I could barely sleep that night I was so euphoric. In fact, I had so much adrenalin going through my body that I could barely sit down – I wanted to skip, jump for joy and shout it from the rooftops – but of course I couldn’t. I woke the next day and did another test – yes, the two pink lines were still there, stronger than ever. I began to get dressed and put on my make up when I had a stabbing pain in my stomach, just for a couple of seconds, but a hundred horrible thoughts seemed to race through my mind. Elation had turned into fear.
The only problem with having something, anything, that is precious is that you are so scared of losing it and have the responsibility of protecting it. If it’s a diamond ring it could be put in a safety deposit box and you can pretty much forget all about it, knowing that it is safe. When that safety deposit box is your uterus, it’s not so easy to forget about it. For the first 3 weeks of my pregnancy I worried constantly. Once again believing in my dream was too risky. The clinic would scan me 3 weeks after my initial test – they said there was a 15-25% chance of miscarriage. Now forgive me for being pessimistic, but all I could think about was that number – it seemed very high. I’d only had a 20% chance of getting pregnant – and I had, now I was being told there was as much chance of losing it. I got through those 3 weeks with my heart in my mouth, analysing the severity of every symptom and consulting the internet at every given opportunity (yes, I still hadn’t learnt). Finally the appointment came, and on the day I’m not sure if it was the fear or the excitement that won the battle, but I do know that those waking hours the morning of the scan felt like days. I was physically shaking as I laid on the bed ready for the ultrasound, she turned the screen away and said it might take a few moments to find and check the baby, I closed my eyes and braced myself and then….. ‘Congratulations, there is your baby’.
After that, I gave myself a talking to – I couldn’t possibly go through the next 7 months this way and that there was much more chance of things going well than ending badly. I relaxed a little – a little. Apart from the Sickness (yes, it did deserve a capital S!) I just remember feeling panicked – I was starting to think ‘What have I done?’ I began to question everything about my decision now it was becoming so real. What had started off as a bit of a mad dream was becoming a reality, the rational part of my brain that was previously overridden by the impulsive side was starting to come through. I was going to be a solo parent. Not a single parent, not one whose child had a father somewhere who they could see for weekends and holidays or that had an ex partner who could share some of the emotional and financial burden (however disproportioned it might be) – no, there would be none of that, it was just me. Just me and this little life. Had I been selfish? Would I be able to cope? It was overwhelming.
Of course, I had thought about all of this. I knew that I would just about cope financially and I knew that if the child has at least one, loving and stable parent in their lives they have as much chance as any other (and perhaps more than many). But it suddenly felt like a very long, lonely road stretching out ahead of me. I didn’t have doubts, I could never have had true doubts, this was still my dream. But I did have worries.
It felt like I’d waited a lifetime to be pregnant. I’d always thought it would be a magical time. It wasn’t. There were bits I enjoyed like buying the first pair of booties and choosing the pram, but mainly it was just hard. There were many times when I was reminded I was alone in this. The ante-natal classes, looking at everyone else in their couples and wondering what they thought of me – perhaps they thought I had a husband that worked weekends or that I was carrying the product on a one night stand. I felt different. Every time I had to explain to someone that the baby was ‘donor-conceived’ and I could see their minds ticking over trying to work out what this meant, whilst trying to quickly think of something to say to hide their shock. But most of all, I was reminded I was alone because there was no-one to feel the little kicks in the middle of the night, or to reassure me when I didn’t feel the kicks and I couldn’t find a baby record book without a profile for the dad – a section I knew would always remain empty.
I worked up until 4 days before the birth. I had high blood pressure by then and they were thinking of inducing me a week early, I was quite glad at this as I knew my body had had enough, it needed the baby out. I read something the day before my labour started that said you need to be mentally ready for labour to start, your mind can make your body hold onto a pregnancy. Who knows if there is any truth in that, but after a particularly uncomfortable day when it felt like my body was truly giving up I issued the eviction notice – I said out loud “if you want to come now, then come’. 2 hours later and 2 weeks early, my labour started.
I knew it would be hard, I mean I’d spent years hearing others’ birth stories and had watched nearly every episode of ‘One Born Every Minute’ (and most again on repeat). It wasn’t the birth I’d wanted (waterbirth, with candles and soothing music and the baby coming out on the third push). No, mine was 22 hours, barely any pain relief, at the wrong hospital and culminated in her being sucked out (ventouse delivery). My sister was by my side and my parents were in the waiting room. It was about the 203rd push before she was born, but as everyone always says none of that mattered in the end because you have your baby.
In those minutes after the birth, when everything was still hazy and I was holding my daughter skin to skin waiting for the first cry, the midwife picked that point to tell me that she had never been able to have any children and she was very sad about it. I said I know how it feels, or rather I did know- that I had started to think I would never have children. She smiled and said, ‘well you have now’. Then it hit me, me and her weren’t the same anymore, I was a mother and I would never again know the pain and longing of wanting a child so much and seeing my dream slowly fall further out of reach. I had my dream in my arms now. My baby was here.
