Tomorrow I’ll be 37 weeks pregnant and if the baby were to make an early appearance, she’d now be considered full term. So it’s about time I pulled my procrastinating head out of the sand and started taking some notice of the bossy pregnancy book that keeps telling me to pack my hospital bag.
This is the most peculiar form of packing, and doing it with any accuracy requires the psychic powers of Mystic Meg. How am I meant to know what to take on this mystery mini-break? For a start, I don’t know how long it will last. If everything is relatively smooth, like last time, then I shouldn’t be in for long. Like most hospitals, mine aims to chuck mums out 6 hours from giving birth if all is well. Then again, if things are complicated or, like last time, they are so understaffed that there’s no-one to discharge me, I could be in for a few long nights.
At least this time I’ve got the benefit of having done it before. Any romantic notions I may have previously held of lying in my hospital bed in a pristine nightie, a sweet-smelling babe in my arms and midwives tending to my every need, have been replaced with vivid memories of the noisy, sweaty, grimy post-natal ward and my attempts to flee it as soon as possible. In mini-break terms, we’re talking three days in the wilderness with the natives rather than a spa day at Babington Hall; I’m A Mum, Get Me Out of Here rather than Bridget Jones’s Diary. And this time I’m going to pack accordingly.
Here are the main things I’m going to take:
- Just one bag: Last time I took so much stuff that we ended up with three fairly substantial bags which had to be dragged from triage to birth room to post-labour ward. I never knew what was in which and didn’t need half the things anyway. This time I’m being ruthless and just taking one. If I need anything extra, we only live 20 minutes away. Failing that, the hospital’s in central London so there’s not much we won’t be able to get hold of.
- Things to wear for me: Stuff that’s comfortable, dark coloured and that I’m not too attached to. Tops need buttons or other easy breastfeeding access and bottoms need to be loose enough not to depress me about my post-baby belly. Now is not the time for vanity, and no-one’s going to be looking at me anyway. It’s all about the baby. Which brings me onto…
- Things to wear for the baby: Against my better judgement, I’ve ended up buying quite a few very sweet newborn things for the baby. This is in spite of the fact that we’ve got a ton of neutral newborn things in very good nick which we had for Little Boy. So I’ll put a few of the new bits in the bag and will no doubt be cursing myself when I realise that they’re hugely impractical and that two-day-old babies do not wear dresses.
- A variety of pharmaceutical products to soothe, absorb and numb: All of which are pretty obvious and will be coming to me, along with some newborn nappies, via a rather large Boots order.
- A pillow: I was glad I took my own pillow last time (with a bright coloured pillow case so it didn’t get mixed up with the hospital ones). Hospital pillows are rubbish. I found mine was useful for breastfeeding and for when I was attempting to get some sleep.
- Something to block out the sound and light: Trying to sleep on a post-natal ward is like trying to sleep in the zoo at feeding time. Some of my neighbours made calls on their mobiles throughout the night, while others were big snorers. The crying babies were angelic in comparison. This time I’m packing an eye mask and some ear plugs, but I bet I still don’t get a wink.
- Nice things to eat: If someone had just run a marathon or two, you’d offer them more than a bowl of soggy Rice Krispies to make up the calorie deficit wouldn’t you? This was my underwhelming post-labour ‘meal’, and was followed by a variety of flavour-, texture- and vitamin-free offerings over the subsequent couple of days. So I’m going to pack a stash of snacks to keep me going, and will send OH out regularly to replenish it if I have to stay in for any length of time.
- A mobile charger: If I can’t communicate with the outside world, I’ll go mad.
- A camera: All the pictures from Little Boy’s birth were taken on the iPhone but I wish we’d brought in a proper camera so our record of his first few days weren’t so grainy.
- Hospital notes: Now I’ve gone to the effort of writing a birth plan (aka: find Word doc from last time – change the dates – print), I’d be grateful if someone would read it.
And here’s what I won’t be bothering with:
- Massage oils and similar: Last time I took bottles of lavender and other essential oils for ‘relaxation during labour’. Anyone who’s been through labour – or witnessed it first hand – will know that it’s anything but relaxing, and that no amount of flower oil will help. Added to that, I was inclined to punch anyone who came within five metres of me, so the idea of enjoying a soothing massage while giving birth is a no-no.
- A video camera: People in real life actually sometimes allow themselves to be filmed giving birth! I know! And some of them even allow it to be broadcast on national television, but the less said about that the better. This is not for me – I’ll stick with Photoshopped stills, thanks.
- A book: Ever the optimist, I always take a good book or three if I’m going away for the weekend in the vain hope that I might have time to read. Inevitably they never leave the suitcase and are returned, unopened, to the bedside table upon my return. I might as well face the fact that reading is going to be off the cards again very shortly for a few months, unless I can master a better reading/breastfeeding technique than before.
And that’s about it, unless you can remind me of anything I’ve forgotten. After that, it’s just a waiting game.





