Welcome to After Birth, where we take an honest look at the raw, messy, and transformative days after labour — not just the recovery, but the shift into life with a newborn. Because birth is just the beginning.

Boy mum and For The Creators' Head of Content Amy Lane shares her second birth story, plus her very early postpartum with two tinies, gentle c-section recovery and a bout of Norovirus to contend with. Yikes!

My first birth was traumatic: general anaesthetic, forceps, stitches—and a week-long hospital stay for both my son and me during Covid. It was not the plan. I’d taken a hypnobirthing course, ordered a pool for a home birth, and even had an ECV to give our breech baby the best chance of arriving “naturally.”

Second time around, I was even more determined to try for a water birth. But once again, I developed Cholestasis (a liver complication). Hellbent on avoiding induction, I opted for a c-section at 39 weeks.

Between booking my op and C-Day, I cried constantly—grieving the birth experience I once again wasn’t going to have. But somewhere between the sobs, I discovered gentle c-sections: where as many elements of a vaginal birth plan as possible are brought into the theatre environment. I read everything I could, and slowly, I landed on new birth preferences that felt closer to the birth I’d hoped for.

Saying goodbye to our 16-month-old at sunrise that morning was harder than I’d expected—it was the first time I’d left him overnight, and his whole world was about to shift.

At the hospital, we met our delivery team and talked through our gentle c-section birth preferences: what mattered to us, what helped me feel calm, and how we could bring a little softness into the theatre.

Soon, it was time to go into theatre. I was nervous about the spinal block—my first birth had involved complications with anaesthetic—so I brought my son’s small bunny with me and focused on box breathing: in for four, hold for four, out for four, hold for four. The feel of the soft toy in my hand kept me grounded.

We’d asked for a calm atmosphere—no ‘water cooler’ chat. I wanted to hear those first tiny squeaks from my baby, not what was for lunch. Quiet and focus helped me feel present and in control—something I’d missed the first time, and I'm sure what played a part in my postnatal depression. I breathed, stayed in the moment… and then, after a few gentle tugs and strange sensations, the consultant told us our son was ready to meet us.

Rather than being whisked out and held up like Simba from The Lion King, my son’s arrival was slow and steady—about as close to a vaginal birth as a c-section can get. My body did much of the work; he really did “walk” himself out.

He was placed straight onto my chest, and I couldn’t believe the wave of love that hit. His big, dark eyes locked with mine and—just like that—I was in the oxytocin-soaked newborn bubble I’d longed for the first time around.

Soon after my son arrived, a wave of shock started to creep in. I felt sick and shaky. Thankfully, we were taken back to a private room on the ward—as not long after, I was sick all over myself.

The next few hours were a hazy mix of handing our son back and forth, while I came down from the meds and doctors worked to stabilise my blood pressure. I had the classic tea and toast, but couldn’t stomach much more. It was all a bit of a blur—but a happy one.

There were peaceful moments, just gazing at our son—but there were also tears and meltdowns as the pain kicked in and I felt totally helpless in the bed. I was desperate to get the catheter out and start moving again. At one point, I shifted too quickly and it felt like my insides might burst through my stitches. Thankfully, they didn’t!

I was so thankful for the travel size aromatherapy products I'd packed in my hospital bag for my post-op shower. I’m quite a sensory person, and the scent was exactly the tonic I needed after a rough night—it really pepped me up. I was equally thankful for my trusty sliders, which meant I didn’t have to put my bare feet on the very ropey shower floor.

We were lucky to be discharged after 24 hours. I was really struggling with not being able to lift the baby out of the cot, and I didn’t feel confident pressing the buzzer for help every five minutes. I was ready to get home and figure feeding out from the sofa. That said, with hindsight, I wish we’d stayed one more night in hospital before diving into life with two under 16 months.

My mum had been looking after our toddler and she felt like neutral ground so she introduced our eldest to our youngest. It was a very sweet moment. He simply gave a cute nod of approval by saying “Baba” and then quickly toddled off again.

The first week was tough, and there were moments when the painkillers seemed to barely touch the sides but my physical recovery from the c-section was quicker than I’d expected. I used arnica for bruising and drank bone broth and herbal tea, trusting my body needed to be nourished from the inside out.

By day nine, I was enjoying lunch with mum friends and even managing the stairs in our three-storey townhouse.

But then, life had other plans. A visitor came by to meet the new baby in the early weeks, and their toddler kindly passed on norovirus. One by one, we all caught it, and the newborn love bubbled blurred into endless dirty nappies and laundry. Definitely not the “maternity leave” I’d envisioned!

I absolutely love the newborn days; the way a tiny baby snuggles so perfectly on your chest. And especially when tucked inside a jumpsuit –I rented one as my coming home from hospital outfit and wore it on repeat for weeks. 

But with a toddler around, the newborn sweetness is a bit harder to just sit and enjoy! Most days, I felt torn between what I wanted to do and what I had to do to meet both of my boys’ needs. It was an emotional rollercoaster.

Never before had I felt so sure my world was right, yet so foreign at the same time. It really felt like I had woken up in someone else’s life in those early days.

With one baby, I found it possible to carry on with a somewhat normal routine. But with two? Even a trip to the supermarket felt like a monumental task. “You’ve got your hands full” became a well-meaning but unhelpful refrain. Over time, as I conquered each “first,” I stopped agreeing to social activities that no longer made sense (meals out with a toddler and a newborn? Nope!). Eventually, I found my rhythm.

NHS guidance on recovering from a c-section, beyond infection and scar hygiene, felt practically non-existent. So, I turned to The Bump Plan, a rehab and recovery exercise program, and did my own research on scar massage. I also saw an osteopath, though I would’ve loved to continue the sessions—unfortunately, mat leave pay only stretches so far.