Today was the day

I feel strange. It is now 26 September, which is one month after that diabolical day that I attended hospital for a routine appointment and remained for ten days before leaving with my tiny early baby.

More significantly, today is the day that E would have been delivered had all remained stable. This is the day I've been looking to since May.

Instead, I have a bouncing three week old still tiny baby. I cannot fathom why I feel sad/guilty/weird about having her early. This weekend past would have had me stressing, but loading things onto my iPhone, packing nice pjs, organising newborn sized clothes. Nice planning. And today I would have had the section. Which isn't pleasant really, other than the amazing moment of meeting the baby.

E is unaware of this, of course, and is happily adhering to the behaviour expected of a three week old.

She cries more loudly and frequently. Tears are down to hunger, nappy changes and a new addition for three weeks: not being allowed to sleep exclusively on mummy's chest. She mostly feeds well but I have a dilemma of no perfect bottle yet. NUK has proven most successful, the next size bottles of, which she will need as soon as she takes more than 4oz each feed, don't fit in the steriliser. We have an array of Avent things (including the steriliser) but she doesn't get on with the teats. Small ones are too hard work, larger ones are too messy. We have mostly NUK teats on Avent bottles at the moment and they are kind of leaky. Tommee Tippee may be the answer, but we're not there yet.

O was home with a cold today. I am exhausted from sheer lack of sleep. 8pm bedtime for me tonight I think!!

Oh, and my wound is infected, I now need an antibiotic, despite the nurse insisting it was clean.

I need a holiday. Or a maternity nurse. Or a cleaner. Or all of the above.

The difference a date makes

Another entry seems to have been eaten, which I put down to my perpetually disappearing Internet connection.

Well. Consultant visit this morning was with my own assigned consultant, who I have seen for precisely five minutes prior to today, all of which were on last Friday.

He reiterated the unlikelihood of the tumour thing they are testing for. I'm more relaxed about that anyway, in the extremely rare case of the condition, knowing about it is the key, managed it is not particularly dangerous.

I am not to be allowed home, despite begging and proclaiming that *this* does not help reduce my blood pressure. Nor do the drugs much actually. But that is another thing altogether. He said he would like to wait till 37 weeks and that I would have to stay here. I cried.

What the consultant did after speaking to me made everything better.

First of all he discharged the noisiest hypochondriac person in the world who was in the bed opposite, restoring peace and commencing the first of my complete change of room mates as they moved onwards to home or labour and new labouring/sickly ladies arrived throughout the day.

Then he returned to me to tell me that we would go for 36 weeks and subject to theatre availability, a section would be booked around that date.

A booking has now been made. For Friday. This Friday. 3 days away. 2 sleeps after tonight. My daughter will be here in less than 3 days and any guilt I feel at curtailing her gestation is assuaged by the belief that her and I are both at danger if we continue. As an incubator my usefulness is shortly to be finished and medical attention would be better provided out of me.

And 36 weeks is pretty much ok, especially for a girl.

I am now very excited and much less freaked out. I did the essentials (bottles, tiny baby size sleepsuits, cot mattress etc) shopping online today, hubby has many collections to make at the weekend as if all goes swimmingly we could feasibly be home on Monday. Woo!

I could still be ill, baby could need special care. We have no guarantees. We shall be optimistic today though.

Another day, another outlook altogether...