And we have LIFT off...

Sorry for not getting back to you sooner folks but I am literally up to my neck in nappies and powdered milk and seem to have a little bundle permanently attached to my shoulder which makes balancing the laptop rather hard work!

I promised you, however, that I would devote an entire blog to my birthing escapades...so here goes!

It was the 7th February and a bright and sunny Monday morning and I was lying in my bed in ward 1 East in Craigavon Area hospital (with my legs clamped shut) waiting for the consultant to come and tell me whether or not I was going to be induced that day. I was scared out of my wits as the baby wasn't due for another four weeks and would rather have been told that I was going home if truth be known. But this was not to be the case! The consultant pulled the curtains, said a few words and before I knew it rubber gloves were adorned, the necessary procedures were taken (I'll spare the graphic details but I'm sure y'all get the gist!) and before I knew it I was being told to stay put for an hour and keep an eye on my pains.

I have to stress at this point that having given birth three times previous to this I knew that I wouldn't be long in labour...my babies don't hang about...four hours was the longest! So, when the consultant said that she'd let nature take its course and leave me to the following morning if nothing happened Philip and I both killed ourselves laughing.

As predicted an hour and a half later the pains were coming thick and fast and Philip had been dispatched to Mothercare to source premature baby clothes as I knew I wouldn't have anything small enough to fit a baby that was estimated to be in or around five pounds. (On that note I must say that I was very impressed with what he brought back too...see men can occasionally get things right when under pressure!)

I was having a ball at that stage (a birthing ball that is, ha) and puffing on my tank of gas and air like a camel would suck leaves off a bush...class stuff girls when you haven't had a drink in nine months (gives you the opportunity to become inebriated, talk shite and be forgiven for being stupid all in one go minus the pesky hangover!)

At precisely four o'clock the lovely nurse who had been with me throughout the day suggested I took a bath and Philip agreed that this might be a good idea so the two of them they got me sorted in between much moaning and stopping to suck at the gas tank as I was very sore. I had just about got into the bath when I started to panic as I could feel the baby coming so between nearly hauling Philip in on top of me, squealing like a banshee on speed and slopping five gallon of water over the floor in my attempts to get out quickly we must have been the quare sight when the midwife came in to see what the kerfuffle was.

"I need to push."

"But you were only five centimetres an hour ago."

"Well I'm not five *$@#ing centimetres any more because this baby's coming now."

I think the nurse was still thinking that I was being a bit of drama queen when I eventually dive bombed back on to my bed (fastest heavily pregnant about-to-give-birth woman on two legs ever, me) so that she could examine me.

When she shouted for someone to get a birthing kit and instructed my stricken looking hubby to unplug the bed and run for the lift I knew the writing was on the wall...I would have been smug and said 'told you so' only I was gasping by that stage as unfortunately the gas and air had been left behind!

Why, when you're in a hurry, do lifts decide to play up. It was probably only a thirty second delay but to me (and to Philip who was turning the air blue and swearing like a trojan at that stage it felt like forever.) We were only in the lift two seconds when Master Orán started to make an appearance and I will remember forever the look on the man's face who was standing waiting for the lift at the other end as I emerged screaming blue murder (if he hadn't had children at that stage I'd say he'd have probably been quite happy to forego the idea or maybe adopt one such was the horrified look he gave us.)

I made it into the delivery suite in time to completely deliver my little man, who roared lustfully (most beautiful sound in the world to a new mammy.)

I did have to laugh, though, as the nurse cradled him and told him in dulcet tones that 'it was okay' and that she knew he was shocked to be there so soon.

Eh s'cuse me...he was shocked????? I was feckin' shocked and as for Philip I think it'll probably be a long time before he gets into a lift again without hearing the words 'pant Fionnuala pant" reverberating in his head!

But all's well that ends well and my wee baby man ended up weighing 5lbs 8ozs and being absolutely perfect despite all his mammy's fretting and worrying!

But I'd say when he's older he'll feel a strange attraction to Aerosmith songs...particularly one very aptly entitled Love in an Elevator...or should that be Born in an Elevator perhaps?!