Josa Young has kept a diary of her pregnancy for iVillage. She and her husband, Thoby, have two children: Maud, 12, and Archie, eight. Number three is due - it's B day

With a strange sense of unreality, I dressed and packed a bag to take to hospital. I had, somewhere along the line, consented to induction at 40 weeks, on the grounds that my age (42) made this a 'high risk' pregnancy. The theory is that the placenta can start to degenerate after 40 weeks if you're over 40. My other two babies were very late, as were all my mother's and my sister's, so I assume it's normal in my family to have a gestation like an elephant. None of this washed with Professor Bennet - indeed another consultant suggested 38 weeks as a good option. I'm glad I had the courage to resist that. The baby would be really premature by my reckoning.

Various women were groaning behind curtains. Risi, my one-to-one midwife, arrived and examined me to see whether anything had started up. It hadn't. My cervix was firmly shut. She inserted the first suppository of Prostin - prostoglandin, the hormone that signals the start of labour. It caused mild contractions and Thoby and I dozed and read behind curtains all day. That evening, the mild contractions died away and I slept. The next morning, Risi arrived exhausted from an all-nighter. She suggested more Prostin, when she came back on at lunchtime.

I walked about and counted my way through them. Disappointingly, my cervix remained closed for business. Risi came back on and decided to take me up to the labour ward at around 5pm and break my waters to get things going. Because I wasn't ready for labour, 'Nature's enema' had not kicked in. In natural circumstances, you get diarrhoea for a couple of days before labour begins, to clear the bowel and make more room for the baby to emerge. I requested an enema, but they don't give them any more, and I was given very effective glycerine suppositories.

Thoby went to settle Maud with the neighbours. I'm glad he wasn't there when my waters were broken. I made an uncharacteristic fuss, and cried and moaned. Contractions became more painful immediately and I found it soothing to sit in the bath running the warm shower over my back.

As the labour ward was relatively quiet, I decided to try out all the trendy modern facilities

I went and cavorted in a birthing pool - fun, but no effect on the pain. Thoby told me an interminable funny story, which did help because I giggled. I noticed on the trace of baby's heartbeat and contractions that the heartbeat dipped dramatically at the peak of the contractions. I asked about this, and was told it was fine because it immediately recovered. However, a doctor was called in to have a look. I wasn't told until afterwards (they didn't want to increase my anxiety), but this was clear evidence that the cord was around the baby's neck. This is extremely common and no problem at all in the hands of an experienced midwife.

This was the only pain relief I used when Maud was born, but this time, it made absolutely no difference at all - I could have borne it if I had known I was near the end. But when Risi examined me, she found I was only 3cms dilated. She then proposed Syntocin - another hormone that brings on strong, sometimes double peaked, contractions, which is administered intravenously. I crumpled completely and asked for a walking epidural. This is a new kind of epidural, which uses a different drug, and doesn't numb you completely from the waist down like an old style one.

My back was covered with red-coloured antiseptic, and lines were inserted in my hand and arm. Thoby nearly fainted when he saw the size of the needle that went into my lower back. I was able to relax immediately, and lay under a kind of cotton blanket on my side. I could feel pain, but it was bearable. After about 20 minutes of sighing with relief and easily riding the contractions, it became a bit unbearable again and I asked for a top up. An examination showed five centimetres and, at last, I felt as if something was happening. I settled down to rest and wait for what I thought would be a long haul.

After about half an hour, I told Risi that I could feel a lot of fluid coming out at every contraction. Risi went to change the draw sheet, and paused. Thoby said afterwards that he would never forget the look of surprise on her face.

She could see the baby's head!

I was so excited, my tiredness dropped away - the end was in sight, my body had done its magic thing. She guided my fingers down to the alien wrinkly lump beginning to emerge. One effect, either of the epidural or the induction, was that for the first time, I had none of that incredible urge to push. It usually feels like you need urgently to go the lavatory to pass a melon.

Carmen, Risi's assistant, had to tell me when to push. I did my best without any idea of what was happening. I was told to pant at one stage, while Carmen neatly hooked the cord over the baby's head. The whole second stage took only six minutes, and there was my little boy coated in primrose yellow vernix (the thick grease which protects the baby inside), and perfect. He was put on a towel on my chest, while Thoby cut the cord ('like slippery gristle,' he said.) I scanned his little cheesy familiar face and felt mild joy and relief. Not the rush of love I felt the first time - it comes in more slowly, like the tide.

His Apgar score was nine out of ten both times - a near perfect result

This is a test to check if the baby needs any extra help. It is done soon after birth, and then within 10 minutes. It checks for colour, alertness, respiration etc. Risi skilfully stitched up a first-degree tear and sent us home within two hours, in spite of me throwing up what seemed like gallons of acid lemon juice and passing huge clots.

It was after midnight as we went down to the car and fumbled with the car seat. At home I collapsed on the sofa, and Thoby eventually got me to bed. I stared at my tiny man all night, while he slept for three hours.

I stumbled through the first month like the most inept first-time mother, but weeks later, our little boy has added so much happiness to our family life. Maud, 12, and Archie, eight, are delighted with him. I feel a strong desire to do it all again. Not remotely practical - but now we are all set up with cots and nappies and clothes, why not?

Read about Anastasia Brien's birth story.

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