72 Hours, a broken stirrup and a baby simpson at the end

A life with no embarrassing moments isn't a life and in fact, is nothing more than a lie. I tell myself this often to mask the sheer embarrassment that life has often thrown towards me.

Now, I'm closing in on 30 and while many may still call me 'young' and still a 'baby', My stretchmarks, bagged eyes and fat arse would otherwise argue with those polite but statements of deceit.

Sitting with my tenth cup of tea of the night, watching my other half call every Fifa player a dickhead (as he tries to twiddle his thumbs with the same rhythm as in his youth) and finally getting a moment of peace from the ever-growing annoyance that my daughter insists on making me watch on Tik Tok, I think back to one of the most embarrassing moments in my life.

Of course, I was high as a kite and could even have been delusional after 60 hours of no sleep and stabbing pains in my stomach and cervix but I was assured by my partner that it all happened. Much to my dismay.

Any mother knows that pregnancy is a beautiful and magical feeling, overwhelming and often full of heightened moments for you to share with your partner and loved ones. Yes but let's be real, the giving birth part sucks.

Already five weeks early, almost six, and the little demon child just wouldn't stay put. The first embarrassing moment of many more to come over those next Four days would unfold in the bedroom.

Now, you have probably all heard of the old wives tales of how to bring on pregnancy? Hot curry and sex being the main two. Well, I assure you tales they may be but they're based on 100% fact.

20 minutes into an already awkward and uncomfortable sexual experience, to say the least, I feel a trickle down my leg.

"God that was quick, you didn't even say you had finished."

My other half looks at me gone out and slightly embarrassed.

"What?" He responds.

I quickly jump off.

Blood, oh shit. I ran to the bathroom a little panicked (actually I cried for half an hour but we'll pretend I was in control) as I rang the ambulance because, at that very moment, I jumped straight to 'I am going to die and so is my baby'. A little morbid but my 18-year-old mind was convinced I was right.

The lady on the other end of the phone almost giggled, I wasn't impressed but looking back now I probably sounded like a bit of a Karen.

As if my boyfriends' penis being covered in blood, while he watched me pace around with my veiny boobs out and a belly ready to pop wasn't enough, the next embarrassing moment decided to happen. My water broke. I say water because the only one broke, but, you'll hear about the other one later.

Fast forward to the hospital, after convincing the doctor that picked me up in his doctor's car packed full of stuff, that I needed to go to the hospital and Liam (my partner) would be coming with me or else, I was looked over, stuck on a monitor and 3 hours later...let go.

I was told to "Come back when your other water breaks."

Well, other than feeling like an absolute fool for thinking I had only one water, I also felt stupid for going to the hospital in the first place. Simply told,

"A little bit of bleeding is normal towards the end of pregnancy."

Great, stage one of being a mother, Failed.

It didn't take long for the demon to come knocking again though. The very next day the war of the worlds began to unfold inside of me.

"Screw this," I said and I packed a bag for the two-mile journey to the hospital.

I walked every step in severe discomfort but did I care? Well yes, but who would know?

Fast forward a few more hours, I'm given a pessary to bring on the pregnancy. A quick push up the bum and all would be fine. I felt violated. Little did I know what was to come. That's the mind of a dense teen mum. And the bleeding thing didn't even work.

Three days after the initial 'incident' and I'm laying on a bed, legs wide open, tubes in one hand and a drip in the other. Liam firmly 'relaxing' on the floor next to me with a magazine in hand and a couple of comfy pillows. What a knob.

My midwife was a young twenty-something woman, with a warming face and welcoming attitude. She is one of my fondest memories of that night. That and a Jamaican Ladies hair.

Drawing close to midnight, I badly needed to pee. I had arrived at the hospital and checked in on Wednesday morning. After noticeably receiving a tut and a shake of the head from the staff upon hearing how I walked in semi-labour for two miles simply because I didn't want to pay for a taxi. Silly bitch you could say. Harsh but true.

Because my daughter was going to be born early, I was being monitored in every way possible. heart monitor for me, heart monitor for her, a drip in one arm and a catheter ready for drugs in the other. Oh, how I told myself I would do it 'natural'. Ha. I would welcome the drugs now.

I was handed a pan and told,

"You can pee in this."

I looked at the midwife with sheer disgust.

"No thanks, I'll go into the toilet."

Given half the chance now, I would just piss in the bed like asked.

20 minutes of wrestling with drips and wires later, I make my way back to bed.

"Still nothing?" I'm asked.

Well, do you see ahead popping out of my vag? That is how I want to respond. But, even in my irritated state I simply respond.

"No."

The midwife smiled but looked a little concerned. Within an hour the room was filled with Doctors, Nurses, Consultants and what seemed like every Tom, Dick and Sally waiting to take a peek at my magical vagina.

Remember earlier when I said I felt 'violated'? Well, a room full of people peeking at the goods saying,

"I can't see anything yet"

Was enough to dismiss my earlier complaints and forever make me proud of my lady peach.

This is when the fresh scent of Mangos came into play. Leaning over me, as I had been filled with gas and air and having just had an epidural for the now near 4-day long pain I had endured, the bubbly Jamaican lady gave me a whiff of that fruity hair.

"Your hair smells fabulous," I said, quickly grabbing a piece to smell for that little longer.

Bordering on sexual harassment? Maybe. But you can't be sexually harassed by a woman in labour right? I felt safe.

With that, my legs were again firmly opened, placed on some stirrups and the most uncomfortable internal to date occurred as my insides already felt on their way out.

"Tell me if you feel anything"

I ignored it, I could smell something again.

"Oh my god you smell amazing too" I quickly said to my consultant.

He laughed and just carried on. Nobody told me pregnancy would turn me into a weird, sniffing, borderline sexual deviant. Oh well, pros and cons I suppose.

Then, the stirrups broke. As if the days couldn't get more colourful Liam (who was slowly drifting to sleep beside me) was asked to hold up my leg.

His eyes widened but of course, he obliged. I bet he wished he had fallen asleep now. I certainly did.

After all of the hassle and will she won't she, the doctors finally had enough and rushed me to surgery. An emergency cesarean was to come. To say I was pissed was an understatement.

After closing in on four days of nothing but uncomfortable looks, bum tablets, bloody willies and unwanted body smelling, I wasn't even going to push this thing out naturally. Bloody little shit.

January 15th, 2010 at 9:36 am she was born. Weighing 5lb 14.5oz and looking like the smalled Simpson I'd ever seen, I was in awe.

4 days of no sleep, discomfort and now a whopping scar for life and yet I was the most comfortable I'd ever been with this bundle of demon joy in my arms.

She was given a little treatment for her jaundice and the doctor waited for me to poop before finally, it was time for home.

With that, comes my final piece of embarrassment...at least for now. As I arrive at my Mums for a few nights, boobs leaking everywhere and absolutely knacked. My new found love wouldn't latch to my ever leaking boobs. It's safe to say after the 'violations' I felt no shame. I whipped them out, tit in hand and called my mum. She came in with a giggle.

"Please put my nipple in her mouth properly."

Being the best mum money couldn't buy, she of course obliged. But I'll leave those stories for another day.

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