From Here to Maternity

by Sinéad Moriarty

  Now that I was nearly seven months pregnant the baby had started kicking regularly, which I loved. With my bump getting bigger by the day, I decided to try to explain to Yuri that he was going to have a little sister or brother. I was nervous about getting the wording right so I began gently.

  I sat him down, kissed him, then told him I loved him and that he was the best boy in Ireland and Russia. This always made him smile so we were off to a good start. I showed him my stomach and said, ‘baby,’ then I showed him a picture of a baby and pointed back to my stomach. He smiled at the picture of the baby, which I took to be a good sign. Then I put his hand on my stomach and the baby kicked. Yuri squealed and pulled away his hand. He stared at my stomach, then poked it and the baby kicked again. Yuri giggled, and spent the next ten minutes poking my bump black and blue until the baby got tired of the game and stopped kicking, much to Yuri’s disappointment.

  ‘So you see, darling, Mummy’s going to have another little baby and you’ll have a little sister or brother, but you’ll always be my special boy,’ I said, smiling encouragingly at him. ‘You’ll have someone to play with all the time. Won’t that be fun?’

  Yuri didn’t look like he thought it was going to be a barrel of laughs at all. He looked at me, frowned and then turned away and reached over for his elephant. Damn, this was not a good sign. Maybe he thought he was going to be abandoned again. I picked him up to cuddle him but he shrugged me away and continued to chew on the elephant’s trunk. He always turned to the elephant when he was feeling upset or vulnerable – which, thankfully, had become much rarer recently.

  Did he understand about the baby and feel left out already? Maybe I’d confused him. I was riddled with guilt. What if he had a really hard time when the baby arrived? Would it bring back all the nasty memories of being dumped on the doorstep of an orphanage? Although James did keep reminding me that at two months Yuri probably didn’t remember the incident. Still, I was worried that he’d feel left out when the baby was born and that when he grew up he’d always be the ‘adopted’ son. And then he’d disappear off to Russia to become a painter of angry art because of his mixed-up youth. His paintings would be black and the critics would say his mother must have been an awful witch for him to be so full of Angst. He’d tell them all how being abandoned once was bad enough, but twice was unforgivable. Then he’d marry a beautiful ballet dancer called Olga and they’d have a child and he’d understand that I’d done my best, that he’d been loved, and he’d start painting in reds and blues…

  I’d have to be extra loving and affectionate to him over the next eighteen years so he wouldn’t go off the rails. I bent down and whispered in his ear, ‘I love you, my little Russian angel. You’re the best thing that ever happened to me and nobody will ever take your place in my heart.’

  But Yuri continued to ignore me and cuddle his elephant. Dejected, I went to call James. By the time he answered I had worked myself into a hormone-induced frenzy and was sobbing. ‘I just tried to uh-uh-uh tell Yuri about the baby and now he thinks he’s going to be abandoned again. He looks really sad… He uh-uh keeps hugging the elephant.’

  ‘What did you say to him?’

  ‘I just told him that I loved him and that he’d have a playmate soon.’

  ‘How exactly did you phrase it?’

  ‘I just told you.’

  ‘You were probably too blunt. You need to be very careful, Emma. This is a big thing for Yuri to accept.’

  ‘I’m aware of that.’

  ‘You should have waited for me to be there. I’ll handle it when I get home.’

  ‘Gee, thanks for the support, I’m really glad I called you now. I feel so much better. I’m off to stick my head in the oven.’

  ‘Calm down, there’s no need for drama. He probably didn’t even understand. He can’t speak, for goodness’ sake.’

  ‘He understands lots, James. When I say, “Don’t touch that, it’s dirty,” he doesn’t touch it… or if I say, “You’re the best boy,” he smiles. He seems upset. What if the new baby makes him feel left out? He’s suffered enough. What if he becomes really messed up because of it and turns into a mad artist who only paints with black?’

  ‘Emma, can you please focus on the issue here and not go off on one of your tangents? We just have to keep reassuring him,’ said James. ‘He’ll be fine. He’s settled in so well already, he’ll adjust to the baby in no time. I’ll have a word with him when I get home.’

  By the time James got home Yuri was in bed. He had cheered up when I gave him his bath, but had clung to the elephant when I tucked him in and had only given me a half-smile when I sang ‘Incy Wincy Spider’ to him. Granted, I had a voice like a cat being swung round by its tail, but it never usually bothered him. He was definitely out of sorts. I felt awful and kept kissing him and telling him I loved him.

  James arrived home and went straight in to say goodnight to Yuri. I left them to it, but I could hear him through the baby monitor: ‘Now, young fellow, you’re not to worry about the new baby because you’ll always be our number-one boy. You’re as much my son as any biological child could ever be. I have lots of plans for you. I’m going to teach you to play rugby and you’re going to be the best out-half in the world and captain England to the next World Cup victory. Or if you prefer you can play cricket for England and bring back the Ashes. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me and don’t you forget it. I didn’t understand what people talked about when they spoke of the love for a child, but I do now. It’s pretty overwhelming, actually. You are my number-one priority and nothing will change that.’

  I could hear Yuri snoring as James finished his speech and I realized I’d been usurped. I was relegated to second position. I’d be offered to the burglars on a platter. But, strangely, I didn’t mind because I felt the same way. No less in love with James, just overcome with love for Yuri. So much love for such a little person in such a short space of time.

  Chapter 26

  A few days before Sean’s wedding I was in Mum’s house trying on the dress I had bought. We were flying out the next day to meet Shadee’s family and, needless to say, my mother was up to ninety. Both families were having dinner together the night before the wedding to get to know each other. Sean and Shadee had wisely kept this meeting until the last minute, so that, whatever the outcome, the wedding would go ahead the next day.

  ‘Lord, Emma, that’s far too tight on you,’ my mother noted helpfully, as I struggled to get the dress over my stomach.

  ‘Damn! It fitted me perfectly three weeks ago.’

  ‘I told you not to buy a dress until a few days before the wedding but, as usual, you wouldn’t listen.’

  ‘It’s fifty per cent lycra – it’s supposed to have lots of room for growth,’ I growled.

  ‘Well, you can’t wear it, you look enormous.’

  ‘Thanks a lot.’

  ‘For goodness’ sake, aren’t you lucky to be pregnant? You moaned for years because you couldn’t have a baby and now you’re giving out because you’ve a big stomach. Never happy.’

  ‘I’m not giving out and I am extremely grateful to be pregnant. I just don’t like being referred to as enormous.’

  ‘Big, then.’

  ‘Lucy and Jess said I’m neat.’

  ‘Neat!’ screeched Mum. ‘Well, they’re good friends, I’ll say that for them.’

  ‘Mum, you’re not helping here. What am I going to do? This is the only decent dress I have and we’re going tomorrow.’

  ‘Sure can’t you wear a big sheet like the rest of them? No one will notice the difference.’

  ‘I thought we’d agreed that you weren’t going to make comments like that any more,’ I said, wagging a finger at her.

  ‘For your information, Sean said that one of Shady’s aunties, who’s coming to the wedding, wears the black sheet and disapproves of Western women.’

  ‘Yes, and Auntie Doreen goes around spraying people with holy water. Neither is clever.’
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br />   ‘Well, your auntie Doreen’s from your father’s side. Sure they’re all a bit touched,’ said Mum, condemning Dad’s entire family with one sweeping comment.

  ‘Anyway, back to the issue at hand. What am I going to do?’ I now had nothing to wear for my brother’s wedding and my mother wasn’t helping.

  ‘Your sister had better wear that nice frock I sent her in the post. It’s got long sleeves and a high neck. I won’t have Shady’s lot saying my children are badly brought up. I won’t be shamed on my only son’s wedding day.’

  I opened Mum’s wardrobe and started looking through it. ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Looking for something to wear.’

  ‘You won’t find anything in there that’ll fit you,’ said Mum, highly insulted at the idea that my big frame would fit into any of her clothes.

  ‘I just thought you might have a floaty dress or a loose top.’

  ‘I’m a size fourteen now, Emma. I’ve lost half a stone over the last month by cutting out the car-bo-hydrates,’ said Mum, twirling round to show me her new svelte figure.

  ‘I know, Mum. You told me, and you look great. Your outfit is gorgeous and the shoes and hat are perfect. But right now I need you to focus on finding me something to wear.’

  ‘What about the bag? You didn’t say the bag was nice. Do you not like it? I thought it was a different colour to the shoes but you made me buy it.’

  ‘The bag is perfect. It came with the shoes. It’s a matching set. They are all the exact same colour. And I didn’t make you buy anything. You love your outfit. Now, please, help me out here.’

  ‘Why don’t you go round to young Maureen Doherty and ask her if she has any of her old dresses from before she joined the Weight Watchers and lost four stone.’

  ‘She was fifteen stone and went around in smocks. I’m not that bloody big.’

  Mum sniffed. ‘I’ll say nothing.’

  ‘What?’ I said. ‘I’m not that big. Am I? Do I look like Maureen used to?’ I was beginning to panic. I looked in the mirror. I was big: big bump, big boobs and, if I was being honest, big thighs and bum too. But my arms were still okayish. Weren’t they? Was I kidding myself?

  ‘Sure she has blonde hair,’ said Mum, looking at me as if I was stupid. Was that it? Was that where the only difference lay? In our hair colour?

  ‘Did I tell you Maureen’s cousin Suzanne bought that house on Talsome Road. Two million euros it cost. But sure didn’t she marry Harry Beacon, the beef baron. He’s money to burn that fellow. He used to go out with your second cousin Jackie, but it came unstuck. Of course her mother was devastated, she had the hat bought. You remember Suzanne, a plain slip of a thing? But you should see her now, she’s got fierce glamorous. Dyed blonde hair and always brown as a berry, has her own sunbed, according to her aunt, and apparently she’s had that Botox,’ said Mum, whispering the word ‘Botox’ and shaking her head.

  ‘Good on her, I could do with some,’ I said, staring at my wrinkles in the mirror.

  ‘Poppycock! Do you know what’s in it? Rat poison! The problem with you girls today is that you want a solution to everything. An injection for this, a pill for that, divorce, abortion. There are no morals any more. Young people today don’t take marriage seriously. They get divorced if they have a row. Marriage is a sacred oath and there are tough times, but you put your head down and get on with it. It’s not easy – nothing in life is easy. Marrying someone from your own country and religion is hard enough, but when you add opposing cultures and background to the equation you’re just –’

  ‘Mum,’ I interrupted, ‘save the speech for Sean. He’s the one getting married in two days. Now, can you please focus on finding me something to wear?’

  ‘Mark my words, Emma, it’s not all roses in the garden. There have been times when I’ve wanted to leave your father, but I stuck it out.’

  ‘Mum, I’m begging you, stop talking and help me,’ I pleaded, not wanting to know how many times she had contemplated leaving my father. It was him I felt sorry for: I’d say he had his bags packed every other week.

  ‘Fine, don’t listen to me or my pearls of wisdom. You young people think you know it all. Experience, Emma, that’s what teaches you about life.’

  ‘I get it. Marriage is difficult and there’ll be rocky times ahead. Now, in the name of God, will you please give me a hand finding a dress?’

  After going through every outfit in her wardrobe, most of which she tried on for me, describing in detail where she had worn it and who had said what to her in it, I found an old empire line chiffon dress that covered most of my lumps and bumps. The rest I could camouflage with a shawl. It was a pretty nauseating shade of green, but it was too late to get anything else. I’d just have to make do and look like a leprechaun.

  When I got home, James was shouting, ‘Come on, you can do it,’ and whooping at the top of his lungs. Expecting to find him watching a rugby match, I walked in to find Yuri wobbling precariously on his feet. When he saw me he staggered three steps forward, and collapsed on his bum.

  ‘Oh, my God, James, he walked!’

  ‘I know! Isn’t it marvellous?’ said James, grinning. ‘The child is a genius.’

  The next hour was spent cheering and clapping as Yuri staggered about like a drunken sailor, fell over and got up again. We were beside ourselves with pride. Our little man was growing up. After we had tucked him into his cot, telling him how wonderful he was and singing a glass-shattering version of ‘Twinkle Twinkle Little Star’, we went to pack our cases and I tried on my dress for James.

  ‘Now, before you say anything,’ I shouted from the bathroom, ‘remember that I have no other options. Ta-da.’ I twirled round for him.

  James swallowed loudly. ‘It’s really… green.’

  ‘Oh, God, that bad?’

  ‘No, not bad, just a shade of green I haven’t seen in quite some time. Not since the sixties, I believe. But it looks well with red hair.’

  ‘I realize that the colour is headache-inducing, but focus on the shape for a minute. Does it flatter?’

  ‘Flatter what exactly?’

  ‘My current Hobbit-like shape.’

  ‘Ah. Well, then, yes, it does.’

  ‘In what way?’ I asked.

  ‘In a good way,’ he fudged.

  ‘Be honest. I can take it. I want you to tell me the truth. It’s awful, isn’t it?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Come on.’

  ‘OK, I’ve seen you look better.’

  ‘How bad?’

  ‘Have you got a coat?’

  ‘James!’

  ‘You asked me to be honest.’

  ‘Yes, but not brutal,’ I said, taking off the dress and sighing. ‘I look like an Irish heifer.’

  James decided the best option was to say nothing so he just shrugged and smiled at me.

  I put on my elasticated pyjamas and went to brush my teeth. When I climbed into bed, James was reading Clive Woodward’s autobiography in an effort to gain some insight into how he had coached England to victory in the rugby World Cup.

  ‘James?’

  ‘Mmm?’ he said, not looking up.

  ‘Should we be having more sex?’

  ‘Pardon?’ That got his attention.

  ‘I’m just wondering if we should be a bit more active. We’ve got very lazy about sex.’

  ‘But you’re always saying how tired and uncomfortable you are. And the last time we had sex you kept shouting at me not to crush the baby, which was slightly offputting.’

  ‘I know, and I’m sorry, but you were kind of squashing my bump. Still, the lack of activity can’t be much fun for you.’

  ‘It’s all right, darling, I’ll survive.’

  ‘We could try different positions if you like. I’m not very bendy but I’m willing to try.’

  ‘Really?’ said James, perking up.

  ‘Sure,’ I said, trying to sound enthusiastic.

  Over the next half an hour we tried pretty muc
h every position we could think of. Legs and arms akimbo, we twisted and turned, bent forwards and backwards without much success. We persevered until I fell off the bed during a particularly complicated manoeuvre.

  ‘Ouch,’ I squealed, rubbing my arm.

  ‘Are you all right?’ asked James, as he helped me up.

  ‘This isn’t really working for me,’ I said.

  ‘I think we’ll call it a night.’

  ‘Sorry, I was hoping we could find a comfy position.’

  ‘It’s all right, darling. Actually, I find having sex when you’re so pregnant a little strange.’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘It just seems a bit odd to be having sex when the baby’s in there. It can’t be pleasant for it.’

  ‘Because of the poking?’

  ‘Yes, I’m rather afraid they may end up with a black eye.’

  I laughed. ‘Don’t flatter yourself.’

  ‘Six and a half inches at full throttle, thank you very much.’

  ‘Is that good?’

  ‘Very.’

  ‘How did you measure it? With a ruler or tape measure?’

  ‘Ruler.’

  ‘Is this a recent event?’ I asked, giggling at the idea of James in the bathroom with his ruler out.

  ‘No, I did it years ago.’

  ‘When and why?’

  ‘It was back in the early days of my rugby career. I was only about sixteen and everyone used to slag Stewart – the prop – for being hung like a horse.’

  ‘Did you all go around looking at each other?’

  ‘Communal showers, darling, hard not to.’

  ‘I’d never look at another woman’s privates, communal or otherwise.’