7lbs 1oz, since you ask

She's here! The most delightful baby imaginable.

Lady P

She arrived late on Saturday, and I'd love to tell you about the labour and birth in graphic detail. I could also fill you in on her temperament, her long legs, and whether she is hairy or not (she is). And I'd be happy to share the details of our care in hospital, how that birth plan worked out for us, and whether my pedicure survived (it didn't).

But I know what you're going to ask. It's the first thing everyone wants to know: 'What does she weigh?'

It's a strange question, really. I mean, assuming she's not massively premature or hugely oversized. She's a baby. She weighs something between 6lbs and 8lbs. You know, the kind of thing babies usually weigh. The details are irrelevant. If someone says to you 'I met this great guy', you don't immediately ask 'how much does he weigh?' Nor, on finding out you are going to have a new boss, do you ask 'how many stone?' So what's with the baby weight obsession?


Unfortunately for our interested family and friends, TLOML and I are not big birth weight watchers. And the Whittington  Birth Centre vibe is all about letting you take your time, after delivery, to marvel in your new baby and bond as a family. So they didn't weigh her for at least an hour after she was born. Meanwhile we used that special bonding time, obviously, to call our mums and text our nearest and dearest. (I would like to point out I did restrain from tweeting at least.) Everyone we told asked us the same thing.

'What does she weigh?'

We didn't know. We knew she was alert yet chilled out, incredibly beautiful, and had great big feet. We were immediately certain of her future as an Olympic gold medal-winning swimming supermodel. But we did not know her weight.

Well, we do now. Our lovely little Lady P was 7lbs 1oz at birth. A fact we have now started to include in all birth-related communications.

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PS We're calling her Lady P because she has a certain elegance that suggests an aristocratic bearing. Again, something else we could have told you long before we knew her weight.

Taxpayer funded pins and needles

I'm fortunate to have always enjoyed good health. Which means I've never really got great value out of the NHS. I'm okay with that, being as I am a total leftie. But still, it's nice to feel like I'm clawing something back now. This pregnancy is proving to be a great opportunity to get my money's worth.

It's not just the basic care I'm getting - all those check ups, my flu jab, the fact I can give birth in a lovely birth centre. That's an excellent start. But I'm enjoying the extras too. Remember all those extra scans we got? And I'm going through an industrial size bottle of Gaviscon every week (free, on prescription). It's all gravy.

My Gaviscon bottle - shown here next to a regular London townhouse, for scale

Today I scaled new heights. Who knew you could get acupuncture on the NHS? Well, you can. And I did.

My hospital, the Whittington, offers acupuncture in the maternity unit, for pain relief, to turn breech babies, and to induce labour. I was a little bit sceptical, I'll be honest. Research on the efficacy of acupuncture is patchy at best. But I figure, if it's NHS-funded that must mean someone who knows more about healthcare than me has decided it is worth a punt. According to the practitioner I saw, they believe it's saving them money in reduced C-sections and fewer chemical inductions.

Anyway, even if it doesn't work, it gives me something to fill another long afternoon of maternity leave with. So, at 6 days past my due date, I checked in for my first session. Pins were placed in areas which will apparently help 'with descent' and send extra blood to my uterus. After I mentioned a couple of pregnancy symptons she chucked in a few extra needles to combat heartburn and water retention. My scepticism began to dissolve as I felt weird sensations, almost like electric shocks. Goodness knows what it's doing, but something is definitely happening around those needles.

It's hard to create anything like a calming, spa-like environment in a curtained hospital bay. So on one side of me I heard a long discussion about bowel movements, and on the other a woman made a noisy phone call to her aunty to discuss a funeral. Despite that, I was so relaxed that I almost fell asleep. Not sure if it was the effect of the needles, the hospital warmth, or the fact I could do nothing but lie still and breathe. But for whatever reason I came out of there feeling like I was walking on air.

And did it work? Well, given that I'm 41 weeks pregnant, the chances of me going into labour in the next few days are extremely good - with or without the needles. Still, I got out of it what I wanted: a diverting and pleasant experience. And the satisfaction of enjoying another health service, thanks to the good old NHS.

Grand Romantic Gestures

I don't know why on earth the British have a reputation for being stuffy, unemotional, or unexpressive. But apparently - according to TLOML and other Americans - it is so.

Proof of the Brit's ability to make a grand romantic gesture can be found at our local Marks & Spencer.

Because nothing says romance like a garlicky breaded chicken fillet.

One aspect of our international reputation that is, perhaps, well earned, is that of a nation of animal lovers.The dog crazed men of Chelsea aren't the only ones who think it's nice to get their pet a Valentine's Day gift.

I like the slightly bitter tone of this email: the references to 'underappreciated' flowers, and the companion who 'will never let you down'. Sadly for me and TLOML, the animal in our life is thoroughly underappreciative. He yowls for food day and night, only pausing to eat or sleep. And his efforts on the new exercise routine have been disappointing: 'let down' doesn't even cover it.

So I guess we'll just have to save our romantic gestures for one another. I'm off to M&S to buy a chicken parmo.

My deaf ears

I can't help it. For months I was absorbent as a sponge, I really was. Because I'm constantly blogging or tweeting about pregnancy, I invite more than my fair share of pearls of experience from others. Until very recently I was eager to hear about others' experience, and keen to learn from those who've been through it before.

But as of now any advice that comes my way falls on deaf ears. I think I'm just so stuffed full with it all that I can't take in anymore. TLOML says it's my fault for banging on, tweeting and blogging about my pregnancy so much: no wonder I get a lot of feedback.  And as I said, until just now, I've been gobbling it all up eagerly. So no wonder I'm a little overwhelmed with it all.

Or maybe what's putting me off the barrage of advice is the fact that a fair chunk of it is just kinda doom-laden. By well-meaning friends who've been through it before, I am told I might as well book my epidural now. And that rarely will we have the time or energy to cook a nice dinner. Our hopes to travel, or occasionally go out on a date, or even read a magazine once in a while are gently scoffed at. Meanwhile TLOML is told he willl be feeling left out (as he won't be involved in babycare). And that we will argue a lot and I must be placated at all costs.

It sounds miserable. Will our baby really be such a tyrant? Will I? And are our lives over? Yikes! I'm pretty sure it's too late to take this baby back.

Fortunately, I'm optimistic naive enough to believe that, while it will be very painful, giving birth will ultimately be very rewarding. And that although we will of course, be tired beyond all reason, we will also be happy. And in it together. I want to go into this whole thing feeling upbeat, positive and excited - rather than tensed and expecting the worst.

I've stopped reading the weekly 'your pregnancy' emails from NHS, Bounty, Babycentre, Babycenter, HiPP, Aptamil and Cow & Gate. (On reflection, perhaps I signed up for too many.) I've even stopped watching One Born Every Minute, the ultimate source of birth horror stories.

The only kind of birth stories I now want to hear are positive, 'I didn't even notice I was in labour & then the baby slipped out like a bar of soap' stories. The excellent Tell Me a Good Birth Story site has plenty of good ones and I've read them all many times over. Similarly, I only really want to hear from friends who say things like 'Yes, it's tiring but motherhood is wonderful', or 'The sleep deprivation is tough but my goodness it's worth it'.

So if you've offered me any advice in the past few days, and I seem to be glazing over, forgive me. I'm choosing blissful ignorance, or vague positivity. Life as an optimist is really much more pleasant.

Relinquishing control

Being mentally prepared for labour and birth is a good thing. Taking time to consider your preferences, and to document them in a birth plan, is a useful exercise. But it is generally recommended to keep any open mind. Anything can happen, and it's important to be able to go with the flow. Accept that the birth may take a different course than what you have planned, and don't freak out if you can't get into the birthing pool, or have an epidural, or it turns out to hurt way more than you expected.

Well, that's all very sensible. But I'm just not sure it's achievable.

I live a highly structured, fully itinerised life. I write things on lists and then I do (or buy) them. Things don't 'just happen' to me, and I rarely go with the flow. Sure, I like a bit of spontaneity - but only if it doesn't interfere with my plans.

So my plan for labour and birth is really quite fixed. I really want to use the pool, and I hope to avoid medical intervention. I have created several itunes playlists for different points in my labour and have written clear instructions for TLOML about which ones to play and when. (Yes, I know.)

Too specific?

I have also been quite particular about when I want all this birthing activity to happen. I'm trying to make a meeting with a literary agent early next week. Plus the cleaner comes on Wednesday morning. And my sister is in town next Thursday and Friday. So my ideal is for labour to start on Wednesday afternoon and be over by Thursday morning.

I know, I know, it's ridiculous. There's at least a two week window now in which my baby could make her appearance. And all sorts of circumstances could arrive which render my playlists completely redundant.

But I'm just really hoping for a like mother, like daughter scenario. Fingers crossed she'll be as keen on structure and plans as I am.