‘She was about six pound something. She was tiny, but look at her now,’ her mother said, her gaze moving over her daughter, long and lean. ‘I wouldn’t worry about the baby being small, I think it’s genetic.’ She patted me on the shoulder.
Justin led a horse up from the paddock and the kids enjoyed pony rides. I walked down to watch Jaxon, saw him gripping the reins, his body slackening when he noticed I was close.
By late afternoon, guests started to leave and the few left hung by the pool. Kids jumped into the water, bombing each other, as we sat around on plastic chairs, discussing how much food was left.
‘We’ll be eating chicken and salad wraps for dinner tonight and breakfast tomorrow.’ Jon laughed.
The last of the guests left at around 6 pm. Puffing, I dropped down into a chair, lifting my feet onto another chair to relieve my throbbing, swollen ankles. I arched my back, pushing out my belly and stretching. I’d been on my feet all day and now I paid the price.
‘Well, I think that was a huge success,’ Jon said, moving and pulling up a chair next to me, the plastic legs scraping across the pavers.
‘I do too. It was fun and it was good to meet everyone. It’s so nice to know that Baby JJ has such a big network of people who love her.’
‘Yeah, we’re pretty lucky.’
I lifted the pendant off my chest. ‘I can’t believe your parents gave me and Sereena such a beautiful present.’
‘I didn’t even know they were doing that,’ he said, inspecting the necklace.
Keira and Jaxon crawled out of the pool before jumping off the side, splashing back into the water. I laid my head on the rim of the chair, rubbing my belly, Baby JJ kicking inside. Andrew and Jon chatted and I closed my eyes, filled with contentment. I felt reassured to know that the baby I carried would grow up surrounded by a network of loving family and friends. Here on Jon and Justin’s property she’d have room to run around and play, a life full of horses, a dog, a cat, and the wildlife in the trees.
‘What’re you thinking about?’ Justin asked.
I took a deep breath in and smiled. ‘Oh, nothing. Just thinking about Baby JJ and how lucky she is.’
‘She is lucky, we love her so much already,’ Justin said, leaning back in his chair.
I pondered his words. ‘Yes, we do, we all love her so much already. You realise in eight weeks she’ll be here?’
Justin nodded. ‘Exactly, then the real fun begins.’
The next morning I woke, still tired. After the party, the kids had been unsettled, and bedtime had been a battle. Keira, still high on sugar and colourings, had continued to wake up during the night, asking for sips of water, the toilet or just wanting to chat.
I yawned, packing a bag for the day ahead. Justin had some business to take care of at the salon, so Jon drove us to Silverwater Park and the kids ran around, enjoying the freedom of such a large open area, the undulating grassy hills and the play equipment. They changed into their swimmers, weaving in and out of the jets that pumped water out in staggering bursts in a choreographed sequence, before we met Justin for lunch. That night we all collapsed on the couch, exhausted from a big couple of days, and Jon and Justin had their last moments feeling Baby JJ kick in my belly.
The following day, Andrew and I packed our suitcases and slid them into the back of Jon’s car. Outside, the kids posed with the boys for photos, Walter jumping in and out of the shots, the kids laughing as they tried to control the wayward dog. Andrew, holding the camera, encouraged me to stand with the boys, our last picture before we were together again for the birth.
‘So, are you going to tell me the name you’ve picked?’ I asked Justin. He’d mentioned it often but insisted he wasn’t telling anyone.
‘Yes, of course. I thought I’d wait until after the baby shower. It’s Elsie.’
‘Elsie . . . that’s beautiful. I love it.’ I paused, stroking the swell of my belly. It felt strange to call her by another name, strange to think of her as Elsie. That name connected her to her fathers, but I had always called her Baby JJ, the name connecting her to me and my family. We used that name every single day, but now I had to let it go, a new chapter beginning.
‘Elsie,’ I said again, trying to picture her tiny face, the name making her seem so real, as if she already lay in the cot in her bedroom, sleeping peacefully.
Justin had clients coming for riding lessons, so we all said goodbye. Jon was driving us to the airport. Keira wrapped her arms around Justin’s neck, planting a kiss on his forehead; after she had climbed down, Jaxon shook his hand.
I kissed Justin’s cheek. ‘See you in a couple of months, or earlier.’
He squeezed my hand. ‘I can’t wait.’
He stood waving goodbye as the car drove down the driveway, and scratched Walter’s ear with his other hand.
Arriving at the airport, I spoke with Jon as Andrew guided the kids out of the car and up onto the pavement with their luggage. ‘I see Dr Wright in a few days, so I’ll call you with an update then.’
‘Sounds good. Thank you so much for coming. I know I always say this but we can’t thank you guys enough for everything you’ve done for us.’ Jon hugged me.
‘You’re so welcome.’ I pulled back, a catch in my throat. ‘I promise to look after this little one over the next eight weeks, no more vomit bugs or stress.’ I caressed my bump, looking down. We were almost at the end now – I could no longer see my toes without bending over.
Jon beamed. ‘You’ve done an amazing job so far.’
I stopped for a moment, struck by the adoration in Jon’s eyes. Living so far from me, there was so much he didn’t know or have the opportunity to experience, and I wondered how he and Justin felt when I left them. The trust they had to summon was gigantic, limitless. I was the woman carrying their child, living many hours’ drive away and literally promising them the world – their world.
As I walked towards my family inside the airport I felt overwhelming gratitude. I was lucky to be part of Jon and Justin’s world, honoured to carry their baby daughter. Soon she’d no longer be Baby JJ, my passenger, she’d be Jon and Justin’s little girl, Elsie.
25
Spinning babies and the internal connection
The obstetrician’s consulting rooms had begun to feel like my second home. Even the fish blew bubbles at me from their watery surrounds, mouthing hello as I waddled through the automatic doors. Counting down, my pregnancy in its final stages, I sat in front of Dr Wright, hoping that everything would run smoothly from now on. As it had been on every visit, my blood pressure was spot on. However, at just over thirty-three weeks pregnant, my fundal height remained stunted at twenty-eight centimetres. Dr Wright decided to do another scan himself and estimated the foetal weight to be around 1.74 kilograms (three pounds and thirteen ounces). This put Elsie in the bottom tenth percentile for weight, but he didn’t seem concerned.
‘She’s lying breech though, Shannon, so if she doesn’t turn in the next few weeks I’m afraid I’ll have to perform a C-section. I don’t advise trying to give birth to a breech baby.’
I sighed, imagining baby Elsie curled up, her tiny bottom facing south, her head tucked up under my ribs. ‘But she could move? She could turn?’ I asked.
‘Oh yes, of course, there’s time for that. At our next appointment we’ll check her position again.’
Dr Wright arranged another appointment for two weeks, and before I left he reviewed the growth scan report from radiology again, confirming that everything looked perfect, she was just a small baby.
Driving home, I felt my control over the situation slipping away. What if she was breech when I was due? I’d planned to give birth to her naturally, just as I’d done with my own children. I wanted that sense of empowerment, so alive inside my own skin, electric. I didn’t want to be numbed and cut open, the task taken away from me. It was my rite of passage, my pain to bear – the pain before ecstasy. I felt stupid for thinking it – ridiculous, in fact. Of course, the most important thing was
that baby Elsie was safe and a lot of my friends had had C-sections and I didn’t consider them to be failures, not at all; it was just something I put on myself. Birthing was something I could do well; in that moment, just me, my mind and the pain, I’d never felt more feminine and powerful.
Arriving home, I searched the internet and found a website called Spinning Babies. I read every word on the site and watched the video tutorials explaining how to turn a breech baby. Then I ran to my bedroom, lay on the floor next to my bed, throwing my legs up onto the mattress, puffing. I hitched my hips in the air to perform a Breech Tilt which works on two Spinning Babies Principles: Balance and Gravity, attempting to draw Elsie’s hips down from my pelvis, giving her a chance to turn around. Her head was the heaviest part of her body, so in theory the weight of her body would bend the neck to help the chin to tuck on her chest and gravity would slowly pull her into the right position, her head in my pelvis and feet to my ribs. I practised as the website instructed, doing the movement three or four times a day. Afterwards, I’d poke my belly, trying to get a reaction out of Elsie, trying to analyse her movements, where they came from. It was hard to tell: one minute she’d be kicking to my left, the next to my right – I had no idea if she was still breech or not.
A few nights later, at prenatal yoga, I informed the instructor, Greta, that I was a surrogate. Her eyes lit up, and she smiled then nodded. ‘That makes sense now. I wondered why you always seemed so busy, going here and there. Now I know.’
As a midwife from Germany, Greta’s qualifications weren’t yet recognised in Australia, so she practised as a doula and yoga instructor while she waited for registration. Petite, toned and blonde, she was a beautiful woman, and her accent made me smile. She often had trouble pronouncing the yoga moves in English, raising her eyebrows as if to indicate the need for a lifeline, the students assisting.
I also told her that Elsie was breech. Greta invited me to stay back after the class; she said she’d have a feel around, give me some tips.
Greta waved goodbye to the last student and rolled up her yellow yoga mat, placing it in a box by the wall of mirrors. In the candlelit room, relaxation music lulling us, she asked me to lie on my back on a mat, pull up my shirt. She rubbed her hands together, warming her palms, silver rings clinking. Holding her hands above my belly, Greta closed her eyes as if to draw in my energy, evaluate its mood. Her hands pressed gently into my skin, kneading the area, fingers feeling for the tiny body inside me.
‘Oh, Shannon, she has a lot of room in there, doesn’t she?’ Greta said with a lift of her eyebrows. ‘Ooh, she is small, but in yourself, do you think she’s okay? She’s moving lots, yes?’
‘She is, and there’s no difference I can feel to my other pregnancies except she’s smaller.’
‘Are you worried?’ Greta shifted her hands over my belly as it wobbled.
‘Yes, I am. I feel like everything’s fine, but then the professionals imply it’s a little concerning and I think, maybe she’s not all right in there, maybe I’m not helping her to thrive.’
‘Shannon, you will know in yourself when it is not all right.’ Greta shuffled on her knees. ‘But she is still breech so I suggest you go somewhere quiet, close your eyes and sit for a moment. Connect with this child you are carrying. Ask her to move for you.’
Connect with this child you are carrying. Connect.
As Greta massaged my bump, her tanned hands pressing, working deep, I mulled over her words. Maybe I had avoided creating a connection because Elsie wasn’t mine. I’d ignored my primal need to bond with her, pushing it far from my thoughts, out of reach. Was I scared I’d be too attached?
‘Use a . . . ah, a torch. Place it at the top of your belly and slowly run it down the side, right down to your pubic bone. Keep doing that and she should be attracted to the light, it could help her to turn.’ Greta stilled her hands, resting them on my skin. ‘I want to say something to you now, okay. Just because this child isn’t yours doesn’t mean you cannot have a connection with her. You are her birth mother, you have nurtured her for all this time and your blood is her blood. You will give birth to her. You will give her life, Shannon. She cannot come into the world any other way than through you.’
I closed my eyes, centred myself.
Greta was right. I was Elsie’s birth mother, her only chance of life. If I spoke to her through my inner thoughts, my deep intentions, like every other mother in the prenatal yoga class, maybe she’d listen, turn for me.
‘Thanks, Greta. I’ll try everything you suggested,’ I said, rolling down my shirt. ‘I appreciate your help.’
‘You’re welcome. Don’t hesitate to contact me if you need anything. I am here for you.’ She stood, her hand held out to help me up. ‘Now you go home and connect with that baby inside you. Feel it. Ask her to cooperate.’
As I drove home, I remembered the moment I’d connected with Keira at forty weeks pregnant. With no way of knowing when she’d arrive, I’d handed her journey over, telling her that it was her choice when she came into the world.
I turned into my driveway, then killed the engine and pulled the keys from the ignition, resting them in my lap. I closed my eyes, placed both hands on the rise of my belly, dragging long, slow breaths into my lungs as if in meditation. Muscles relaxing, mind silenced, my inner voice spoke to the child in my womb.
Baby Elsie, it’s your birth mother here. I’d like you to help me if you can. Can you turn around from the breech position? Can you get ready for your birth? I want to deliver you naturally, so I need you to turn around, little one. Please.
I opened my eyes tentatively, glancing around the car. I felt foolish but something resonated within me. Elsie was listening. After all, she heard the lullabies I sang my children, my conversations with Andrew. She heard my body digesting food and the blood rushing through my veins. She heard my heart beat, pumping life to and through her, day in and day out. She heard me.
As well as practising my Spinning Baby moves for a few days, I also used a torch along my belly as Greta had suggested, hoping that Elsie would take an interest in the light. Finally, after all my poking and prodding, she moved. I lay on the ground, my hips propped up on my bed; this position forced Elsie to slide down and out of my pelvis a little, and I gauged the lumps and bumps, felt the round shape of her head. I even called Andrew into the room to examine me. We both agreed that she was head down and that I was ready for my next appointment with Dr Wright.
‘Thirty-five weeks and two days,’ Dr Wright said as he wrote on my yellow card. There had been a slight improvement in my fundal height: I now measured thirty-two centimetres. As the doctor performed the routine ultrasound, his thick eyebrows rose. ‘She’s not breech anymore, she’s moved, so no C-section for you at this stage.’
I grinned, relief pulsing through me. ‘That’s great. I’ve been trying hard to turn her, and she’s listened.’
‘Yes, that’s one positive, but I’m still concerned about her size,’ he said, gliding the transducer over the gel.
My smile faded.
‘The question is . . . why is she so small? I have to cover all bases, not only for you and baby but also for Jon and Justin. Is it because she’s not thriving in there? Or is it because of a chromosomal abnormality? Is there something wrong with the placenta? Or is it just genetics?’ Dr Wright stood before me, hand up as if requesting an answer.
I shrugged, my cheeks hot. ‘I don’t know.’
‘Sometimes it’s just best to get these babies out early, Shannon. If she’s not doing well in there, then we must think about what we should do next.’ He pulled off his gloves and switched off the ultrasound screen. ‘I don’t want to alarm you, I really don’t. Let’s book in another growth scan at radiology. I’ll make the call now, tell them it’s urgent.’
Blood rushed around my body, a volatile cocktail of worry and adrenaline. He wanted to arrange an appointment for me that afternoon, but I was travelling to Queensland for a friend’s wedding and wouldn
’t be available until the following Monday. He rang radiology; the next available appointment was on Tuesday.
Dr Wright sent me on my way and that afternoon I travelled to Caloundra with Andrew and a group of friends. At the wedding the next day, on a farm thirty minutes west of Caloundra, temperatures were scorching, the sun searing our skin, sweat pouring from our bodies. I managed to get through the afternoon, sipping water, sitting down and fanning myself with a tiny Japanese fan I’d bought especially for the tropical heat.
A couple of days later I was back in that familiar room at radiology, fretting about the possibility that there was something wrong with Elsie. To my relief she was still head down; with the due date looming, she had to stay that way. After the growth scan was done, I had no more idea of what was going on than before I walked in. I’d have to wait until my next appointment with Dr Wright to find out if baby Elsie’s growth was sufficient or if he suspected that something more sinister was at play.
Every few days Ashleigh, the student midwife, would check in on me, sending me reassuring text messages.
On 5 November, thirty-six weeks pregnant, I arranged to meet Allie in the same coffee shop where we’d first met. We sat outside in the warm spring air and ordered cake and peppermint tea. Thrilled to see her, I leaned eagerly over the table, as much as my belly would allow. A few weeks post-birth, Allie looked great. She had light in her eyes and a healthy glow to her cheeks – an air of accomplishment about her, a sense of finality. Her surrogacy journey was over. She’d birthed a healthy baby boy for her male couple. I bombarded her with questions about the birth and about the fathers and how they went with their newborn baby. In particular, I asked how she’d expressed the colostrum, and how she felt at day three when her true milk flooded her breasts.
‘Do you plan to express for the baby too?’ Allie asked, sipping her tea.
‘Yes, but I’m not really sure what to do. When should I start to express the colostrum?’
Labour of Love Page 23