Eva Bradley: Mum's the word for time being

Eva Bradley.

Righto, ladies and gentlemen, we have reached the sharp end of the wedge.

Unless you've been reading very closely you might wonder what wedge I mean because I've been pretty low-key about being pregnant.

Generally, unless it is you and yours, hearing about other people's procreation plans is about as tedious as Facebook posts about what someone's just cooked for dinner.

But because you won't be hearing from me over the summer, I felt it best to offer a little explanation before my sayonara.

I'm also a big believer that anything in writing is official. So here it is, in black and white, my promise to you (but mostly to myself): this is the last time I'll be signing off my column because I'm signing on to babies.

Adorable they may be but two is quite enough, thanks very much. I know to some women that may seem like two too many, and others, far too few.

In my professional life, I love being a wedding photographer because, although it is roughly the same event each time, the personality of the bride makes every day for me as unique as a fingerprint.

Understanding the dreams a bride wants turned into a reality is almost as interesting and motivating to me as the creativity of making it happen for her.

I suspect being a midwife is much the same. Babies have been born the same way quite literally since time began.

There are different cultural traditions and (fortunately, for me at least) quite significant medical advances but, generally speaking, the whole process of getting something rather large out of something rather small remains unchanged.

What is as different as night from day is the personality and mindset of the mother.

First time around, I was surprised to find I fell into a rather small minority of Kiwi women who opted for medical support during labour over the more popular, semi-spiritual, wholly natural approach to childbirth.

In short, I favour the "give me the drugs, NOW" birth plan.

I can see no more need to avoid pain relief during labour than I would having my appendix out.

And so here I am again, back at the same point in life, with the same (incredible) midwife, in the same office, being asked the same questions; did I want an epidural? Hell yes. Did I want to keep the placenta? Hell no. We'd be happy just keeping the baby, thanks.

Perhaps because it's my second time around and my focus has been able to settle on things other than the overwhelming uncertainty of what becoming a parent will be like, I've learned a whole lot about my personality that passed me by a couple of years ago during round one.

Interestingly, I'm a bona fide, certified, magnified, terrified stresspot.

I'm a control freak who thrives under any sort of pressure as long as I'm in the driver's seat.

To put it in a vernacular I most understand, if I were getting married, I'd be a bridezilla.

Learning to let go and relax has been as hard for me this pregnancy as the heartburn, the tiredness and the morning sickness.

But the only thing worse than a bridezilla is a mumzilla and so some forced introspection and self-development have been the true gifts I've been given during the past few months.

It's true that I'm still trying to figure out how to unwrap them but provided I keep on telling myself "there will be drugs, there will be drugs", I'm confident I'll cross the line just fine.

- Eva Bradley is a columnist and photographer.