midwife was on the way. Excited messages bounced back straight away.

My husband quickly blew up a balloon and ran outside to tie it to the lampost, showing the midwife where to come to. When he returned I was in absolute definite labour!

A bang from the kids room sent my husband running off again to discover Betty had fallen out of bed, but she was popped back, sleeping soundly.

We wondered whether to call one of our stand-by assistants to come over in case the kids needed looking after, but we just didn’t really feel we needed any help.

Clock-watching, we did start to panic when the midwife called to say she was on her way and would be 20 minutes. She asked how I was doing. Ever tolerant of pain and way too laid back, I said in my sing-song way “oh, I’m fine!” and she happily hung up.

Eventually, just as my husband was bracing himself to either call an ambulance or roll his sleeves up, the midwife arrived. On examination, it appeared I was 5cm, so we all took a breath and relaxed a bit. We had a chat and a laugh, we drank tea, we ate biscuiuts, our conversations punctuated by long silent pauses when I closed my eyes and embraced another massive contraction, before resuming the conversation.

So, it was a massive surprise when I felt a pop and was suddenly soaked!

Action stations, the midwife checked my waters which had spilled over the floor, reassured us they were clear and then instructed me to go to the toilet to let the rest of the amniotic fluid come out. But there was no chance. I was frozen to the spot with one huge, constant contraction. I was shaking, the pain was intense and my body was in a whirlwind of shock and exhaustion. “I’m going to faint” I managed. I managed to get onto the bed and request some gas and air “please”.

“How polite” I heard the midwife as she brought the canister over.

She took out her phone and rang for the second midwife to come over now that I was in established labour.

I couldn’t get my words out, my contractions were so strong but eventually I heard myself squeak “I need to push!”

The midwife, hung up the phone, put on her apron and gloves, leapt to the other side of the bed and 6 minutes later, I was holding my brand new baby boy. In my bed, in my room, at home!

I cried and cried! I just could not believe it. I felt I was having an out of body experience. I was meant to be getting induced in a matter of hours - this wasn’t supposed to have happened!

My husband’s text messages were sent out to let everyone know that Robin had arrived, a mere 1 ½ hours after our previous message to say the midwife was on her way. Congratulations were sent back straight away - all our friends and family staying up to hear the good news.

Placenta delivered, the second midwife turned up and was sent back home before taking her coat off!

Alex and I sat in bed a while holding our son, only slightly aware of the brilliant midwife bagging up sheets and towels and clearing up the mess we had created. She helped me into the shower and was able to pass me my own clean towels and pyjamas and once I had dried and dressed I was amazed to see the bedroom looking clean and tidy with my bed sheets turned back ready for me to climb in and feed my son.

2 hours later, after more tea, toast and biscuits, the midwife had finished writing her notes, was happy with Robin’s feeding and congratulated us for the umpteenth time and thanked us again for a lovely birth experience. We were quite sad to say goodbye to her and handed her a box of chocolates with absolute heart-felt thanks, knowing she had to be up at 9am for clinic.

Then we climbed into bed and I had my first sleepless night, nursing my boy!!

6:45am, our alarm sounded and we heard the pitter patter of feet running down the landing. It was still dark and I whacked Alex to get his phone ready to video the kids coming in. Their reaction was amazing and makes me cry now. Dylan was first to come in and immediately peered into the moses basket. “Ah, a baby!” he exclaimed.

His voice was soft and quiet. “A baby,” he said again. “look Betty, it’s our brother!”

Oh my gosh, my dream had actually come true.

I’m crying as I write this. Such an emotional and magical moment. We must be the luckiest people in the world!

The whole homebirth experience was like a little slice of luxury. We couldn’t believe we hadn’t had to have gone private or to pay for it, for someone to actually come out to us so that we didn’t have to go to them, for them to give us one-to-one care, for them to then clean and tidy our room for us and take all the rubbish away - I really can’t express our thanks enough that we had this option.