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Pack your hospital bag!

Just over a year ago I walked up to my hubby in the lounge room, white as a ghost and said, not so tactfully, "What have you done to me!?"
The positive pregnancy test had taken us by surprise but the humour of the situation eventually hit us. God had cracked a funny!
I'd asked that we not have two kids in nappies and for a three year age gap between them.
Our eldest toilet trained herself the very same day and by our dates, this new baby was due on her third birthday.
Fast forward nine months to one of the most hectic weeks where not much seemed to be going to plan, from a stolen bike, cops, housing fugitives, and very sadly the passing of our beautiful grandma. The thought of throwing a baby into the mix was slightly terrifying!
We don't have an adequate hospital in our town so both our kids were born in the big smoke. We hadn't planned to head to Perth until two weeks before my due date, but after my body decided it couldn't keep up a few days before our expected departure, I was told by nurses to get my butt out of town.
Stubborn and knowing that we had way too much to do, we stayed for a few extra days. Nothing quite like the drama of knowing you're 850 km away from the hospital you're meant to give birth at.
Contractions started at 4pm on a Saturday arvo but after some serious discussion we decided it was too late and went to start the 9 hour drive to Perth. Driving in the dark is too dangerous because of stray cattle and roos. We'd have to leave in the morning.
8:30am, ten days before my due date, we finally got away. Contractions didn't seem to be getting worse but they were constant the entire drive. You don't notice how bumpy the road is until times like these.
Thirty minutes from our destination things were getting a little more intense and contractions were closer together. By the time we pulled into my parents driveway I knew we'd have to drop our eldest off and run! I waddled inside to the toilet, my waters broke and we rushed to the hospital. 
Once arriving at the hospital, being the glamorous person I am, with no time to put shoes on and needing the most direct route to the entrance, I jumped the fence, walked through the garden bed and straight in. Time check, 6:20pm.
After some intense groans (which sounded so much like a cows that in my delirium, I was envisioning myself in a green meadow) and a few hits of gas, our little parcel entered the world, posterior and with a head and elbow coming out at the same time. By some miracle I came away unscathed.
If we had have left home 30 minutes later I would have been pushing a baby out in the car! If we hadn't have left town when we planned to, our new edition would have been born in our lounge room. The timing couldn't have been anymore perfect, really.
There is really no moral to this story, other than to warn you to be prepared and make sure you properly pack a hospital bag!
I hadn't done this and spent the first 12 hours wearing my husbands boardies.

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