If you’re squeamish and don’t appreciate descriptions of open wounds, smelly pus, poo explosions and the worst pain imaginable then I suggest you go and read one of my beauty reviews because boy have I got a horror story to tell you.

This is my birth story, the gruesome tale of how the most beautiful baby came into the world. I never had a birth plan which may come as a shock to those who know how organised I am and how much I enjoy planning; I don’t know anyone who’s birth plan has gone to plan and I didn’t know what to expect so decided not to bother having any expectations at all, when Luke and I rocked up to the Delivery Unit at 3am on the 10th March 2018 the Midwife asked me what my birth plan was, I said “To do as I’m told and get this baby out as safely as possible” – I think it went to plan, all things considered. 

Rewind back to around 1am on the 10th March, I was 10 days overdue and expecting to be given an induction date on the 11th, I started to feel contractions but didn’t think much of it because I’d been getting contractions since I was 39 weeks, I started to time them…just for the lolz, they were lasting around 45 seconds and were around 6 minutes apart – as expected, they died down after a good hour and I got into bed thinking nothing of it, around half an hour later I felt a pop inside my belly, curiosity made me get up which in turn made my waters slowly trickle out and down my legs. I was surprised to see that it was bright pink as I had expected, well, water. Excitement and nerves kicked in as I told Luke and frantically tried to find some clothes to wear (the outfit I had planned was long forgotten and I ended up going to hospital in a T-shirt, joggers and cardigan, totally braless. When we arrived at the Delivery Unit we were ushered to waiting room whilst they prepared the room for us, at this point I was nervous and experiencing stronger contractions – I was advised by my Grandma to stay on my feet for as long as possible so I started pacing which, surprisingly helped ease the pain. 

Once we were reasonably settled in the room, I was asked to provide a urine sample. This is where things get icky, you see I am renowned amongst friends and family for my nervous poops, if there’s anything exciting / scary about to happen you can guarantee that I will need to go. I was given a pot to place under the loo seat and pee into but when I pushed guess what came out? And there is awkward moment number one of Freddie’s birth. Once I’d provided the wrong sample I was then hooked up to the monitors to have a nosey at Freddie’s heart rate, turns out it was low so I had to lie on the bed and breathe through my contractions, it was at this point they started heating up and I asked for some gas and air (fantastic stuff, wears off too soon) I was asked to keep switching sides to make sure that my cervix was dilating evenly – to cut an 11 hour long story short, this went on for a lifetime. I didn’t speak to anyone and completely focussed on my breathing, I kept doing this thing with my arm where I stuck it in the air and sort of conducted my breathing – very strange. 

I remember my Mum arriving and around the same time I started sh*tting myself during every contraction, the pressure was so intense I couldn’t help but push out a turd or two every time. The midwives had seen this all before and very discreetly removed my nuggets which was nice of them. My Mum and Luke’s hopes of watching a baby being brought into the world were dashed as the reality that they were in fact watching me sh*t myself sank in.

At some point things started to get a little scary – Freddie’s heart rate was dropping and mine was rising – I had to be put on a drip because of my temperature and a Dr had to come into the room to make a decision about what to do with me. I felt ready to push but Freddie was facing the wrong way round, I was only 8cm dilated and my cervix hadn’t dilated properly, in short, we were both a bit stuck and it was too late for an emergency section.

This was when I heard forceps being mentioned and suddenly four more people entered the room, the cute little cot was replaced with crash cart, the bottom of my bed was taken away my legs were forced (my hips weren’t cooperating) into stirrups and the Dr basically climbed up there to see what was going on. The next thing, my beloved gas & air was taken off me, my hands were placed under my thighs and I was being shouted at to push push push like there was no tomorrow, I closed my eyes, felt the most excruciating pain imaginable (bearing in mind I had no pain relief during pushing) and suddenly this dead, slippery weight was slapped on me – I looked at my chest and there, covered in sh*t, blood and god knows what else was little baby Freddie…and my words were ‘I love you but you’re disgusting, please get him off me’.

It turns out that as Freddie made his grand entrance into the world, I did one almighty sh*t explosion all over the Dr (who swiftly left the room to get changed with a very disgusted look on his face) Freddie decided to have a go himself and my womb decided to bleed like the Niagra Falls. During the delivery the Dr had to cut me but I tore as well (something those of you who follow me on Instagram will know all about). Freddie was absolutely fine, he was soon bundled up in a blanket blinking at me with those big blue eyes for an hour whilst the Dr sewed up what was left of my massacred faj.

Once this was done I was fighting fit – it’s crazy what adrenaline does to you but I was showered, I’d scoffed a tuna sandwich and downed a coffee and was pacing the corridor pestering the delivery team to take us up to the maternity ward which is where we were soon taken to start our postpartum journey. My Mum and Luke weren’t feeling so good after this experience.

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