‘I’ll give you some time alone now, pop back later.’ I blew a kiss and left the room. With Andrew and Tenille, I passed the midwives at reception; each of them looked up from their paperwork and cups of tea and offered resounding congratulations.
Moments after we reached the room, my mother arrived, handing me a card. Mum found it hard to put her feelings into words, the emotion clearly too strong, but her body language and the expression on her face made me cry. She was proud of me; she didn’t need to say it.
After we’d sent out a text message informing my family and friends of Elsie’s arrival, my phone beeped constantly. Mum and Tenille kissed me goodbye, and I stood in my room with Andrew. I pulled his body against mine as I hadn’t been able to do for the past six months – just the two of us again.
‘I’ll bring the kids in tomorrow morning. They’re dying to see you, they miss you. I bet they’ll love meeting Elsie too,’ Andrew said, kissing my cheek.
At the very mention of Jaxon and Keira I thought I’d crumple onto the floor, my heart raw. I missed my children, yearned to see their little faces – they were my babies. I glanced up at the clock. Visiting hours were over, Andrew had to leave. I sighed at the thought of another night without him by my side.
‘It’s okay. I’ll see you tomorrow. You need to get some good rest tonight.’ He cupped my cheeks with warm hands, tilted his head forward, our foreheads touching. ‘What you did in there today was amazing, Shan. I’m just so proud of you.’
I lifted my hands, grabbed his wrists, our foreheads still touching. ‘I love you and I couldn’t have done any of it without you. Thank you.’
A midwife came in to tell us that visiting hours were over, and Andrew left the room. After I’d eaten my hospital meal and showered again, I started to hand-express into a tiny plastic cup the midwives had given me. I was shocked by how much colostrum flowed; where once I was producing five millilitres, I now produced forty to fifty. After an hour of expressing I sucked the thick golden liquid up in a syringe and took it to the boys’ room. As I walked along the dark corridors, my body ached; my legs felt heavy, belly hollow, eyes weary – spent both emotionally and physically.
The door was closed, so I gave a soft knock. Justin opened the door. ‘You don’t have to knock,’ he said, shaking his head.
‘I’m not going to just barge in here when there’s a sleeping baby.’ I laughed before holding up the syringe. ‘Look what I’ve got, heaps of colostrum now.’
The boys’ eyes lit up and I handed Justin the syringe for him to prepare Elsie’s bottle.
‘Want another cuddle?’ Jon asked, lifting a sleeping Elsie from her cot by the window.
I couldn’t resist. ‘Yes, please.’ I sat down on the bed, arms out, waiting.
In the quiet darkness of that room, rocking her in my arms, my life had changed for the better, richer for knowing them, for the experience. I knew I’d given Jon and Justin a huge gift but I’d received one too, and gratitude became a glowing aura around me, love and light. I was fortunate to have them in my life, to know I’d helped to create a family. I drew Elsie close to my face, smelling sweet innocence, her eyelids fluttering with the newness of life. I pressed my lips to her cheek, soft and warm, offered her my blessing: Goodnight, Baby JJ – my little passenger. Thank you for teaching me so much about myself and about life. You’ve opened my eyes and my heart to more than I thought possible.
I swallowed the knotted ball of emotion in my throat and stood, carefully passing the bundle to Jon. ‘Well, goodnight, I hope it’s a restful one.’ I smiled, walking to the door. From that day forward their lives would be different. The nights ahead would consist of bottle feeds, numerous nappy changes and snippets of sleep, hushing cries and pacing the floor, gentle pats on the baby’s back to encourage a burp. They’d check on her constantly, hold their index finger to her button nose to make sure breath still moved through her body; they’d swaddle her, kiss her skin and smell the very uniqueness of their daughter.
‘Goodnight, Shannon. Sleep well and thank you again,’ Jon said. He grabbed the bottle from Justin, bringing the teat to his daughter’s lips, a hush leaving his own as he began to sway.
Content, I left them and walked down the hall back to my room as if floating on air, somehow free. I was free – free of the worry and responsibility. No longer did I have concerns over my body and its ability or whether Elsie was thriving inside me. I had living proof: she was healthy, happy and delightful. And I was no longer haunted by fears of how I’d react to her birth, that something would snap inside me as I watched her being handed over to her fathers, that I’d want her so badly I’d behave irrationally and slip into a deep depression when she was gone. I felt the way I had hoped all along that I would – she wasn’t mine in the true sense of the word, but yes, I had the honour of being her birth mother, I only wanted the best for her in life and I’d support her in any way I could. If a situation arose that required it, I’d protect her with my all. I’d die for her as I would for my other children. As I evaluated those thoughts it became clear that of course I had a bond with Elsie, strong and everlasting, but I was still separate, and I was at peace knowing that she was in the arms of her fathers, where she belonged.
As I walked into my room and flicked on the light, I gave myself permission to let go, to let go of the past eighteen months and move forward. I was no longer the woman growing a baby for another couple. I was me, Shannon, standing alone in my own power. I was a mother and a wife, a daughter, a sister, a friend, and now a birth mother, but I was a single being, individual in my existence.
I settled into bed, pulling the sheet over my tired body, tucking it under my chin as I’d done as a child with my nanna, and as the inner workings of the maternity ward continued nearby I yawned and closed my eyes, drained yet fulfilled. I’d hoped to sleep well, but in the dead of night my body reminded me that I’d only given birth hours before, the after-birth pains so intense that I twisted under my sheets, gripping my now flaccid belly, begging them to go away. I curled my toes, dug my fingernails into my palms, trying to distract myself from the pain. I buzzed the midwives and they scurried in, brought me paracetamol, which I quickly found out was useless. I buzzed again two hours later and they brought ibuprofen. I cried on and off until the ibuprofen kicked in, then I slipped into a doze, only to be woken a couple of hours later by more agonising pains. After taking two more ibuprofen tablets, I fell back asleep until there was a gentle knock on my door and a hospital staff member delivered my breakfast on a tray. I shifted up in the bed, eyes half open, and ate the meal with gusto, too hungry to care that it was sugar-laden cereal with low-fat, sugary yogurt and white bread that I’d wash down with apple juice. I was ravenous, my body preparing to manufacture breastmilk. I showered, moving sluggishly, still weak from the birth, my stomach squishy, a gnawing feeling of emptiness within.
I expressed more colostrum, taking up to forty minutes to extract about forty millilitres. I sent a text message to the boys asking if I could come down. As I shuffled along the hallway in my slippers with my large syringe of creamy colostrum, a midwife caught my eye.
‘Look at you, aren’t you an angel, all that good colostrum for their baby girl. Bless you.’ She winked at me before gracefully touching my arm. I smiled and felt a warm glow hug me.
In the boys’ room I found Justin holding Elsie, sitting in a chair in the corner. He gave a soft smile, his eyes sleepy yet content.
‘Morning,’ I said, creeping into the room and handing Jon the syringe. ‘How’d you go last night?’
Jon spoke through a yawn. ‘Pretty good actually, she was a little unsettled but we got a bit of sleep. How about you?’
‘I slept a little too. The dreaded after-birth pains got me, worst I’ve ever had, but I knew that’d happen, third pregnancy and all. Tenille and my sister warned me.’
I sat on the bed, watching them prepare a bottle for their daughter, speaking in muted tones, their movements gentle and thoughtful. I reme
mbered that time with my own children, that first night in the hospital.
‘You know, you guys are so lucky to have each other. When I had my babies, Andrew had to leave by 8 pm and I was left by myself to figure out what to do. It was a little scary.’
Justin looked at me. ‘Yes, you’re right. We are lucky. I’m not sure if I would’ve been comfortable by myself last night. That would’ve been hard.’
As the day went on, the boys had visits from their parents, along with Andrew and the children, and Rach popped in to see me. Keira exclaimed that baby Elsie ‘smelled like sweet biscuits!’ That sparked Jaxon’s memory of previous visits to the hospital and he ran off to the tearoom to find the jar of free biscuits in the cupboard. My children didn’t seem too interested in the fact that I’d just had a baby. They wanted to cuddle and climb on me, Keira steadying my face with her small hands, moving closer, her lips puckered, planting a kiss on my own squashed lips, Jaxon munching on his biscuit, winking back at me as I smiled at him.
They showed some interest in Elsie – they both held her, guided by adult hands, each of them kissing her cheek – but they seemed more excited about rolling over Jon and Justin’s double bed, eating more biscuits, and playing with the shiny balloons Jon’s mum delivered for Elsie. They never once seemed confused about the situation. From the start they both knew that Baby JJ was for Jon and Justin and that I was only helping; Elsie wasn’t their sister in the true sense of the word, and our family wasn’t having another baby.
Seeing the ease with which my children accepted the situation before them, I relaxed. I’d made sure they knew precisely what would happen, and now all the groundwork paid off.
We spent one more night in hospital, me to recover and express milk, while Jon and Justin learned as much as they could from the midwives, bathing their daughter for the first time and getting to know her and a rough routine for her care. Ashleigh came to see me, and we sat in my room, reliving the birth. Later that afternoon, after I had expressed more colostrum, Allie popped by, also dressed in her purple midwife’s uniform – it was great to see her. She sat on the end of my bed while I described the induction and birth.
‘Well done. I told you you’d be fine, didn’t I?’
‘Yes, you did.’ I smiled.
‘But you feel good, happy with your care?’
‘Everything’s been wonderful. I can’t fault the midwives, the doctors or the hospital. And even though I was induced, the birth turned out to be pretty damn natural.’
‘That’s great. I’m so happy for you. Hey, do you think I could stop by the boys’ room and meet little Elsie?’
‘Of course, they’d love that. They know all about you.’
I went home on Friday, after farewelling the wonderful midwives, and watching Elsie being placed into the car for her first trip.
My job now was to recover and establish my milk supply. At first I pushed myself, cleaning, cooking and caring for my children, but then I realised I had to make myself rest: my body was still weak, and I became dizzy and breathless when I rushed after the kids. I had to remind myself I’d just given birth, but not having a baby around made it easy to forget. There was no reminder of the last few days: no crying, late-night feeds or wet nappies. I wasn’t tucked up on the couch in a state of maternal bliss, breastfeeding, cuddling and losing hours of time with my new baby. I was free to move on with my life and I was determined to get back on track.
By Saturday, though, my milk had come in, my breasts engorged and hot; they pulsed with a throbbing pain that could only be relieved by expressing. Every four hours I was confined to the couch, pumping milk into plastic bottles and storing them in the fridge. We had worked out a milk delivery service, so to speak – I’d either drive the pumped milk out to the boys or one of them would come and pick it up from my house. Elsie devoured the breastmilk, and the boys noticed she wasn’t as fussed with the formula they were supplementing with after she’d had my milk.
On Sunday, Sereena and Tymon arrived. We had organised another photo shoot with Lyss at the property where Jon and Justin and their parents were staying. Under the leafy jacaranda tree in the yard, we all took turns holding Elsie as the purple flowers fell, spiralling to our feet, nature’s blanket laid out before us. Lyss stepped over the grass, one eye closed, camera to her face, snapping the perfect picture.
‘I still can’t believe she’s here. She’s just beautiful and so tiny,’ said Lyss, lowering her camera and looking at Elsie, wrapped in a pink and white blanket.
As I glanced down at the sweet bundle in my arms, Jon, Justin and Sereena surrounding us, I felt a unity I’d never felt before; it was different to my feelings towards my own family but a sense of family all the same. We’d done it. Elsie was here, our good intentions materialised, the sacrifices each of us had made worth it to see her safely into the world, and we all had a role to play in Elsie’s life; each of us loved her more than we could put into words.
After the shoot we farewelled Lyss and all sat down to a beautiful meal that the grandparents had made. We laughed and ate, drank and talked as Elsie slept blissfully in her bassinette. As the night went on, my breasts grew in size, full of milk and painful, and I had to excuse myself, take my family home so I could express.
By morning I was again engorged. I attached the electric pump to my left breast, but then the engine fizzled, died, and I cursed. In agony, I contacted the boys, asking if it was okay to buy a manual pump; with their blessing I rushed to the shops, my chest bursting out of my maternity bra as I walked into a department store and purchased a pump. Leaking milk, my singlet wet, I arrived home, ripped the box open and assembled the pump. I ran to the couch, slid the bra strap off my shoulder and set myself up, a cushion tucked behind my back, the relief instant as the milk flowed from my nipple and into the attached bottle.
As the days went on I wrestled with the manual pump. Each time it stung my nipples for the first ten minutes of use, a piercing pins-and-needles sensation; it even split my right nipple, blood seeping into a full bottle of milk which had to be thrown away. I was then forced to hand express from my right breast and manual pump from my left. As hard as it was, it got the job done, and Elsie had approximately 560 millilitres of breastmilk available to her per day.
Each day over the next week, I saw the boys and Elsie and continued to supply them with milk as my production increased. We’d take walks along the breakwall, Justin pushing the pram as we gazed out to sea or watched seagulls squabble over hot chips. Sometimes we met at the park, my kids riding ahead on their scooters as we strolled along the path, a baby, her fathers and me.
Their friend Donna came to visit, and Wayne, Sheri, Rick and Annette used the time away to explore the mid north coast as tourists. Jon and Justin attended a gathering of my friends who all wanted to meet Elsie, receiving gifts and cards from them. We also met at a playground by the creek one afternoon so my sister-in-law Melissa could meet Elsie and offer her congratulations and a gift.
By Sunday 7 December, having seen each other every day, our bond had strengthened more than I thought possible. The boys had taken to caring for Elsie with an ease I was astonished to see, and Elsie was the ideal baby, sleeping and feeding well, rarely offering a murmur of discontent.
That night as my family drove out to the boys’ rented cottage for our final dinner together, a nervous energy buzzed within me. It would be the last night I’d have them in my home town, the last time I’d see them all for a very long time.
My surrogacy journey was over, and tonight I had to say goodbye.
Andrew parked the car and I stepped out, carrying a cooler bag with more containers filled with breastmilk. Jaxon and Keira stomped up the steps, knocking on the door with their fists.
‘Hellooo,’ said Justin, opening the door, and the kids giggled before running in through his legs.
As I walked up the stairs, I felt Andrew’s hand on my lower back. I passed the cooler bag over, Justin accepting it with gratitude. ‘Thank you. Go
sh, look at you go. We’ll be taking extra back home with us. I better put this in the freezer,’ he said, taking the bag to the kitchen.
Jon emerged from the bedroom, Jaxon and Keira bustling around his legs, jumping up at the early Christmas presents he held in his hands for each of them. ‘Okay, how about you sit down here and open your presents,’ he said, placing each gift on the floor. As my children laughed, the grandparents emerged from their rooms. Christmas wrap flew through the air, lying in tatters, Jaxon and Keira lifting their gifts for inspection, shaking them.
‘Come on, you two, come outside and show us what you got,’ Annette said as Sheri opened the front door. The room cleared suddenly, leaving Andrew and me with Jon and Justin, Elsie sleeping in their room.
‘Just wait there, we want to give you both something.’ Justin indicated for us to sit on the couch. Jon rushed into their room, returning with a gift.
‘No! I didn’t get you guys anything yet,’ I complained as Jon placed the present in my hand.
‘Don’t be ridiculous, you’ve already given us the biggest gift,’ said Justin.
I unwrapped the paper and pulled out a scrapbook. My chest constricted as I hunched over the book in my lap, hiding my face and wiping away my tears before they fell onto the pages before me.
The boys had taken fragments of sentences from our first emails, beautiful, hopeful words we had exchanged, and displayed them in the book. On another page was the first ever photo of the three of us, from our first meeting in June 2013, those people somehow the same yet different. There was a picture of Sereena and Tymon at the clinic on the day she donated her eggs, dressed in their white gowns and blue slippers, Sereena giving an enthusiastic thumbs-up, her stunning face smiling. There were pictures from the day of the transfer, a snapshot of the positive pregnancy test, the twelve-week and twenty-week scans, the shot of us on my back deck, me holding the sign reading It’s a Girl!, and pictures from the baby shower. And then there was a page dedicated to Elsie, pictures of a beautiful, healthy baby girl, the reason we all came together.
Labour of Love Page 29