When I first considered whether I wanted three children, I was terrified. I was scared that I wouldn’t be able to cope. Two kids are great, because mum and dad can hold one each. Not to mention, I have two hands to hold each kid.

But what happens when there are THREE kids?

I would sometimes see a mother with three or four children – walking to school, in the shops, getting in and out of the car… and I think “My goodness, how does she do it???”

Those mothers were truly super-mums in my eyes.

So the other day I had a kind of epiphany.

I was dropping my two big boys off at their school. It was pouring with rain, it was windy, and the air was really cold. I parked the car. I got out of the car and stood in the rain. The car park was full of cars, kids, parents, puddles – it was utter madness.

There I was, holding a baby in one arm, two school bags in the other arm. I had my head crooked to one side so I could hold my own open umbrella under my chin, while trying to keep the baby dry. The boys were also standing in the pouring rain, in a huge puddle, with water soaking into their socks, enjoying the novelty of rain and trying to open their umbrellas.

I was shouting “PAY ATTENTION, WE’RE ON A ROAD! DON’T SPLASH THE PUDDLES! DON’T OPEN THE UMBRELLA TOO CLOSE TO THE CAR! DON’T POKE YOUR BROTHER IN THE EYE! STOP SWINGING YOUR UMBRELLA AROUND! DON’T STAND TOO FAR OUT ON THE ROAD!” as I used my knee to herd the boys away from the zooming cars.

I was so stressed. I stood there… and I could feel my blood boil with frustration. I was going to explode. THIS IS SO HARD!! THIS IS CRAZY!! I’M GOING CRAZY!!

I had a moment of insanity.

Then a thought flashed through my head – Oh. I see. This is how THOSE MOTHERS DO IT. WITH PLAIN HARD WORK.

I quickly realised that it probably didn’t have to be so hard. I needed to calm my nerves. I just had to do things slowly. Maybe adopt a slightly more positive attitude. And stick with what was important at that very moment. Which was, crossing the road.

Rain? Puddles? It’s just water right?

So, oh well, the baby got a bit wet. My hair got soaked. The school bags were drenched. The boys looked like they just had a shower. And I’m sure we’re all going to get a cold by the end of the week. Ah well.

As we approached the classroom, one of my boys looked up at me with big happy eyes and said, “Whoa, I feel like I’ve been in a washing machine!” And I actually laughed.

Later on that afternoon, I thought about this whole “super-mummy with three kids” thing.

We’re not THAT SUPER. We’ve just gotten used to the hard work, the juggling, the busy-ness and being organised.

It’s not glamorous, but it’s life.

And learning how to love it, is perhaps the most super thing about it.

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The other day I went to visit a girlfriend, who had just given birth 10 days ago. As she held her tiny baby, wrapped up in a pink bundle of blankets… I sighed at the beautiful sight of soft, squishy skin, and tiny crinkly eyes.

Then to my shock horror, I realised that the baby in my own arms WAS NOT A NEWBORN ANYMORE!

Look at him! He’s like a big monster baby compared to the fragile, helpless, kitten-like baby he used to be. What happened?!

Liam is 13 weeks old and he has discovered his hands, as you can see in the photo on the left.

I just LOVE this stage. It’s hilarious. Babies will just sit and stare at their hand, as if it was the most interesting thing in the world.

He’s also experimenting with his expressions. From spaced-out blurred looks, to squinty-eyed laugh-out-loud looks, to this… super-cute frowning.

Is everyone just dying from cuteness-overload yet?

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I have been getting lots of people writing in to ask me about my weight before and after pregnancy, gaining weight, and how I have been getting back into shape etc. And I have been finding it absolutely fascinating to see THE EFFECTS OF THREE PREGNANCIES over time, age and lifestyle.

My History

When I was pregnant for the first time, I was 25 years old and 47kgs. I literally ate to my heart’s content. I gave in to any craving for junk food, meat pies, fried noodles, cheese, chocolate.

Surprisingly, I didn’t gain much throughout the pregnancy. But near the end, within a few days, my appetite grew and I suddenly put on 5kgs - and got big purple stretch marks on my tummy. (So big lesson, gradual weight gain ladies!)

In total, I gained about 15kgs (pregnancy was 38 weeks long).

After I gave birth, I breastfed, and the weight instantly melted away. It definitely had something to do with natural metabolism or genetics or SOMETHING, because I wasn’t on a vigorous exercise regime, nor did I go to the gym. However, I was an active mother, going out every day, walking, carrying baby in a sling, and pushing the pram.

The stretch marks faded to a silvery colour over time. A very, very small price to pay for having a baby! I also did a lot of pelvic floor exercises.

When I was pregnant for the second time, I was 27 years old and 45kgs. I had a much healthier lifestyle and diet this time, but I still ate as much as I liked.

Again, I gained 15kgs in total (pregnancy was 38 weeks). And again, the kilos melted away after birth, with hardly any work on my part, and the stretch marks faded to silver. I felt that I was lucky with my genes. Once again, a lot of pelvic floor exercises.

Then it was 4 years between my 2nd and 3rd children. I was not very fit. I got tired easily and had very low stamina. I did do various spurts of exercise and sports, but no regular cardio workouts, or muscle building or toning exercises.

I was slightly concerned that after four years, I still had a small JELLY BELLY – as they call it in post-pregnancy circles. Since I was back at my pre-pregnancy weight, I assumed that jelly belly is due to loss of muscle tone in the abdomen.

Now, I say “slightly concerned” because, I guess if I was VERY concerned, I would have been motivated to do something about it. And the only person in the whole world who would ever noticed was me. Once again, a very small price to pay for the joy of having TWO babies.

With my third pregnancy, I was 30 years old and 45kgs. My lifestyle and diet had never been as healthy. Throughout my pregnancy I did lots of exercise, body stretches, I ate very well, I didn’t over eat, and I practiced a LOT of self-control with my cravings.

I put on 14kgs in total (which was really good, considering I was pregnant for 2 weeks longer this time, and delivered at 40 weeks).

A week after the third birth I was 8kgs over, which is completely normal.

But now, it’s been 3 months since the birth and I’m still 3kgs over. The weight isn’t exactly “melting away” like when I was 25, and the loss of muscle tone is a lot greater, so the jelly belly is obviously a lot bigger.

In addition to all that, I don’t seem to have the same natural reservoir of energy stored up. I’m even more tired, I need more sleep, I get more headaches, and my bones and muscles actually hurt when I use them.

Yes that’s right, I’m over 30! I’m finding it harder to keep myself fit and in shape! Haha how clichéd is that? But it’s the simple truth.

Of course, the “mummy tummy” is very normal. After all, my skin and muscles were stretched out like a balloon for 9 months. If I “let it all hang out” I look 3 months pregnant.

To be completely honest with you and myself, while I LOVE being a mother, I just don’t want to have a “mummy tummy”. And I can see how this will continue to become more of a problem as time goes by. So, I am determined to get back to my pre-pregnancy weight, and flatten my tummy somewhat. And I have been inspired by some other mums I know who have done it.

So What to Do?

My husband and I are trying to improve our eating and lifestyle habits.

So we are eating very well - lots of raw vegetables, limiting processed carbohydrates and high-cholesterol meats, sugar and fats. However, our kids need all this stuff for their growing bodies, so they often get a different variation at meal times.

We’re including more exercise into our daily routine. For example, my husband rides his bike to the shops, instead of driving, and I walk the boys to school, pushing my newborn in the pram. This is actually great, because I get to chat with other walk-to-school mums in the park, and it doesn’t seem like work at all.

I’m also researching abdominal exercises specifically for mums, and I discovered a few fascinating facts about the mummy tummy and some simple exercises to help get me started… and I’ll share it all next time around.

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Liam is almost 3 months old. He weighs about 5kgs - I say “about” because I haven’t actually gone into the clinic to weigh him. He just feels like the same weight as a bag of rice.

He sleeps 11-12 hours through the night, and takes a big 2 hour nap in the morning, followed by several small 30 minute naps through the day. He is, by far my favourite baby, just don’t tell the others.

He has very good control of his head. He can turn to look at things. He notices people when they walk into the room. And smiles a lot.

New for this week, is that he can bring his hand to his mouth and suck on his thumb. Sometimes he misses and you can often find him bashing himself on the chin – which is actually quite cute, and not at all as cruel as it sounds.

But his cute factor has also risen threefold this week, as he is quite a chatterbox.

If he is awake, and if someone picks him up, makes eye contact with him, and talks to him… he will immediately goo and gaa and sing back with smiles, chuckles and a little sparkle in his eye. Good lord, it is so so so cute.

It’s enough to make me want another baby – but that WON’T be happening!

Photo: He also likes talking to his new friends, Goldilocks and the three bears. At first he eyes them up suspiciously, then after a round of introductions, he’ll happily chat away at them. Like I said. So. Cute.

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When I first became a mother to a newborn baby, I quickly got used to all the QUESTIONS. Questions about my pregnancy. Questions about the delivery. Questions about the newborn.

How many months pregnant are you? Did you have morning sickness? What are you craving for?

How long was the delivery? Was it a natural birth? How much did the baby weigh?

Is your baby a boy or girl? How old is he? Does he sleep a lot? He’s got such long fingers!

I found it quite endearing that all these questions seemed so universal. And I’ve learnt not to be so irritated by these questions, because hey, I ask other new mothers the same things.

Liam is now 10 weeks old and I’ve reached the stage where everyone is asking me: WHO DOES HE LOOK LIKE?

My aunties use their hands and cover Liam’s forehead and say, his mouth and chin look like Callum, and his forehead looks like Sean. Or that he’s got Karen’s eyes and lips, but Andrew’s brow and nose. And for some reason everyone is obsessed about his eyelids and ears!

So I thought I’d share a few pics of my three boys, and everyone can make up their own minds.

Baby 3: Liam is 10 weeks old.

Baby 2: Sean is 12 weeks old.

Baby 1: Callum is 6 weeks old.

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At 6 weeks old, my newborn Liam had established a night time routine – but not a good one.

He would go to bed at 8pm on the dot. Then he would wake up at 12am, 2am, 4am and 6am. Every two hours!

And guess what, my other 2 children also woke up at 6am! And we all have to leave for school at 8:00!

It was really hard. The broken sleep in the evenings, plus the very busy days looking after the other children and running the house… it was a very bad combination.

I was really cranky and irritable. I was constantly dazed. I kept having little memoery “black-outs”. I was snapping and shouting at the kids – saying things like “Mummy’s got a headache! Can you just GO AWAY??”. I was emotional. I was grumpy at my husband. I would cry at random things. I would be really angry and breakdown if the smallest thing went wrong. And I could feel myself slowly sinking towards depression.

This went on for 8 days.

I soon realised that there was a pattern in my newborn’s night time feeds:

He has a huge feed at 8pm. At 12am he wakes up for a medium feed and goes straight to sleep.

At 2am, he cries out. I pick him up and he’s very sleepy and sluggish. He’s so sleepy that he doesn’t actually seem hungry, he doesn’t attach well, and so he gulps down a lot of air. He only drinks for 3-5 minutes and falls asleep on the breast.

When he’s done, I burp him and he usually throws up half or all of what he had drunk (I thought he had reflux). I clean him up, change his clothes, change his nappy, I burp and pat him a lot. He falls asleep, I put him down. All up, it takes 45 minutes.

At 4am, pretty much the same thing happens.

After 4 nights of this, I had perfected the art of aiming his head so his vomit goes on the floor without getting any on his clothes!

After 6 days of all this, I begin to suspect that he was waking up and crying out of habit. He just didn’t seem hungry, and maybe he just wanted something to suck on.

So after 8 days and nights of all this craziness, I decided to do something about it, to save my sanity, and to save my family from “mad” me.

Day 1

I put him to bed at 8pm. He woke up and had a big feed at 12am.

At 2am, he cried out and I went in to pat him, stroke his head, and say reassuring things to him. But NO FEED! I left the room. He cried.

After 5 minutes I went in again and gave him another pat, stroke and kind words. But NO FEED!

After 10 minutes, I did the same thing.

After 15 minutes, I did the same thing.

Whenever he started his angry or his breathless crying, I went in earlier. The sound of my voice and my strokes seemed to soothe him considerably. But I always left the room after a few minutes. And NO FEED!

It went on and on for 2 hours - every 15 minutes, going in to say hi.

Man, I was wrecked. I was really upset. My heart was crushed from hearing him cry. I felt like I was abandoning my child. I felt like such a terrible person, and a bad mother. I was starving my child! My child is going to have issues! My child is going to hate me! I couldn’t look at his face while he cried, or else I would have given in.

The only thing that kept me going was the fact that we had used the same technique with my other two children to sleep through the night. And it worked for them. So I knew he’d be ok.

Also my husband was very supportive, he stayed up with me to make sure I didn’t go crazy.

Liam finally went to sleep at 4am!

He woke up at 6am, I gave him a big cuddle and a big feed. And he went straight back to sleep.

(So he had gone 6 hours without a feed. During the day I was watching him like a hawk. He showed no signs of distress at all. He was happy, smiling at me and locking his eyes onto things whenever he was awake. And he slept soundly for 3 hours in the afternoon.)

Day 2

I put him to bed at 8pm. He woke up and had a big feed at 12am.

At 2am, he cried out and we did the whole thing all over again – every 15 minutes, going in to say hi.

This time he only cried for 45 minutes. But he only did a whimpering kind of cry, not an angry cry.

He went back to sleep and woke up at 6am.

(Again, he went 6 hours without a feed. He was absolutely fine and happy during the day. He had several big sound naps too.)

Day 3

I put him to bed at 8pm.

This time he didn’t wake up at 12pm. He woke up at 3am!

He just whinged for 15 minutes. I went in to pat him and say hi.

He went back to sleep and woke up at 6am.

Day 4

I put him to bed at 8pm.

And he woke up at 6am.

Day 5 to Now (3 weeks later)

Still sleeping at 8pm and waking up at 6am.

In the evenings he gets pretty hungry. He feeds 5:30pm, 6:30pm and 7:30pm. I figure that he’s topping himself up for the long night sleeps, which is great.

I’m SO RELIEVED.

Officially, this technique is called “controlled crying”. I am aware that there are some people who don’t believe in it and discourage it. I’m making no judgments, and I hope no one else does either.

I’m simply sharing my experience here, which is that – I can’t be a good mother to all my kids, I can’t be a good companion to my husband, and I can’t manage a home… if I am suffering from sleep deprivation.

I know that Liam is putting on lots of weight. He’s reaching his baby milestones (smiling, gooing and gahing, following things with his eyes and ears, doing lots wet and dirty nappies), his breast attachment is much better (no more reflux and throwing up his feeds), he is sleeping soundly during the day, and… he gets a lot more cuddles and kisses from a relaxed and happy mummy.

(The photograph above is Liam and I ahgoo-ing at 9 weeks. When he is bright and awake, and you say “AH GOOOO” to him, he’ll respond with an AH GOO too. It’s so darn cute that it even makes my husband ovulate.)

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At 5 weeks old, Liam’s sleeping and feeding patterns were all over the place.

Most times he would need to feed every 3 hours, sometimes 2 hours, or 4 hours. Sometimes he would surprise me and sleep for 6 hours straight. Followed by a feeding frenzy every 1 hour.

During the day, irregular feeding patterns were fine – but at night, it was terrible.

He soon fell into a night time pattern. He went to bed at 8pm. Woke at 12am, 2am, 4am and 6am.

The sleep deprivation was shocking. My brain was completely fried. I was walking around like a zombie.

I couldn’t get enough rest to give me the deep REM that I needed, so my waking hours were a blur. It felt like every time I blinked or close my eyes for a few seconds, I was launched back into my dreams and my brain was mixing up strange visions with reality. I couldn’t do things properly, nor could I sustain a conversation. I was living in a complete haze.

It was all pretty hard work. Especially having two other noisy children who needed to be taken to school, needed after school activities, feeding, bathing, talking to, reading to, and help with homework. Not to mention I had to juggle cooking dinner, cleaning the house, doing the laundry, running the house, hanging out with my husband and other things.

I didn’t take naps during the day, because I still had a 4 year old to look after some days. And there was so much work to do around the house!

Everyone asks me…. How did I do it all? How do I manage?

The secret is: to have a loving, hard-working, and understanding husband!

And really… I just have to get on with it! I just get organised! I discovered that the human body is quite capable of amazing things, if you’re willing to push it.

Juggling, adapting, staying active and busy. I’d rather push myself, than be a lazy blob.

Life is going great! Although a little hazy.

(By the way, Liam is actually 8 weeks old now and he sleeps 10 hours through the night! But more on that later…)

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Chinese people have a tradition called “confinement”.

It’s based on the belief that when a woman has given birth, her body is “cold, weak and empty”. In order to bring herself back to health, she must observe 30 days of certain lifestyle and dietary changes.

Some of these changes are:

The woman must stay indoors for 30 days. She should not go out and expose herself to cold temperatures, cold wind, or breezes. She must rest. She must lie down as much as possible. She should not do anything strenuous or vigorous.

She must not wash her hair or bathe for 30 days. Yes, you heard me right. No washing for 30 days after delivery. She has to avoid all contact with water - including, not washing her hands. She must stay warm and cover up all parts of her body

She can’t drink plain water. Instead, she has to drink a special red date tea at all times.

While I appreciate the significance of traditional beliefs and customs – I chose not to follow many of these practices, for obvious practical and hygiene reasons. In fact, I had a shower about 30 minutes after Liam was born! It was the same for my first two newborns.

However, the aspect of confinement that I was VERY happy to observe was - CONFINEMENT FOOD. There’s a whole list of weird and wonderful Chinese foods that are said to nourish the woman’s body, revitalise health, expel wind, create warmth and increase the supply of breast milk.

When I explained this to my husband, after the birth of my first child, many years ago, he thought I would be eating an amazing array of fresh, healthy green vegetables and rich protein dishes. Oh how he was wrong.

Because the dishes were more like this.

This is slow stewed pig trotters with old ginger in black vinegar. It’s absolutely delicious. It’s to die for. In fact, my mouth is watering as I write this. But my husband thinks it looks like someone already ate it once.

After each of my children were born, my mother made a huge pot of this stuff for me. The thick, black soup bubbled and simmered on my stove for weeks. She kept adding more ingredients to the pot each week, enhancing it’s richness, flavour and texture. The smell of vinegar and ginger filled my house. It was divine. My husand spent a lot of time opening the windows to let the smell out, and my mother closed them all up again to stop me from getting chilled.

She also made delicious dishes with chicken, sesame oil and ginger. Sometimes it was pork and ginger. Eggs and ginger. Broccoli and ginger. Green beans and ginger.

Day and night. Breakfast, lunch and dinner. I had something cooked with sesame oil and ginger. I loved it.

My mother came over every day to help. She arrived in the morning, cooked me breakfast, got the boys ready for school, took the boys to school, washed the dishes, helped with the laundry, made me lunch, cleaned the kitchen, swept the floors. I got lots of sleep. And most importantly, I ate LOTS of confinement food! It was wonderful! I am a very fortunate Chinese girl.

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When I had my first baby, the first few weeks were an amazing experience.

I have a baby! I am a mother! It was exciting and exhilarating. But it was also scary and terrifying. Everything was just so new and different! It was thrilling, rewarding, pleasing and overwhelming.

I was completely drunk with the rush of love, excitement, sleep deprivation and the fact that I was at the beginning of a brand new life.

Motherly love was a new experience, and it was grand.

When I had my second baby, life was a bit rocky for our family. I was pretty drained emotionally.

I didn’t feel “connected” to my newborn. There was a bond, but we were hanging by a fine thread. Waking up in the middle of the night, feeding, changing, burping – I was tired and cheerless. It was all a chore and a duty. I didn’t have a good time.

As I held my newborn, I knew I loved him so much. But I didn’t glow with any radiance, nor did my heart swell with the sweetness of motherhood. The love I had for my child was more of an intellectual truth.

I guess it’s nice to know that despite the two very different beginnings, the relationship I now have with my sons are the same – I absolutely love both of them, with my everything.

This time with my third baby, the feeling of love is again very different.

It’s quiet and peaceful. Stronger perhaps. More mature. And much wiser.

It’s knowing that I’m blessed. It’s knowing that this will be the last time I will hold a newborn so intimately. That every moment from this time onward, is precious… and a last.

My love is a deep and treasured gratefulness.

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It’s 4am. I’m sitting in the nursery, rocking back and forth in my rocking chair. Every molecule in my body is glowing with happiness.

Liam is asleep on my chest, purring like a happy kitten after a good feed. I’m gently patting his back hoping he’ll burp out any air he might have swallowed during the feed.

Burping is important - I’ve learnt over the years. Burping can’t be rushed. If I put the baby down too early, he’ll grizzle and grumble, and will probably throw up his entire feed. There will be curdled milk all over the blankets, carpets, floor, chair, and of course me. Not something I want at 4am in the morning.

So I rock back and forth, and pat. The top of his head is nuzzled into my neck. I can feel his velvety, fuzzy hair tickle my chin. His skin is soft and squishy.

And, ah yes, then there’s that newborn smell. The smell of milky, clean skin and warm fresh cotton.

And newborn noises. Little, squeaky breathing. Tiny, bubbly gurgles. And the cutest little sighs you’ve ever heard.

The weight and warmth of his body, pressed against my chest is unlike anything I can describe.

I am a mother and I am totally in love.

Liam at 3 weeks, looking like a stately old man in deep thought.

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I have been very, very lucky with my third pregnancy. The labour was pretty much text book, and there were no complications on my part. Just two small stitches, for those of you who know what that’s about.

When the doctor put Liam in my arms, I was overcome with the joy of meeting my little boy!

But the doctor, who sees babies being born four or five times a week, was carefully watching Liam’s breathing. After about two minutes, he decided that Liam was not breathing quite right, so he took him away from me and connected a blood oxygen monitor to Liam’s tiny foot.

His oxygen levels were a little low, but improved when pure oxygen gas was blown on his face for him to breathe.

They doctor asked me if it was okay with me to put Liam in a plastic box called an infant incubator, where he could be kept warm, and breathe added oxygen, and be monitored by a special nurse. Of course, I wanted to make sure he was getting off to a good start, so I said yes.

Liam in the incubator. Here, he is about an hour old.

After I had a shower and cleaned up, I went to visit Liam. And about an hour after he was born, he had his first feed. This was another hurdle that can come up for a newborn, that is, if they don’t quite “get” how to attach to the breast for feeding. But I am glad to say that Liam was a natural.

By the next morning, it was quite clear that Liam was just fine, and didn’t need to be in the incubator any more. So we shared a little room all to ourselves. He did just what a perfect baby was supposed to do at this stage – eat and sleep. As a result, I could also pretty much just eat and sleep.

At the end of the first full day, my husband brought Callum and Sean to visit, and they were so excited… for five minutes. After waiting 9 months, they were expecting to meet a super hero, but what they found was a little red lump who didn’t do very much.

Me, Callum and Sean looking into crib. The boys are underwhelmed.

The novelty of having a new brother wore off very quickly, and then they were more interested in playing with the remote control on the hospital bed: Up. Down. Up. Down. Up. Down. Half way up. Half way down. Back up a little bit. Back down a lot. Argh it drove me crazy!

By the end of the second day, things were so well that I was bored. Nothing was wrong, and I didn’t need any help.

However the last time I had a baby, I developed mastitis (infection in my milk ducts), so I thought it best to stay in hospital till after “my milk came in”.

When you have a baby, your breasts don’t produce milk immediately and instead baby drinks a substance produced by your breasts, called colostrum. It’s kind of like a training course for the baby’s digestive system, with a built in immune system upgrade. Babies are actually getting their calories from their own fat supply, and their weight goes down immediately after birth, not up. It takes 3-4 days for the “milk to come in”.

This is a polite medical way of saying that you wake up one morning, and suddenly, your breasts are doubled in size and have become extremely firm – like melons. This may sound like a miracle, but actually, it can be very, very, VERY painful. The suddenness of this volume of milk can cause problems, and so I had to be hooked up to a milking machine, just like a cow. This provides such a relief from the pain that I don’t mind the humiliation!

My milking machine. My good friend.

But, by the fourth morning, my doctor came by and said that I should just go home. Everything was just going so well. So I picked up my new baby, and took him home to start his life with our family.

I am so grateful for such an easy start.

Liam looking cute, two days old.
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It is Saturday morning. My two boys wake up early and play happily in their room, while my husband and I sleep in.

It is a nice slow start to an easy morning. We all have eggs and toast for breakfast, then I sit in the garden, sip a cup of tea and read a book.

I have a phone conversation with an aunt – no, no signs of labour yet. After 40 weeks of waiting, I have given up expecting signs.

11:45am – I suddenly feel a little twinge in my abdomen. It is unlike any other twinge I have felt in the past weeks. It is like a light squeezing in my stomach. It goes away, then it comes back again a few minutes later.

12:00pm – I start to track the twinges. They come every 5 minutes, so I casually mention this to my husband. He starts to pack the car and get the boys ready to go. We make a few phone calls to my mother and the hospital. I move around and gather all my things and re-pack my bag. The twinges don’t hurt at all.

1:00pm – We drive to the hospital. My husband drops me off, then drives to my mother’s house to drop the boys off. I chat happily to the receptionist, and I get the impression that she doesn’t believe I am in labour. To be honest, it doesn’t really feel like I am.

1:30pm – I am taken to a birthing suite, and introduced to a midwife. She spends a considerable amount of time fussing around with her preparations – shuffling paperwork, laying out implements, making sure various machines work, opening packets of this and that. I sit on a chair and watch her.

My contractions are so mild that once again, I’m happily chatting away about the cute little garden courtyard outside the birthing suite.

The midwife hands me a few bits of paper for me to look at. They turn out to be the hospital food menus! She wants me to choose what I’m going to be eating for the next few days!  There is no sense of urgency.

Shall I choose the vegetable lasagna or the… oh wait I’m having a contraction… or the assorted sandwiches?

2:00pm – The midwife does an internal examination, to see how far my cervix has opened up (dilated) . She is pretty surprised – it is already 7cm! Since we only need to have 10 centimeters to get baby out, this is pretty advanced.

The midwife now believes that I am very close to having a baby! She calls the doctor, who says he is coming right in. Suddenly, things are happening. I really AM having a baby!

2:15pm – The midwife wants to establish a baseline for my contractions and baby’s heart rate, while things are “quiet during the labour”. She straps a little metal disc to my belly and shows me how the monitor works. My contractions are still really mild. I’m absolutely fascinated by the machine, and spend ages watching the graph rise and fall with each contraction.

My husband arrives and makes a joke about hoping to have missed the baby arriving. With nothing to do, he looks at the food menu. We both think it’s hilarious that I’m HAVING A BABY and the hospital staff want me to decide on what food I want to eat. It doesn’t seem real.

2:30pm –The doctor arrives. He is wearing sandals, board shorts and a very loud floral print shirt. But hey, this is Australia, and it is the weekend after all. He says I don’t look like I am having a baby, and we banter about how convenient it is to have a baby on a Saturday afternoon (as opposed to a midweek 4am delivery). I don’t make any jokes about his shirt.

3:00pm – They take me off the monitor, and I pace up and down the birth suite to try and get things going. I occasionally sit on a large rubber ball thing to relieve the weight on my legs and back.

Pfffft, third time around is too easy! Let’s have a fourth!

My contractions still feel like a mild period pain. The doctor asks whether I want to have my “waters broken” – referring to the membrane that holds the fluids and baby within the cervix. This will quickly progress the labour. I say YES! The doctor uses a special little tool to break my waters.

3:30pm – About half an hour after having my waters broken, the contractions are finally starting to hurt. They feel like very strong abdominal cramps now, lasting a minute. I focus on steady and deep breathing through each contraction, which help me significantly.

4.00pm – My cervix is almost fully dilated to 10cm. Each contraction is becoming stronger and stronger, so that I can’t talk. Each contraction is pushing my baby’s head down into my cervix.

4.20pm – The contractions are now so strong that I can’t stand up. I crawl onto the bed, and trying sitting and lying in different positions.

I suddenly feel the urge to push. The doctor checks me, I’m fully dilated.

And just like in the movies, everyone in the room seems to shout out “PUSH!”

I push as hard as I can, and it feels like I am trying to do a VERY large poo.

Each contraction is excruciatingly painful. And pushing is extremely hard work. No wonder they call it LABOUR.

Because I wasn’t completely exhausted by the early part of labour, I am extremely alert and aware of everything that is happening.

The doctor and midwife are with me all the way, encouraging me, and reassuring me that I’m doing a great job and that my baby is okay.

In a room full of experts, my husband has nothing to do, and just watches. At one moment during a push, I catch sight of his face, and it is like he is watching a horror movie. I try to imagine what he is seeing! An entire human being squeezed out of another human being’s bottom!

The pain is so bad that I am screaming out.

4.41pm – I summon one more agonizing push – I feel like I am going to tear myself into two – and the baby’s head pops out. But I can’t sustain the push and his shoulders get stuck.

A few minutes later, I push baby out into the safe hands of the doctor. Within seconds, the doctor puts my baby into my arms.

As I see Liam’s face for the first time, I am overwhelmed, and I cry from joy and exhaustion. It is already worth it, a million times over.

Liam snuffles and grunts, and takes his first breath. Six billion people on the planet have been born like this, but it still seems like magic to me.

My beautiful little boy.

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Click here to see the whole story of Making Baby 3.

Everyone, meet Liam. Liam, meet everyone.

Suddenly, my family will never be the same again. It is exactly how we dreamed it to be.

I am too tired to be ecstatic, but I am glowing with relief, joy and fulfilment.

I have three healthy children. My life is truly blessed.

We are all doing well.

I’ll post up the full birth story as soon as I can.

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Click here to see the whole story of Making Baby 3.

It is terribly ironic, that after spending so much time trying to get pregnant, I now really want to be… NOT PREGNANT.

Every mother I meet seems to have a story about how they brought on their labour, or have some entertaining piece of advice they received.

Go for a very long walk.
Go for a very fast walk.
Make love.
Clean the bathroom.
Do some gardening.
Go horse-riding.
Go for a bumpy car ride.
Drink one tablespoon of castor oil. (This will produce diarrhoea, as well as a baby.)
Have a massage.
Eat spicy food.

Well, I’ve tried some of the afore-mentioned things AND STILL NO BABY!

My doctor says that at 40 weeks, I’m doing well, there’s nothing wrong with me, nothing wrong with the baby, everything seems to be going fine – so I have declined to be induced, until absolutely necessary. I guess, as much as I am complaining, I actually want to have as “natural” a birth as possible.

So it’s my own fault really. I have chosen to wait it out!

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Okay, I admit it. I made a big mistake. I presumed that since both my previous boys had been born in the 38th week of pregnancy, that the third would be as well.

I am now almost 40 weeks (full term) and the baby still hasn’t arrived!

I have never been THIS pregnant. And it hurts. Literally.

I am getting tighter and heavier by the day. It takes a phenomenal amount of effort to bend down to pick something up. Or to get up from a chair. Or god help me, get up from off the floor!

My butt hurts when I sit. My feet hurt when I stand. My back hurts when I walk.

My baby is kicking me in the lungs and in the stomach. I have nerve tingling sensations in my legs from his head pressing against my spine. Every time he moves, my tummy feels like a balloon being stretched to its limit.

When I go to sleep at night, the pressure of the baby on my organs make it really hard for me to breathe.

My belly button, which is usually a nice deep “inny”,  is pushed out so far that it sticks out of my clothes, like an huge, rude nipple. I have to go to the toilet every 15 minutes because there is no room for my bladder to expand.

My entire family are carrying around mobile phones, waiting for me to ring and say one word – LABOUR! – so they can spring into action.

But it’s not happening. Day after day, I am still very pregnant.

However.

I think worst of all… my biggest mistake is, telling everyone that I was expecting the baby in the 38th week.

Everyone (and I mean EVERYONE) I meet, says, “You’re still pregnant?” or “Any news yet?”

It’s driving me crazy!

Where is this baby!?

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Click here to see the whole story of Making Baby 3.

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Click here to see the whole story of Making Baby 3.

I have a confession. A sort of announcement.

As you can see from the picture, I am not 23 weeks pregnant. I am 38 weeks… and there are only 40 weeks in a normal pregnancy.

Let me explain.

When my husband and I decided we were going to try to conceive a third child, the question on my mind was: Am I going to share the journey with my readers?

A lot of my readers had asked me why I hadn’t written much more about my previous two pregnancies. And I knew that many people would be interested to know the week by week details.

Also, since this website is based on my life, it was only natural for me to share this amazing life experience.

However, my immediate answer was: No, it was much too personal.

5 years ago, I decided not to share anything about my husband’s battle with cancer, which was happening at the same time as my second pregnancy.

I revealed it all in one, simple, short post after he had recovered.

I have no idea what I would have done if my husband had died, or been crippled.

A part of me wonders if writing about it would have helped me through it, in a therapeutic way.

And looking at it in hindsight, maybe I would have been able to inspire more people if I did.

Who knows. But at the time, keeping it secret was the right thing for me to do. The thought of sharing the day to day details of my life at that time, with thousands of strangers… was daunting and terrifying.

So when it came to Making Baby 3, I still had lots of fears. Fears of failure. Fears of being too real. Fears of sharing things that were very close to my heart. Having the contents of my heart out in the open – open to attacks, ridicule and judgment.

And what if something went wrong along the way? Complications. Invasive procedures. Operations. Miscarriages. Still births.

I guess if something did go wrong, I wanted some time to deal with things personally and privately, before I shared it with the world.

Because on the other hand, a big part of me wanted to share the story. I wanted to put it out there. I wanted to tell others. To let people in. Connect, talk and inspire people on a different level.

So I found a way where I could share my story.

I put a 3 month delay on all my Making Baby 3 posts. Yes, what you have been reading up till now, was written 3 months ago.

Why have I decided to reveal the truth now, before the delivery, if I have gone to so much trouble to keep it delayed?

Well, to be honest, a lot of reasons.

Because everything has gone so well so far with this pregnancy - I’m feeling confident.

Because we had problems getting pregnant, I have had to consider how fortunate I am to be having a third baby.

Because, I guess, that I have matured a lot in the time we have been trying to “Make Baby 3”.

Because I have become a wiser, calmer, stronger person.

And because I wanted to be completely honest with you, my readers.

I hope you understand why I needed to have the delay. I hope you forgive me.

So now, I am currently at 38 weeks.

I am big, and I am heavy! Everything in my pregnancy has been going wonderfully fine and dandy.

Considering that both my other sons were born during my 38th week, I am expecting the baby any day now!

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Click here to see the whole story of Making Baby 3.

I’ve been thinking about the kind of delivery I want to have.

For my first baby, I wanted to do things completely naturally.

I went to a special family birth centre, where there were no doctors – just midwives. This was part of the public health system, which in Australia, is pretty well resourced compared to other countries.

They had an extremely tough screening process to make sure that all admissions were completely low risk. They encouraged the use of aromatherapy, music therapy, hot baths, and pethidine gas as forms of pain relief. All birthing suites looked more like a large, gorgeous hotel suite, rather than a hospital ward. It was a really wonderful set up.

Unfortunately, during the labour, I developed several complications and was rushed to the main public hospital. I had an epidural, I had a natural birth, and I delivered a healthy 3.4kg (7.6 pounds) baby. Total labour time was 15 hours.

After the birth, I started to bleed, and was put on high alert for emergency surgery. I ended up needing a blood transfusion and intensive care. I spent several days hooked up to monitors, drips, urine bags, and all kinds of machines… and I was unable to hold my baby for 3 days.

I spent the next 3 months being sore, very weak, and needing to recover and heal in all kinds of places.

It was certainly not the “natural” experience I was hoping for!

But I was extremely thankful for the doctors and nurses who looked after me, and that despite it all, my baby and I were fine.

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For my second baby, we chose an obstetrician who came highly recommended and was extremely supportive of natural births. The hospital was a lovely little private hospital, with a very big price tag. Thank heavens for private insurance!

My second birth was textbook. It took a total of 6 hours. I delivered a 3.6kg (8 pounds) baby, with no drugs, no pain relief, no tearing, no complications. It was all completely natural!

But unlike my first delivery (with an epidural)… THIS TIME I felt every contraction, every spasm, every spine-tingling, bone-rattling, blood-curdling, skin-crawling, knuckle-crunching, debilitating, horrifying, complete shocking pain.

I admit, it took me by surprise.

I wished I could say that I was strong and resilient throughout it all. But I wasn’t.

After 5 hours of it, I broke.

It completely and utterly defeated me, and I wanted to just lay there and die, and let someone else get the baby out. The doctor (who was just wonderful) came in, urged me to try a little bit harder… I pushed, and the hey presto, the baby came out.

My recovery after the birth was amazing. After 2 days, I was bouncing around with no pain, no wounds, no needles, no drips, no sore bits. I felt great!

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ANYWAY. So with all that on my mind, I’m wondering whether I want to go completely natural drug-free again, or have the epidural.

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Click here to see the whole story of Making Baby 3.

Last week, I had my 20 week ultrasound examination, sometimes called the anatomy scan.

This is when they examine the baby’s head, brain, face, lips, heart, stomach, lungs, abdominal wall, kidneys, bladder, spine arms, legs, hands, and feet.

They measure the growth of the baby, the baby’s heart rate, the position of the placenta and amount of amniotic fluid.

Most life-threatening abnormalities can be detected during this scan. And you can find out the sex of the baby.

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I was quite tense for a few days leading up to the scan. Probably more tense than I was willing to admit at the time.

I was deeply concerned about my baby’s health – mainly because we conceived using artificial means, with my husband’s frozen sperm, which was gathered when he was quite sick.

There was almost no evidence that cancer, or chemotherapy has a negative effect on a man’s sperm.

So although I tried to be calm and sensible, I could feel the rising anxiety inside me. It made me irritable and emotional. It took all my energy to remain composed on the outside.

For this scan, I had to drink one large glass of water, one hour before arrival. I was a bit annoyed about it, because this was bound to add to my edginess.

I arrived, and there was a long queue. I was getting tense.

There was a slight problem with my referral. Slightly more tense.

I had to sit and wait. More tense!

When it was finally my turn, I lay on the chair while the sonographer did her thing.

My fingers were twisted in a white and pink tangle. My muscles were knotted up. My back was stiff. My neck was tight.

She made some polite chit chat, and then gave a commentary on what she was doing, what parts of the baby she was checking, head circumference, length of legs, heart beat, blood flow, 10 little fingers, perfect little toes…

All is well.

Baby is absolutely perfect.

Did I want to know the baby’s gender?

Yes.

“A boy! Congratulations! You can go to the toilet now.”

So I ran to the toilet. I returned to the sonographer.

I lay back on the chair. And I relaxed.

I realised what had happened. I realised the good news. And I started to cry!

I cried!

All my tensions were released. All my worries, all my anxieties, angst and fears, washed away into a little soggy bit of tissue.

I was so happy. My little baby is perfect. My little baby boy!

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Here’s a big happy grin from my newest little boy!

I’M GOING TO HAVE THREE BOYS!!

OMG I’M THRILLED!!

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Click here to see the whole story of Making Baby 3.