Birth Sequel: The Prelude

Second time’s the charm, right?

With Ted’s birth, things didn’t quite go how we expected. A “birth plan” is perhaps the most oxymoronic phrase possible, but even so, we were unable to even attempt the homebirth we’d desired back in 2019 because he was two weeks late and Maddy had to be induced in hospital. Then a few days later we were back on the transitional care ward because he’d lost too much weight.

Hopefully, with our second child, things would be a bit simpler, right? Turns out you should be careful what you wish for.

The due date—Friday May 26th— came and went. We were booked in for a scan at the hospital because the most recent midwife visit suggested a growth spurt had been happening. A friendly midwife did the scan, then informed us we’d be having “a baby elephant” – I know their job is to be relaxing and casual, but this is not what you want to hear when you’re preparing to give birth (and—spoilers—it turned out to be totally wrong, too).

We saw another midwife who confidently told us “this baby’s coming over the bank holiday weekend!”, and instructed me to go home and inflate the birthing pool that evening, which I duly did.

We left the hospital slightly concerned about how big this baby was going to be – apparently she was already weighing in at over 8lbs and they couldn’t fit all of her head on the scan(!). We also assumed the baby would be imminent.

The weekend passed without incident, of course. But on May 30th we were back in hospital after Maddy felt reduced movement from the baby. Thanks to quick friends (we love you Lauren) and an even quicker triage team, we went from sitting on the sofa to waiting in the examination room within 30 minutes. This was where things got dramatic: the midwife team were happy the baby was moving and responding well, but then we got a visit from a pair of doctors.

In every baby-related medical discussion I’ve been part of, the mood visibly shifts when the doctors get involved. The bedside manner immediately changes (no baby elephants here) – it’s no-nonsense and very by-the-book. When Ted was born, one doctor firmly told Maddy to “stop making all that noise and push” – the right advice, but very brisk.

Sitting in this sweaty examination room and wondering whether we’d get our homebirth, the doctor began to tell us about the increased likelihood of stillbirth the longer we deviated from the due date; elaborated on the three iterations of inducement we could look forward to, and the caesarean that would be scheduled assuming the baby still didn’t arrive. They also regaled us with the details about the baby’s shoulder possibly becoming lodged, and asked us to make a decision about induction there and then. Maddy asked for some time to think.

She stuck to her guns. We were still only a couple of days past the due date, and the midwives were happy everything was proceeding normally. If the baby still wasn’t here in a week, we could have an outpatient induction. We could still go for our homebirth. When the doctors returned, she told them this was our plan, and off they went – presumably to go and tell another expectant mother that the chances of their baby dying had just doubled. (I know, I know – this was all factually true and it’s important that we make an informed decision. And yet…)

The rest of the week passed quietly. Maddy had a few more checkups from visiting midwives, and we made plans for my parents to visit over the weekend, ostensibly so they could take Ted out and give us some space just in case. This turned out to be a pretty smart decision in hindsight.

On Saturday evening we put Ted to bed and had a pizza and a bottle of wine with my parents (soft drinks for Maddy). We talked about our plans for the summer, chatted about what they’d do with Ted the next day, then went to bed as they returned to their hotel. We were scheduled for our induction on Tuesday, but it turned out that things were already set in motion by that night.

Read part two here: The Main Event