by Rosie Nixon
‘Oh baby – Aisha – chill out, okay? Of course I wouldn’t leave you if you were actually in labour.’ He said it as though this was slightly funny. He reached for my hand.
My eyes burnt and my bottom lip trembled. I wondered if this was the kind of stress that could bring on contractions. ‘I just feel like you constantly put work ahead of me,’ I said, trying to stop my voice from wobbling.
‘Ahead of you and our baby, never,’ he said, sincerely enough to make me straighten a little. ‘Ahead of this group today, I’m afraid, yes. I’m as pissed off about it as you are, I promise, but this is my job – I’m doing this for you. We both knew what I was taking on and Peter wouldn’t be asking if he didn’t really need me.’ I said nothing. ‘Baby, we talked about this and how if I put the hours in now, I can be around for you in a few weeks’ time, when you’re really going to need me. You and our baby will need me. We discussed that, remember?’ He looked at me with those big green eyes. ‘Isn’t that what we agreed – I work my arse off now, so I can be around for as long as possible when it’s here?’
‘We still need you today,’ I replied, trying really hard not to cry. ‘I need you.’ I knew I was labouring the point, but I couldn’t help it, and stroked my bump for added effect. The thought of walking into the meeting alone again filled me with dread. It was just going to be so embarrassing having to explain why he wasn’t there for the second time.
‘I’m really sorry,’ he said, dropping my limp hand, because it clearly wasn’t going to show him any love right now, however hard he clasped it. ‘I’ll be back as soon as I can – with any luck, it will be quick to sort out and I’ll get an Uber and come and join you for the afternoon. I’ll be thinking of you, you’re amazing, you don’t need me, you can do this.’ He lowered his face to my belly. ‘I love you and this little bean so much. I do, you know.’ Then he kissed me on the forehead and dashed off in the opposite direction to the one we were meant to be going in.
Fortunately I was one of the first to arrive at the group – only Helen and Ian had taken their seats – so I had a quiet word with Maggie.
‘Jason got called away for work suddenly. He’s a manager for the IT department of a bank – in the city,’ I said. ‘There was an emergency situation with their systems going down, something to do with a software update.’ I was babbling. ‘He’s the manager.’ I immediately felt silly for going into so much detail and feeling the need to repeat the manager part, in case she hadn’t heard, as if this somehow validated his absence. Who was I trying to kid? I just hoped he would be there next time.
‘It sounds terribly techy, I don’t have a clue about all of that,’ Maggie said, her chirpy voice a comfort to me now. ‘We’ll miss him, but I suppose it can’t be helped.’ She paused to look me in the eye. ‘Are you okay, dear?’
‘Absolutely fine,’ I lied. ‘He’ll be here next week.’ And I took my seat.
When we had all settled into the same places as last time, Maggie began: ‘In today’s session, we’re going to act out a vaginal birth and also a caesarean section and then we’ll be talking about body awareness, breathing and massage.’
I watched Helen sip from an extra-large Caffè Nero cup and wished I’d thought of picking something up myself. How I missed my daily caffeine fix. If you gave me a pound for the number of times I’d hoped a barista would accidentally make it a proper coffee rather than decaf, I’d be handing over a piggy bank heavy enough to pay for a new deluxe iCandy stroller by now. Though I’d bet Helen was sipping something herbal.
‘Would anyone like to share if they are planning to go the caesarean route?’ Maggie asked. Her dark, piggyish eyes darted around the room expectantly.
I averted my eyes from hers and immediately thought of Mum. Lately I’d been thinking about her more than ever. As I saw my bump grow, resembling the colourful, inflatable beach ball I’d played with on childhood holidays in France, sometimes my whole body ached for her. There were so many questions I wanted to ask her, but would never get the chance.
Did she suffer the same debilitating morning sickness I had endured for the first sixteen weeks? Had she opted for the caesarean section birth, or was it an emergency? I remembered her showing me her faint scar, but I couldn’t recall the whole story and it bothered me that I hadn’t paid more attention. Perhaps the combination of the sickness and the C-section was why my mum had stopped at one child. After the sickness I had experienced, I didn’t blame her. Perhaps I would feel complete with one child too. Mum always led me to believe she couldn’t imagine loving any other child as much as she loved me, but I never knew if there was really another reason. All I knew was that I could be headed for a C-section too, but that at the end of the day did it really matter, because this baby inside me was so very wanted and so deeply loved.
Lucy was the only person who raised her hand. I clocked the empty seat next to her and it offered me a little comfort to see that she was also flying solo again today. ‘I’m electing for a caesarean,’ she said confidently. ‘It might seem controversial, but I have my reasons and I’m sure this is the right route for me.’ She folded her arms and sat back in her seat. I admired her ability to shut down a conversation.
‘Wonderful,’ Maggie said awkwardly. ‘Feel free to discuss your decision with me at any time, if you’d like to. I’ll be asking you to pair up to practise a few of the breathing and massage techniques first,’ she continued. ‘We’ll save the C-section until after lunch.’ Presumably so it didn’t put any of us off our food. I felt a little sorry for Lucy and the way Maggie had made it sound like something she frowned upon. Lucy clearly had her reasons – and it wasn’t as if I hadn’t considered one too, because of Mum. Pregnancy could make people so judgemental.
The idea of practical demonstrations made me shift uncomfortably. Don’t split up the couples. Please don’t split the couples. I didn’t want someone else’s husband’s hands on me. Although perhaps I could make an exception for Will…
‘Aisha and Lucy, you can work together please,’ Maggie said.
I successfully caught Lucy’s eye and we exchanged a shy smile in acknowledgement. Seeing as we were both partnerless, it made sense for us to work together, even though the idea of giving and receiving massages from another pregnant woman – and especially someone as well put-together as Lucy – wasn’t exactly making me feel relaxed.
‘Sorry, you seem to have drawn the short straw,’ Lucy said as Maggie indicated I should move to the chair next to Lucy.
‘Not at all, I’m just relieved she’s not using me to demonstrate,’ I replied.
Maggie turned to us: ‘Okay ladies, ready to give it a go?’
‘There’s still time,’ Lucy muttered, smiling sweetly, and I cringed in response.
A minute later, following a description of what we were to do from Maggie, all of the couples moved into position and Lucy slowly manoeuvred herself into a kneeling position behind me.
‘Well, this is embarrassing,’ she whispered. I could tell from her voice that she was trying not to giggle and the fact she was letting her guard down made me warm to her. ‘I’ve never felt less mobile.’
Meanwhile, I was on my knees, leaning over a chair, so I couldn’t see how mortifying it was for her because I was wrapped up in my own ridiculousness.
On the other side of the circle, I could hear Lin and Susie getting into the exercise. Susie was making loud, appreciative noises as Lin clearly hit the right spots.
‘Fabulous ladies! Great work over there,’ Maggie encouraged them. ‘Don’t hold back – remember that, everyone; it’s really important that you let out those moans and groans. And when you reach transition stage – that’s the bit right before the birth – if you want to moo like a big beautiful pregnant cow, just do it. Let it out! That’s right, Susie, “Moooo!”’
‘I don’t hear any mooing coming from you, Aisha,’ Lucy said sarcastically, as I felt her tentatively knead my shoulders. It was embarrassing doing this with a woman I barely knew. If it
wasn’t so funny, I’d be livid with Maggie for putting us through it.
‘I don’t think I’m at the mooing stage yet,’ I replied, ‘I’m more in the “get me out of here” stage right now.’
‘I’m with you,’ Lucy giggled. ‘If it wasn’t so hard to move out of this position, I’d leg it out of here with you.’ We both snorted with laughter.
‘Whoa, Lucy dear! That position isn’t necessary for you!’ Maggie suddenly exclaimed, rushing over to us, her too-wide-for-her-body-shape navy trousers flapping and revealing the top of a white towelling sports sock. ‘That’s what the birth partner would do, yes, but it isn’t safe for you to do. I’ll come and assist the pair of you. I don’t want to be responsible for any injuries – let alone early labours!’ She held up her hands and gave me a worried look, like I was about to shoot a baby out of my vagina unannounced. ‘You okay down there, Aisha?’
‘I think so. Do I stay here?’ I asked, feeling vulnerable.
‘Yes please, just for a moment Aisha. I’ll demonstrate another gentle relaxation technique on you, if you don’t mind, and then it will be Lucy’s turn.’
I rolled my eyes at Lucy and mouthed: ‘Told you.’
She winced, and mouthed back, ‘Sorry!’
At least it felt as though I had a comrade here, because all of the others seemed to be taking this extremely seriously.
Maggie turned to the group. ‘Now, don’t be embarrassed if any of you ladies fart during this exercise – either from the rectum or vagina – it’s perfectly normal to be gassy.’
At that, Lucy let out a guffaw like a schoolgirl, shooting one hand up to cover her mouth as her shoulders shook and she struggled to contain herself. It took all my strength not to collapse into giggles too – or to fart.
Maybe she was okay after all.
Chapter Seven
Lucy
Fortunately, when the relaxation demos were over and Aisha and I had composed ourselves, Maggie granted us a comfort break. We joined the others in the tea-making area and I almost wanted to hug Aisha when she pulled a packet of custard creams out of her bag.
‘I’ve been craving these,’ she smiled, offering me the packet.
I had been trying to avoid refined sugar, as a general rule, but they were exactly what I needed right now. ‘Oh yes please!’ I said. ‘I thought I was going to lose it for a moment then. It was the most bizarre thing—’
Just then Helen joined us: ‘That was so interesting, I had no idea about the mooing,’ she commented. ‘Aren’t our bodies incredible?’ She looked deadly serious. I really did not understand how a person could not find the idea of mooing remotely amusing.
‘Well I’m going to moo that hospital down!’ Susie interjected, lightening things up. I liked her, she seemed a cheery personality.
‘You’ll definitely know when Susie’s arrived,’ Lin added fondly.
‘I just hope it doesn’t happen too soon,’ I said. ‘I’ve got a lot to pack into the coming weeks. I’m not ready to turn into a full-blown sow just yet.’
‘When are you finishing work?’ Aisha asked, offering the biscuits around again. I gladly accepted another.
‘I’ve still got a fortnight left at work. We’re down to the final two in a huge client pitch, plus I’ve got a campaign that’s about to go live, and my deputy is showing no signs of picking up the reins right now. I’ve got to supervise everything she does. It’s hard to focus on buying nursery equipment until I can get all of that tied up and delegated. Although I’m trying to multi-task… the nesting instinct is real and I’m desperate to get stuck into it. What about you?’
Aisha hesitated. I suddenly felt maybe I had said too much; been a little full-on about work. When you’re in the fast-paced world of consumer PR it’s easy to be swept up in the urgency of everything.
‘I’m still at it, but I don’t have to go into an office at least; I’m freelance,’ she answered quietly.
‘What do you do?’ Susie asked, joining the conversation.
‘Illustrator, of children’s books,’ Aisha said.
‘That’s so cool! Would we know any of your books?’ Susie continued.
‘Probably not. Well, I don’t know, maybe, I’ve done six over here,’ she smiled, her cheeks flushed as though she was embarrassed to have the attention on her. Aisha seemed to lack confidence, which was a shame because she was clearly talented, not to mention beautiful, modest, funny – she was easily the most interesting in this group, in my eyes.
‘What about you?’ Aisha asked.
‘Primary school teacher,’ Susie replied. ‘There’s barely a children’s book I don’t know, perhaps I’ll know some of yours. I’m just hoping this little one can hang on until half term and then I’m all good.’ She patted her swollen belly. ‘I can’t wait to stop now – you wouldn’t believe the probing questions I get on a daily basis from a class of six-year-olds. They seem even more obsessed with my placenta than Lin is!’ We all chuckled.
I had noticed a missed call from Katie during the session, so I took the opportunity to grab a brownie from the table – another Susie and Lin special, my sugar craving was strong this morning – and popped out into the street to phone her back. Katie had been my closest confidante since we bonded on day two of university and was the kind of friend who always saw the funny side of situations. I knew she’d love the massage demonstration story.
‘I need to show you something,’ she had said on that day we first met twenty years ago. Her expression was somber, as though she’d been telling me my cat had been run over. Then she’d ushered me down the corridor of our halls and into her bedroom, where her face had lit up into a wide smile and, giggling, she had pointed to a magnum of Cava. ‘From my parents. Want to help me find some hot guys to share it with?’
Katie had perfectly managed the delicate balancing act we faced at university – of attempting to be functional adults while having a strong desire to get drunk at every opportunity. I had loved her from the moment I met her and simultaneously discovered my love of bubbles. And, of course, we had managed to land ourselves the hot guys, for the short while we were together at uni anyway. Katie had always been there for me, even after our student days together had been cut short.
‘So?’ she asked. I could sense a mix of excitement and trepidation in her voice.
‘Nothing to report,’ I replied. ‘Not yet, anyway.’
‘I’ve been thinking about you all day,’ she sighed, disappointed.
‘But I am learning that doulas are vagina-mad, that I have a fear of farting from my front bottom, and that having a baby is totally insane. I can’t believe so many people do it. Tell me the details of your birth story again? It will make more sense to me now.’
She sighed. ‘Two words – car crash. Don’t you remember Daisy and I were in hospital for four days afterwards because I lost so much blood? I’m not sure it’s a good idea to remind you.’
‘Oh yes, of course, I’m sorry. Maybe don’t tell me then. Actually, I need to know. Knowledge is power.’ I felt bad that I couldn’t remember the details of Katie’s birth story, but the truth was that before falling pregnant myself, I had found it difficult to engage with other people’s pregnancies and births. I had kind of blotted out the fact that a number of my friends were getting pregnant and having babies around me and I had purposely distanced myself from them, because I was finding it so hard myself. I did it with Katie too, and I’m sure it must have hurt her. For a while it had stung too much – she seemed to have it all, and I felt resentful, even though I had hated myself for it.
I think my body had been waiting, waiting for The One – for the same feeling of true love I had been lucky enough to experience once before, a long time ago.
I had spent years basically on a treadmill of long periods of being single, trying out various dating apps, going on dates and having relationships lasting a few months at most; many of them enjoyable and some involving plenty of good sex, but none that I felt could go the distance.
Like Lennox, the builder who had come to do some work in my bathroom and ended up drinking a bottle of wine with me one Friday evening. We went on a few dates and he was good at foreplay, but the fact that he had never read a book and still holidayed with his parents, aged 39, had soon put a stop to things.
And Rich, the wealthy banker who, if I’d drunk a number of cocktails, we were sitting in the right light, and I squinted, looked passable for Ryan Gosling. He had taken me to some of London’s most expensive bars and restaurants – even a couple of swanky hotels in the New Forest – during our six-month courtship, but he had absolutely no sense of humour. He didn’t even find it amusing when I introduced him to the new Snapchat filters and sent him a video of myself singing ‘Do Ya Think I’m Sexy’ half naked while looking like a fluffy white bunny. It was never going to work. There’d also been Tom from Norway, and a couple of other one-night stands whose names I couldn’t remember.
I had taken a few risks along the way too, having unprotected sex in the middle of my cycle, then watching and waiting for the slightest sign of a pregnancy or a period symptom, wondering whether, if I was expecting a baby, I could give it a go with the father; if maybe there was a chance for us. But no pregnancy had come.
Curious to know about my fertility, I undertook tests which revealed, at the age of 35, that I had a low egg count. When I’d asked my gynaecologist how he thought it would affect me, he’d said brightly: ‘The best way of finding out is to get on with it!’ Noticing the silent tears appear in my eyes, he’d then asked: ‘Have you ever been pregnant?’ He had touched a very raw nerve.
‘Once,’ I’d replied quietly. ‘I had an abortion, a long time ago.’
‘Well that’s good news,’ he’d said optimistically. ‘I suggest you keep trying, and it will happen.’
I had never seen my abortion as ‘good news’.