This without a doubt was my worst experience - but don't worry, you young women. Things are much better these days.

Baby 2, Jonathan, born September 28, 1969

We spent our first Christmas in England with Philip’s parents in Norfolk. I have documented in another of my stories (First Christmas Memories) what a miserable time I had.  But for part of the festivities we went to a New Year's Eve party, had had a lot of homemade beer and wine. As a result of the end of the evening’s celebrations, Jonathan was conceived. We wanted another child and I had thought to have one before Stephanie was two. So, it was a bit earlier than we'd hoped, but we were pleased all the same.

I remember that I felt so tired and depressed that January and went to see the doctor. Our local GP was a friendly if rather brusque typical North-Manchester man who had his surgery with three other doctors in a large and very disorganized house, in Ashton. But I liked him and he liked me. He teased me, and when I told him I thought I was pregnant, but hadn't yet had any evidence of it, he laughed at me. But then a month or so later he was able to confirm my suspicions, and I was given iron tablets and nausea pills. He had a very unconventional way of listening for the baby's heart beat. He put his ear directly on my bare abdomen, which I’m sure was not part of normal medical ethics.

The pregnancy was much harder than the one with Stephanie had been because I started out with it being tired and depressed. I wasn't interested in dieting and gained an enormous amount of weight - 30 pounds at least. When I was about three months pregnant, I started bleeding vaginally one day and I was very worried. I tried to call Philip at work but he was out so I told the problem to his boss. I must have been in a state of near hysteria. It also turned out to be the day when we were expecting a visit by John McGinnety who's been Phil's flatmate in the States and we hadn't seen him for years.

The phone was downstairs, and the beds upstairs. The doctor told me over the phone to stay in bed, but with six month old Stephanie to care for, and the phone ringing with first Phil calling back, then his boss calling to see if I had got ahold of him, then the front door bell ringing with John's arrival, I didn't spend much time in bed. The bleeding seemed to stop after that night, and the doctor said I was okay. I had to spend a week on complete bed rest, and Philip took the week off work and was my nurse as well as Stephanie's full time parent, and the cook and housekeeper.  If I had continued with the bleeding, or had had severe pains it would have been likely to mean that I'd have a miscarriage, but whatever it was that caused the problem cleared itself up.

The rest of the pregnancy progressed normally without any problems and Jonathan started kicking equally early to Stephanie and with the same sort of healthy energy that managed to upset the coffee cup that I balanced on the ledge of my stomach.

In July we moved house, and things continued fine.

But in mid September, the due date passed and if things hadn’t started, I was due to be induced the next week. Luckily I made friends with a woman who lived down the road who had children of similar ages. She agreed to take care of Stephanie when I did finally go into labour.

Finally on a Saturday night, the 27th of September, we watched the news and then I went and had a hot bath. Just as I got out of the bath, the contractions started. As I hadn't gone into normal labour with Stephanie, having had the water bag broken to start it, I was thrilled with the way it was happening this time.

We carefully timed the contractions and they seemed about five minutes apart and lasting for about a minute. We called Pat, our new friend, and she agreed to come over and sleep at our house until Phil got back from the hospital. We called the maternity unit and they said to come right in. I'd had my bag packed for weeks so it was quite straight forward for us to just go when Pat arrived. But in the car about half-way to the hospital, the contractions stopped. I was so upset, thinking we'd just have to come back again, with a false alarm. But when I got to the hospital, the nurse examined me, and by then the contractions had started again, but weaker than before. She thought it would be some time before I delivered. Philip was allowed to stay with me, but he, what I later thought was a big mistake, introduced himself as Doctor Day. He has a PhD, but no medical qualification, but the nurse obviously thought he had and therefore more or less left us alone.

I was put in a private room, with a sterile gown on, and Phil just sat there with me, timing the contractions which didn't seem to get any stronger, or any closer together. A nurse came in now and again to see how things were getting on, but they were so slow that there was no panic. At one stage, she gave me an injection to help me rest - and that slowed the contractions even more. I was supposed to see if I could get some sleep but I only dozed off for a minute or so between contractions. Phil went out about 3 a.m. to see if he could get anything to eat, and had some eggs and chips.

I kept wondering when if even this baby was going to be born. I was so tired and fed up. The pains weren’t unbearable, but they just kept on and on. Then about 6 a.m. a doctor came in. He examined me, and said, "But your water bag hasn't broken yet!" No, said I, wondering why he thought it had.

So he came back a few minutes later and with his little sharp knife, perforated the water bag. He said I had very tough membranes, and no doubt the birth process was being held up by the fact that the contractions weren't strong enough to break the bag. The baby was fighting to get out, but the tough bag was pushing him back in each time. Once the water bag was broken, the labour got quicker, and harder. By 7:30 I was in real agony, with contractions about every 2 minutes and lasting for two minutes. I had no injections of any sort for pain, and precious little attention was being paid to me by the medical staff. I was so tired, I didn't care what happened jus t so it would soon all be over. Phil tried to keep me calm and doing the right breathing but I just couldn't manage to be good at it. Finally they decided that I could go into the delivery room. Just as they were wheeling me in, the midwife who was on duty said, "What, another one? It's just time for my coffee break." But she forewent that and stayed, to help.

I'd never seen her before, and didn’t really like her or trust her. Neither did Philip. She seemed very off hand, and didn't call me by name or talk to me. It was just a job to be got over as quickly as possible so she could go have her coffee. There weren't any doctors around at all. There were three nurses as well as the midwife. Phil stood by my head and tried to help me relax. I was near hysteria and so tired and fed up. One nurse gave me the oxygen mask with gas and oxygen when the contractions came but either I wasn' t using it right, or it wasn't turned on, as it certainly didn't have the desired effect. It didn't seem to do anything at all.

But as nature usually has her way in the end, by 9 or so, the baby's head emerged. They hadn't done an episiotomy to easy the way as they had done with Stephanie and so the skin tore, but it didn't hurt anymore than the rest of the procedure. Then the baby's shoulders came through and then quickly the rest of him. “It's a boy,” they said, and I was so pleased. They put the baby in the nearby incubator after they'd cut the cord. Then they delivered t he afterbirth. When it was out, they put in on the scale to weigh it, and sort of looked to see if it was all there.

Phil was worried lest they do something wrong, and kept asking them if they were sure it was all out.  He said he thought they should let me hold the baby, so they put Jonathan in my arms, but rather as if they resented being told how to do their jobs. Then Philip asked if I couldn't have a cup of tea. They said they'd see and one nurse went off. About half an hour later they arrived with a cup of lukewarm horrid tea. But I drank it anyway.

Jonathan, for that was what we called our new boy, looked quite a lot like Stephanie had as a baby. He had little hair, but what was there was fair. He weighed exactly the same as she had 81b. 11 1/2 ounces, and was the same exact length 21", but his head circumferance was 2" bigger. I had to wait for about an hour after the birth for the doctor to come to stitch me up where I'd torn. They game me a local injection to deaden the pain before they stitched it. Then I was taken to a double amenity bed room - and Phil went home. Jonathan was taken to the nursery to sleep. The labour lasted 11 hours in all but  now the hospital day routine took over, and I wasn’t able to get any sleep.

Jonathan had had a bit of rest, but he was then hungry, and as I had little milk he wasn't very satisfied with wat he got. So he was crying. Stephanie and Philip came in to see us, and Stephanie wasn't at all impressed. She thought he was a noisy baby and as her day had been disrupted too, she started crying as well. I thought she looked so sweet when she came to see us, but she didn't seem happy to see me. Just annoyed about the whole messed up day. They only stayed a few minutes and then went home. The hospital was depressing. The rooms were dark and had no view. The staff were short-tempered and not very helpful. I asked questions only to be told it was none of my business. I knew the sooner I got out of there the better. I was scheduled for a 48 hour confinement, so I managed to leave on Tuesday morning.

We had at first thought that I could manage at home with the two children without any help, even though Phil had to go to work each day. Philip's mother had offered to come but I had said I preferred it if she didn't. But after about three days at home, with Jonathan crying nearly continuously, and Stephanie being very demanding in between, and nobody getting any sleep, I asked Phil if he would call his mother and ask her to come after all.

She did come about the following weekend, when Jonathan was a week old. I was still breast feeding him, but didn't seem to be giving him much milk so we were giving him extra bottles of formula as well. He didn't seem to be getting bigger and gaining weight as he should have been, and I was worried about this.

Philip's mother helped by taking Stephanie out for walks and. doing a lot of the cooking and dishes. She didn't seem to mind being with us, but I found her continual advice, on how I was doing everything wrong was making matters worse.

I cried nearly every night when we got to bed. I cried and cried, and blamed all the trouble on her, although it fact, I was just so tired, I couldn't cope, no matter what. She was going to stay two weeks with us and I counted the days until she was to leave. But then, I started bleeding, like a period, and it seemed very early to be starting that again. I went to the doctor and he said that probably a small amount of the placenta had stuck in and was now causing the problem so he gave me some tablets to make the uterus clamp down again.

But because of this added problem, Philip's mother went to the doctor and asked him if he thought she should stay longer and help me so I'd get more rest. He of course, said it would be a good idea not knowing the tension between us. So she announced she would stay another week. I didn't want her to - I resented her interference, and I so much wanted her to go home, but an extra week she did stay.

I had so much wanted to breast feed Jonathan as I had done with Stephanie so successfully but he was gaining so little, that the midwife and Philip's mother both urged me to quit. So I did, but I felt like I was being defeated yet again, I blamed them for forcing the decision on me. But once Jonathan started on regular bottles of formula, he did start to gain weight and was somewhat happier.

The first time Jonathan ever laughed I remember so distinctly. He had smiled just about the same time as it had taken Stephanie - after about 3 weeks. He had progressed in his developmental pattern just as she had except for his slowness in weight gain at first. But he soon caught up with that too. He wasn't very good at feeding and messed his food more than he ate it. He seemed very alert when he was awake, and after he wasn't hungry continually, he didn't cry quite so much of the time.

When he was about three months old and I'd propped him on the chair in the living room to watch TV - I suddenly heard this sound - a laugh- and a very loud and deep and distinctive one. I rushed into the room and Jonathan was looking as shocked at hearing the sound as I was.  He seemed to wonder who'd made it. The program on TV was the Sootie show- and the puppets were doing their knock about playing. He'd obviously been very pleased by seeing them, and had laughed - his first laugh. Jonathan was good at building and from early days loved to play with bricks. He piled them up and knocked them down. He got angry when they wouldn't go like he wanted them to and he'd smash them and cry and throw them around when he got angry. Even from a tiny baby he had a temper.