by Rosie Nixon
It was early evening now and Oscar had popped out to get me some snacks. Although tired, I couldn’t sleep. The baby was lying next to me in a plastic cot, wearing his first White Company babygrow – white with little yellow ducks embroidered on it – and he was looking at me and gurgling. He was little more than six hours old but already seemed so alert. Old beyond his hours, somehow. I wondered what was going on in his mind, and what he could make out of my face.
I ached to pick him up, but the burning sensation in my abdomen reminded me this was far from possible right now. Pressing my buzzer for the duty nurse, and then the agonizing wait for someone to come every time I wanted to hold him, or shift a pillow behind my back, bring more pain relief, or help me take a sip of water from the bottle that always seemed to be just beyond my reach, was becoming almost as painful as the wound itself.
He was woozy with sleep, now, and it made my eyes feel heavy at last. He already suited his name – Albert, after a great-great-grandfather I never knew. I had always loved the name, ever since I was a child and gave the moniker to my favourite teddy bear. I still have the teddy; it was currently propped up at the end of the cot at home, waiting to meet its name twin. He was to be Albie for short. No middle name, because in my family boys often took their middle names from their fathers. He had a downy covering of light brown hair on his perfectly round head. I wondered who he looked like; I couldn’t see myself in him yet. I thought about whether he bore any resemblance to his father. But he only really looked like a baby. Or perhaps Winston Churchill.
I sent a message and a photo of Albie to The Baby Group:
Hot off the press – my baby boy is here. Meet Albie, 9lbs of gorgeousness. Mum and baby doing well.
As I pressed send, a big fat tear rolled down my cheek.
A nurse came to take my blood pressure and change my catheter. Having a baby was undignified however you chose to give birth. I asked her how long it might be before I could go to the bathroom by myself.
‘We’ll try to encourage it tomorrow,’ she informed, ‘but don’t even think about it right now.’
I felt anxious about ever being able to get out of this bed. The feeling was beginning to return to my legs, thank goodness. But at this moment I was a very long way from being self-sufficient and that was a scary state for a control freak like me.
Much as we tried, breastfeeding didn’t come easily to either me or Albie. With every attempt, even those supervised by the ward’s breastfeeding expert, or a kindly midwife in the small hours of that first night, he seemed to get more flustered. From the word go my nipples were agony. At one point he somehow managed to draw blood, and he didn’t even have any teeth. I wasn’t sure how this was possible. We both became agitated, had a little cry, and gave up. The nurses wondered if he had tongue-tie and he became very distressed when they took him off to check. I waited in bed, the sound of his screams ripping my insides apart as he disappeared down the corridor with strangers, albeit helpful, caring ones who only had the best intentions.
Tuesday 25th May
My parents visited the next morning, just when I had managed to give him a small amount of colostrum administered via a miniature plastic syringe, after having spent the best part of an hour extracting a few meagre drops from the less painful of my breasts. It was excruciating and I was in tears throughout.
After staying with me at the hospital as late as he could last night, Oscar had gone home to rest and shower; there seemed little point in us both getting minimal sleep. I told him not to rush back as it would be easier for my parents to come when he wasn’t there because it was still a little awkward between us, due to the fact that they didn’t seem to want to accept that Oscar wasn’t the father of this baby. Explaining to my parents that I had undergone IVF using sperm donated by an anonymous male, and that Oscar had agreed to bring up the baby with me, as if it were his own, had been difficult for them to process. Could you imagine if I had told them the full version of events?
When I saw Mum and Dad enter the ward, I thought I had just about got myself together. They brought packets of fudge, a mini bottle of prosecco and a couple of books, none of which was what I needed right now. How would I have the time or energy to read a book, when I couldn’t even feed my own baby properly? What I needed was a hug, but my parents had never been those kind of people. They were copers, not compassionates. I also wasn’t prepared for their appearance to bring back such visceral emotions from the past. While I could see joy in their faces as they met their longed-for grandson for the first time, I felt the moment was tinged with anguish for them – and for me. It brought back some raw memories for us all. As they stood by my bedside, tears welled up in my eyes again and I couldn’t hold them back. I sobbed and sobbed, every gasp pulling roughly at my C-section wound, giving me even more pain, my eyes all puffy, my nose running. Mum eventually passed me a tissue and I managed to get myself together. Mercifully, Albie remained asleep in the bassinet beside me the whole time.
Mum laid a cold hand on my arm when I stopped and muttered: ‘I’m sorry, it’s been an emotional day.’ But mostly she and my dad just stood there, not knowing what to do or say.
Wednesday 26th May
I was discharged from hospital a day later. Although I had originally imagined I would bring Albie home on my own, in a taxi, the reality of that soon proved impossible, and not only considering I was not meant to lift anything heavier than the baby for the next six weeks and there was barely anyone around to ask for help, but because I cherished Oscar being there. It all felt so much more daunting than I had expected.
‘How on earth do proper single mums cope?’ I pondered, as Oscar gathered up the last of my belongings, ready to escort us back to the ‘family’ home.
‘They have good friends, or perhaps a boyfriend, to help them out,’ he replied stoically.
I was so glad to have him with me; I just didn’t quite know how to articulate it. It had been an intense few days. ‘Thank you. So much,’ I said.
He acknowledged this with a smile.
Emerging from the hospital building, although I could barely stand up straight, I felt like a butterfly coming out of the chrysalis: brand new, on the precipice of a brave new world, but also exactly the same old me.
I paused, unsure whether I would need to wear my jacket. The temperature in the hospital ward had been tropical. Oscar reassured me it was only a short stroll to the car.
The London air around us was refreshingly familiar, the sky heavy with rain, yet the temperature mild.
As we drove home, Albie fell asleep. He looked so small, so vulnerable, encased in an additional two layers of cushioning inside his padded car seat.
The thought that he was completely dependent on me was overwhelming. If I wanted to jump out of this car right now and go meet a friend for a drink, he might well perish. Not that I was in any way capable of jumping out of cars. But the responsibility weighing down on me was huge.
London whizzed past the window, Waterloo, Vauxhall, Kennington, we stopped at the lights by Stockwell Tube and my mind flashed back for a moment. Back to that night. In the distance, I could see the pub, the one he and I had spent hours in, talking. Flirting. I looked across at Albie and for a fleeting moment I thought I recognized his face in that of my precious new boy.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Aisha
Monday 7th June
The first few weeks after having the baby went by in a flurry of guests, broken sleep and health visitor appointments. Thankfully, breastfeeding was going well and, despite a brief lull, Joni had already put on a few pounds in just over three weeks. She seemed to be hungry all the time, and I enjoyed being able to satisfy her – for two hours at least, until the next feed. We heard over WhatsApp the news that Will and Christian had welcomed their baby, a boy called Leo on the 22nd May, Lucy had had Albie on 24th May. So everyone had given birth now except for Helen, bless her, who was still waddling around nine days overdue. The Baby Group WhatsApp thread was aliv
e with discussion about breastfeeding, the colour of poo, and unfortunately for Susie and Lin – colic.
I bumped into Susie on Monday afternoon in Boots – she was stocking up on gripe water and Infacol, and had a bottle of Calpol in her hand.
‘So much for being an earth mother then,’ she smiled, embarrassed I had witnessed her with a basketful of drugs. ‘Turns out that oxytocin can’t cure everything.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous. Anything to stop them suffering, right?’
‘Right,’ she said. ‘It’s so much harder than I imagined.’ Her eyes were sunken and she looked tired.
‘I know,’ I reassured her, glancing down at Joni, secretly glad I seemed to have a baby who was fairly contented, compared to Charlie. But I wasn’t stupid enough not to know that that could change at any moment. I had only just got my head around what had happened in the delivery suite when her heart rate dropped. Things could happen so quickly when they’re so tiny.
‘Leaky boobs,’ I said, holding up the box of breast pads I’d just put in my basket. ‘I’m getting through an industrial amount of these pads right now. The glamour.’
She cracked a smile.
‘Are you in a rush or do you fancy a coffee?’ I asked. I’d been planning to get a takeaway from Starbucks to drink on the way home – I was making the most of being able to consume caffeine again – and Susie looked like she needed some too. I thought she might appreciate the company.
She looked at her watch, then to baby Charlie, sleeping peacefully in his pram, and nodded gratefully. ‘Ironic that he sleeps when I go out. Why can’t he do it when I’m in bed too? It’s a conspiracy,’ she muttered. ‘Let’s do it, I’ve got a couple of hours before Lin will be home. It was her first day back at work today and she’s missed him like crazy.’
We walked with our strollers to the nearest coffee shop, a cute French café on the edge of Clapham Common, and took the window seat, nursing steaming hot mugs of frothy coffee. Joni was asleep again, and Charlie had woken but was happily cradled in Susie’s arms, staring at a black and white image of a butterfly on a fabric book she had managed to prop up next to him. They looked sweet together so I captured the moment on my phone and sent it to the rest of the Baby Group with the caption, ‘Susie and I bumped into each other in town – aren’t these two adorable’.
We treated ourselves to slices of carrot cake and soon the colour returned to her cheeks.
‘It’s funny,’ she said, leaning towards me, conspiratorially, ‘I thought that I was going to be the one fixated on homeopathy and doing things nature’s way, but I’ve been the opposite. I’ve got a secret stash of pain relief at home, and I had a can of Coke this morning – my first in two decades. I had a McDonald’s yesterday and I’ve been bingeing on Mini Eggs for energy. I’m too ashamed to tell Lin.’
I shrugged. ‘Nothing wrong with the odd can of Coke or the Golden Arches, and who doesn’t need Mini Eggs in their life? Don’t beat yourself up. How are you finding the placenta capsules by the way?’
‘Lin’s been the one necking most of them,’ she chuckled. ‘I can’t bring myself to tell her that the thought of it makes me want to vomit.’
‘Is she buzzing around like a toddler full of sugar?’ I smirked.
‘To be honest with you, I’m so riddled with tiredness, absolutely everyone looks like a Duracell Bunny compared to me,’ she replied.
‘Anyway, do you want to hear a funny story?’ I leant in. ‘I was feeling so pasty last week, I fake-tanned myself while Joni was snoozing.’
‘Fake tan?’ she said. ‘You’re lucky to have gorgeous olive skin, you don’t need it.’
I pushed up my sleeve. ‘Being half Indian helps, but this is pale for me. Besides, I needed a boost.’ I looked across at Joni, her little face poking out from under the white bonnet given to us by Jason’s parents, and felt glad that she couldn’t know I was talking about her. ‘Anyway, Joni ended up waking and I gave her a cuddle forgetting the tan was still wet on my skin. I didn’t notice, but a couple of hours later, there was a huge brown splodge on her cheek. When Jason got home, he asked if it was a birth mark. I felt so guilty.’
Susie started to laugh. ‘That’s too funny.’
‘Look, you can still see it.’ I pointed to the area. ‘It won’t come off. And, typical, the health visitor was coming the next morning.’
‘Did she notice?’ Susie asked, her hand across her mouth to stop any crumbs of carrot cake from escaping as she giggled.
‘Of course she did, so I had to come clean. She gave me a painful lecture about the types of cleansing products that are safe to use on newborn skin. I felt like I was in detention at school.’
‘They can be so preachy, those health visitors. Mine always eyes me with suspicion, like I’m depressed or not coping as I should. Although sometimes I think she’s onto something.’ Her voice trailed off.
‘Mine’s just the same,’ I reassured her. ‘But you could try talking to her about how you’re feeling, if you’re worried. I’m sure she’ll have some good advice. And I’m always here, that’s what we all joined The Baby Group for isn’t it? To help each other get through this?’ I ate the last bit of carrot cake. ‘As for me, I might go the whole hog and give Joni a summer shimmer for the next visit. Perhaps try some Sun In in her hair – that’ll give my health visitor something to really worry about,’ I said, and we both cracked up again.
Just then we were disturbed by a loud noise from Joni’s nappy. Even the people at the next table turned to look.
‘Oh great – poo-mageddon again!’ I exclaimed. ‘Off to the bathroom for me, I might be some time. I’m going in…’ I grabbed the nappy bag.
‘Don’t,’ Susie cried, holding onto her middle, ‘I can’t laugh because pee comes out!’
And we both roared with laughter, clutching our bellies and trying not to follow in Joni’s footsteps by having a little ‘accident’ in a busy café.
As I walked home, I felt buoyed. Finally, this maternity-leave lark felt as though it was going to be fun. I was glad to have made some new friends in The Baby Group. We’d only known each other for a matter of weeks, but we had already shared so much. I hadn’t even had a chance to tell Tara the full birth story yet – she was so busy herself with two toddlers – but I’d discussed everything with The Baby Group. Sometimes Susie and I would be WhatsApping each other at 2 a.m., offering comfort and support in the small hours when it felt like we were the only people in London who were awake. It was only Lucy who seemed to have withdrawn slightly from the group. I had messaged her once to ask how it was going, but she’d only sent a short reply that all was fine.
Susie had mentioned that Lucy was having a tough time breastfeeding, so later that night – it must have been about midnight because I had just finished giving Joni a dream feed – having noticed Lucy was online, I decided to message her separately again.
Me: Hi, are you up?
Lucy: Yes, just about. You ok?
Me: Yes, all good, just given Joni her dream feed. How’s it going with you two?
Lucy: It’s tough, to be honest. Feeding is hard. Whatever I do, he just cries and cries.
Me: I’m sorry. Have you tried a bottle?
Lucy: He won’t take it.
Me: Is Oscar able to help?
Lucy: He’s in the spare room. He’s in a busy period at work so I’m trying not to disturb him.
Me: Two words – nipple guards. Meant to be good?
Lucy: Maybe. Anyway, I’m going to try to get some sleep.
Me: Sleep well. Maybe a coffee next week?
Lucy: I’ll give you a shout in a couple of weeks. I don’t want to bore you with my negativity.
I paused for a moment. Her tone seemed quite cold. Had I said something to upset her? We had been getting on so well. Meet up in two weeks? Two weeks was basically an eternity when you’re on maternity leave. I switched off my phone and placed it on the bedside table next to me, then I turned the light out. I lay in the darkness, thinki
ng. I hoped she was okay.
The following morning, I showed Jason the thread. He brushed it off.
‘She was probably having a bad night. You said yourself that she’s quite stuck up. She’s high maintenance. Bit of jealousy too, perhaps,’ he said.
‘Jealous?’ I asked.
‘It wouldn’t be hard to be jealous of my beautiful wife and her brilliant boobs,’ he smiled. ‘You have taken to motherhood so naturally, I’m proud of you.’
‘But why would she brush me off like that when I was trying to help?’
‘Don’t read too much into it. Besides you’ve got other friends – Tara, Susie… Just give Lucy a wide berth perhaps.’
‘Okay,’ I muttered, ‘but you’re right, it was probably just a bad night.’
Chapter Twenty-Three
Lucy
Tuesday 8th June
I read through last night’s WhatsApp exchange with Aisha. I had been purposefully keeping my distance from The Baby Group. I couldn’t face them right now. I had been thinking too much, worrying; afraid of what I might say if we did meet up. Now that Albie was actually here, it all felt very real. That, plus the fact that things seemed to be going so well for the others, especially Aisha, when things were going far from smoothly for me. And Albie was struggling so much in the feeding department, it broke my heart that I couldn’t satisfy him easily. Although I was happy to have him here, it didn’t stop me feeling like a failure at the same time.
Albie had eventually taken the bottle last night, thank God – a reprieve from his tiny mouth gnawing at my battered nipples and listening to his high-pitched hungry screams. At one point I had to leave him lying on my bed, his arms and legs waving in the air, like an overturned beetle. I just needed a moment to take a few deep breaths; to walk downstairs, grab a glass of water and a digestive biscuit and compose myself before going back into battle.