Here’s the thing. In NCT classes and in your trusty pregnancy books, there will be a number of handy guides for what to bring to hospital, and other ‘essentials’. While kind of useful, I nevertheless found myself alone in a postnatal ward with an enormous suitcase, packed to the brim with shit I did not need and none of the things I did. So while the horror is fresh in my mind, here’s my ‘essentials’ that I would prioritise if for some hideous reason I could turn back time and be back in that cubical all over again…
1. Nappies: For you. I’m not kidding. I had gone out and bought giant knickers and heavy duty pads, in preparation for the ‘period-like’ bleeding I expected after the birth. What nobody had told me is that being put on a drip and having a C section makes your body swell up to ridiculous proportions – so much so that my giant knickers didn’t fit. I resorted to wearing my husband’s boxer shorts, promptly bled through them and my pad, and ended up in some bizarre fishnet knickers reluctantly handed over by the midwife, into which I stuffed three massive pads. This is because another joyful surprise after birth is that the bleeding is nothing like a period. It’s like a fucking tsunami. It is the pad destroyer – and if you’ve managed to get your baby breastfeeding, it will only make the bleeding worse. After I got home I ordered some Tena Lady Discreet Pants, which are neither discreet nor pants – they are giant nappies. But they are brilliant. I wore them for weeks at night and managed not to ruin any of my sheets. The same, sadly, could not be said for my hospital bed.
2. Water. Yes, I know it sounds pretentious, but I have never been so glad to see a giant bottle of evian. Weirdly, in recovery, despite being pumped full of water, I was instructed to drink and informed, rather alarmingly, that I couldn’t go home until I’d had a pee. This is not easy after an epidural and catheter adventure, and even less so when the tepid, chlorine-flavoured jug of water you’re given makes you want to vomit. Bring nice water.
3. Really, really nice shower gel, face wash and moisturiser. Marvellous for making you feel like a human, even in a horrible shower cubical that smells of mildew. Also, LIP BALM.
4. Ridiculously large clothes. This means pyjamas and some form of tracksuit for going home. I’d brought maternity leggings. Oh how I laughed trying to get them on the morning we went home. I mean cried.
5. Snacks. Biscuits, crisps, whatever you fancy. This is not a time for calorie restriction, and hospital food is rank.
For the baby
1. Clothes that fit. Obvious, I know, but size 0-3 months will be hilariously large on your newborn, and you’ll feel judged by the midwife who watches you put on its first outfit. Don’t be frugal. Buy a few newborn outfits. And by this I mean short sleeved vests, and all in one bodysuits. Nobody knows why, given maternity wards are the temperature of Hades, there is a need to layer up your newborn, but it seems to be the Done Thing.
2. Clothes to go home in. Like a snowsuit. Just some massive thing to wrap them up in and bundle into the car seat.
3. Car seat. Get one you can clip in and out. Make sure you have some idea how to actually do this as your brain will have melted by the time you reach the car park.
4. Changing stuff: Newborn (size zero if your baby is at term) nappies, baby wipes, nappy cream. They will do a shit and it will be disgusting. Oddly, my hospital cubical had nowhere to change the baby so I wish I’d brought a foldable changing mat, too.
5. For both of you – your other half. Don’t do what I did and heroically send them home to rest for the night instead of kipping on the chair in the postnatal ward. These wards are extremely poorly resourced and you will need someone to help you out of bed, pass you the baby and generally keep you sane. Good luck!
betabump and beyond 