His & Hers Series

"So we're going to have a baby" - His & Hers

* We wrote these separately. The only discussion entered into was where our stories would start and end for this week. Here is how they turned out...


Who’d have thought there’d be so much to take into account? When to go off the pill, what day of the month is it, what’s the ambient temperature of your neighbour’s dog’s aura?  It just seems like there is so much preparation that goes into creating a life before you actually get down to the business of creating it... and quite rightly so.  It’s not something that should be entered into lightly and therefore something that Ange and I took quite some time to discuss and consider. 
I, being a few years older than Ange, had been clucky for a number years before it was our time, but taking the time to discuss it and “get our affairs in order” was a luxury that we were afforded and very beneficial.  We were in the process of buying a residential block with the view to build when we had made the decision to start. Never for one second think that we would have to worry about whether or not we would’ve moved into our newly built house or not, that was merely a given.
We were incredibly lucky. 

It did not take Ange long to become pregnant and I will always remember the moment that I found out.  It was a Friday afternoon, around 5, and I was in my car on the Sunraysia Hwy, just entering Avoca when the phone rang.  It was Ange, which wasn’t uncommon as she would often call me to see if I could pick something up on my way to band.  I was completely overjoyed and probably spent the rest of the night with the biggest, goofiest grin on my face.  I still remember the slight disbelief that was in Ange’s voice and how as she told me it seemed to become more real to her.  It became etched in stone a few days later when we got confirmation in the Doctor’s office.

It was a most enjoyable secret to keep for those first few months.  Especially when talking with family and friends who were preparing for new arrivals themselves.  Though I would’ve loved to have told my parents face to face the tyranny of distance got in the way so we did what any modern, digital-age family would do... we Skyped them.

With Ange’s parents we were heading their way that weekend for something else anyway so we got to tell them in person.  It was in the eatery in the Basement of David Jones on Bourke St on a Sunday morning. Mick Malthouse had just walked past my father-in-law and I with his wife as we found a spot to sit as our wives organised the cuppas.  Soon after draining our cups Ange shared the news and there was much happiness and hugging.
The next few months went on with the usual fare with nothing much to report but it was becoming increasingly obvious that we were going to be cutting it fine regarding our house being built and us being moved in.  However, the planets aligned and on the 28th of October our Building supervisor, handed us our keys to our brand spanking new humble abode.


“Is that a line? Wait, no it’s not...hang on, hold it up to the light, crap it is a line! No...it’s just because it’s in the light, don’t they all have some barely seen line underneath?” Wait 5 minutes then come back and bingo. It’s definitely a line.

There is a miniscule space of time in which your eyes see the line on the stick and your brain connects that line with the fact that you are pregnant. It is a moment where your entire body cannot handle the myriad of emotions and thoughts that fly through your head, so instead it focuses on the one blunt truth. I am going to have a baby.


Rewind a few months and there is a conversation happening with my husband. All I can remember is we decided it was time and when I threw my birth control pills in the bin, and pulled them back out...and threw them back in, I knew that this was it. This would change everything.

Before I knew it I was charting things on graphs on the net, checking all sorts of bodily things and my temperature. We were very lucky. Within only 3 months the above occurred and I was pregnant. I had taken one of a million tests and this time there was this tiny faded line. I called Steve who was on his way to band practice. He seemed as stunned as I was which I was thankful for. There were these strange stretches of silence on the phone as we both absorbed the fact. A GP visit and a blood test later and it was all confirmed.

We were so excited and ready to tell people but knew it was routine to wait until 12 weeks. Did we wait that long? No.  Should we have? Hell yes. Before you knew it people were writing things on my facebook wall like “Congratulations!” Then my parents were telling every aunty, uncle and cousin and shouting across the phone to other countries “Did you hear me!? PREGNANT! She is PREGNANT!”

It did get hard to keep it a secret at work however, as I began to disappear increasingly for blood tests and to say hello to what become my long time friend, the staffroom toilet. By about 10 weeks most people knew.

While all this pregnancy stuff was going on we were actually in the process of building a house, a house which had got slightly held up in the early stages. As time ticked by and I ballooned we began to worry whether this house was going to be ready in time. I was happy to remain as big as a house until we got our ACTUAL house. Being a ridiculous control-freak, I couldn’t imagine bringing a baby home to a room full of boxes. I stressed, I went to the site and stuck my belly out to the supervisor at every opportunity and bugged him incessantly saying that we must get this house on time! He worked hard to get it done in time. What could he do? There was a scary, hormonal, very pregnant woman on his back constantly. He had no choice but to get his butt into gear and a week before Mr.T was due we moved into our brand new home.

So we had some different opinions about how we felt telling people. How about you? Did you wait the standard 12 weeks to tell people you were having a baby? Show us some comment lovin' and let us know!

"So we're going to have a baby" - His & Hers Part 2

This makes me laugh! I asked Steve to start the next part on the day we went to hospital, and end where we entered the labour ward. He told me later he was confused...how could you write so much about that? Not much happened!? Here is our versions of the story...

That weekend, Ange, being heavily pregnant at this stage, took on the role of Relocation Supervisor as our families and I did the heavy lifting in transporting our possessions into our new home. A local
family lent us their truck for us to use as a moving van, and our new neighbours supplied us with sausage rolls and cake (gotta love country hospitality).

The following Thursday Ange had an appointment with her obstetrician and we thought it wise
that I take the day off work and drive her down (we live 1 ½ hours away) and we also thought that packing a bag of clothes might be useful too as we were getting very close to D-Day. Just as well as during the examination the obstetrician informed us that Ange will be giving birth very soon.

We then went down the road to the hospital, checked ourselves in and played the
waiting game. I cannot express how highly impressed I was with the staff at the hospital. They
were very accommodating and did everything they could to make our stay as comfortable as
possible. Between 5:30 and 6:00pm the next day Mr T was making it clear that he now wanted out.
I remember this time as Eddie McGuire was on the telly hosting Millionaire Hot Seat. Hot Seat has
since become a staple of my evening routine with Mr T (hey it’s never too late to start filling your
child’s head with useless trivia- you never know when they are going to need it).
So with one last look back as Eddie blinked out with a press of the remote we headed off to the
Labour Ward and the great unknown...

Rewind and it’s the 3rd of November, 2011. We had finally moved into our newly built house, exactly one week before our baby was due. It was a warm day and there was the usual flow of tradies around the house doing finishing touches. I woke that day with a headache and feeling nauseous, as if morning sickness had made a little comeback. I put it down to the fact that I had been doing a little bit too much by trying to fit all of my pent up nesting instinct into one week of unpacking. When I served up morning tea to our fence builder he joked saying perhaps I wouldn’t come home from my obstetrician appointment which was in the afternoon. Little did he know, he was right on the money.

Living an hour and a half away from my obstetrician and hospital, I was in no shape to be driving those sorts of distances anymore so Steve took the afternoon off work. When he came to pick me up I told him of my symptoms and he said we should take our bags just in case. He was clearly excited. I was so sceptical. I felt pregnant. And I felt like I was going to remain pregnant for a bit longer.

When we got to the obstetrician I told her about my symptoms and she did the usual checks. She nearly hit the roof when she saw my blood pressure which had been sitting on normal throughout the whole pregnancy. I’ll never forget the words “I think you’ll be having this baby today” I laughed her off, saying I didn’t have any contractions, that I didn’t feel like I was going to have a baby. “I’m fine!” I kept saying. My husband on the other hand leapt up for joy. He was so damn excited - Like we were about to get a new puppy or something. And me? I was incredulous and packing myself at the same time.

We were rushed to the hospital to get some tests done and as it turned out I had protein in my urine – a sign of preeclampsia. When my obstetrician came in to give me the news she also told me that she didn’t think it was safe for me to go home, that if my blood pressure peaked while I was at home and I went into labour it would be dangerous for me and the baby. I was to be induced in the morning. I smiled and nodded, acted like I was ‘ok’ with it. Then when she walked out the door I crumbled. My entire vision of this birth was already not going to plan. But mainly, I couldn’t believe I was going to be having my baby when I couldn’t FEEL any signs telling me he was ready to face the world. It was the first of many, many times at the hospital that my husband had to give me those big strong, arm hugs of his and tell me everything was going to be ok.

The next morning a midwife came and put the gel in. I won’t bore you with the gory details but after that I decided to attack this whole being induced thing the way I do most things – go at it hard and get the job done. Poor Steve had to put up with me going up and down the fire escape stairs, round and round the labour ward. If I was going to get him out, well, I was going to make it happen fast! I was nervous about hearing people tell me that being induced often leads to other interventions and I was determined not to let that happen.

At 1pm there was still no action. My obstetrician came and put the gel in again. The midwife told me she was a bit rougher and she may even tickle my tonsils. I didn’t care. That’s why I loved my obstetrician so much. She was blunt, to the point, and liked to get the job done. Just like me. Needless to say it worked and I started to feel contractions very soon after. Didn’t feel like much, just some cramp pains. No big deal. I kept going up and down the stairs and my husband looked bored as hell.

Dinner arrived around 5:30pm and by then I was starting to feel those cramps a bit more but still nothing major. I took one bite of my dinner and BAM! A massive pain hit. My husband frantically hit the buzzer and they told me that maybe I was further along then they thought. Time for the labour ward...

I love how different our versions are...can you pick the differences? Have you ever had those moments where you and your partner have a completely different idea of what happened?

Linking up with the lovely Grace for FYBF.

The His and Hers Series - Part 3: The Birth


The season had gotten off with a bang.  The team had had a pretty short preseason but they had spent a lot of time in the research department.  Word had come through from the coach’s box that the team had gotten over the line and were looking forward to an exciting season.  We were now in the grand final. We had burst through the banner of the labour ward, led by our wonderful midwives, and Ange was now very much in the game... and I was very much on the side wondering what could I do? What do I say?  Where should I stand?

That didn’t last too long as I soon just got in there and played my supporting role.  Just said what came naturally, stood by Ange’s side, held her hand and provided a shoulder to lean on.  This all went well until the final quarter when things started getting really exciting. The obstetrician had re-entered the fray, the nightie was off and it was game on. 

There was a lot of cheering “C’mon! You can do it! Well done! Keep going!”... and then a walnut appeared!  Honestly, my first thought when I saw ‘the walnut’ was “How is that going to smooth out?” Judging by the roar that was coming from Ange I don’t think she was thinking the same thing.
Now from my vantage point I could see everything!  I’m not going to go into details but the correlation between the lightest touch of the obstetrician and Ange’s blood curdling yell was, for lack of a better word, interesting.

Well the siren was nearing, and Ange was preparing for her final push into the forward line.  The nurses and obstetrician were all there ready for the game to come their way and the cheer squad was doing his best to be there and supportive but also making sure that he wasn’t in the way. 

Mr.T came along and yes, he was the most beautiful bundle in the world.  He went straight to his mother for a cuddle and I cut him free.  He was also a jolly big beautiful bundle of joy, not as big as his old man, but 9 pound 4 is nothing to sneeze at.  Then came the placenta.  I don’t think Ange got the chance to see it but to even see the nurses being surprised at the size of this thing and saying “Is that 4 veins?” (rather than the usual 3) brought a smile to my face which said “That’s my boy”.


I have been dreading writing this part of the ‘his’ and ‘hers’ series for obvious reasons! But also, I think it’s just going to be full of pauses and ellipses’ (...) because it was SUCH a blur. It was a total of 3 and a half hours from the labour ward to the birth.

I had an enormous fear of giving birth. I was NOT the girl watching the video in Biology thinking this was a beautiful and natural experience. I was the girl exclaiming “Ewww! That is so gross! OMG!”  I was so self conscious. I couldn’t imagine getting that exposed. I knew it was going to hurt, but I told myself I would try to stay dignified, clothed and under control. Ha! Here is how it went:

I remember kneeling on the ground with the gym ball in front of me and sucking on the gas like my life depended on it...

I remember the obstetrician telling me to, ‘Get off that gas! You might have hours and hours to go’. Then she got me up on the bed and decided maybe that was an incorrect assumption as I was already 7cm dilated...

Then I just remember...pain...and learning when to push...

I remember my dignity going out the window...A nightie? No thanks, just get everything off!

I remember being asked, “Do you want a mirror?” Hell no! I was too scared it would be like when you’re a kid and you scrape your knee. It hurts. Then you look at it and all of a sudden it hurts triple the amount.

I remember the voices of support of my husband and my obstetrician. I remember myself asking for pain relief and being told I couldn’t have it because it was too late...

The burning - lots and lots of burning, and some kind of crazy dialogue in my head telling me to end this and end it now...

And then, the best part.  A baby in my arms. I was still dazed and the nurse said “Look! Look! It’s your baby!” I looked down and there he was. Every cliché was true. All of them including:
My heart melted
All the pain washed away
Nothing in the world could change that moment
He was perfect
All the natural instincts took over

I remember asking how big he was. My obstetrician looked at me and said “BIG” And big he was. Mr T. Entered the world at 8:58pm on November 4th, 2011 weighing a whopping 9 pound 4.

I can’t compare the labour as it was my first but I am glad it was fast. And I’m proud to say I did it drug-free apart from the gas. However, if I knew that he was going to be that big, I think I would of been asking for the drugs before I even walked through the doors of the hospital due to the sheer terror of the whole thing! He was, IS beautiful and I wouldn’t have him any other way and just to end with another one of those true clichés. All the pain was WORTH it. Every bit.

So...what did you think of this part? Any comments? Got any of your own crazy birth stats? Share them with us!

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