‘You’re all right, darling,’ he said, holding my hand. ‘You had a concussion and you cut your head so they had to bring you in for observation. How are you feeling?’
‘I’m not pregnant, James. It didn’t work,’ I said. The tears – missing earlier – were free-flowing now.
‘I know. Lucy told me. Why didn’t you call me?’
‘I’m going to be thirty-five in six weeks. I am a thirty-four-and-three-quarter-year-old woman in hospital because I got so drunk that I fell off a bar stool and bashed my head. I’m such a loser. How did I end up here? What happened to me, James? I want to be old Emma. I want to be fun Emma. I want my life back. I want to be me again. I hate myself. I hate what I’m turning into,’ I said, sobbing.
‘But you are you. You’ve just had a really difficult time lately. We’re going to stop the IVF. You need a break, darling. It’s been really tough on you.’
‘I’m sick of it, James. I’m sick of it and sick of me. It’s so boring. I’m so boring. I’m sick of feeling like rubbish. I’m sick of being grumpy and mean. Don’t you want us to be back to normal?’
‘Of course I do. That’s why I think you need to stop all the treatment. I hate seeing you upset. Let’s just forget about children for a while.’
‘But I can’t,’ I wailed. ‘I’ve tried to, I really have, but I can’t stop obsessing. It just takes over, you can’t control it. James, I think the only way to get my life back and still have children is to adopt.’
James looked away, ‘Come on, darling, let’s get you home. We’ll talk about this tomorrow. Put your arm round my neck. There you go.’
I was too tired to argue. I leaned against him as he gently lifted me off the bed and helped me out to the car.
The next morning, Mum called over to check up on me.
‘How are you, pet?’ she asked.
‘Not great.’
‘You’ve had a bad run. I’m sorry about the IVF.’
‘Thanks, me too.’
‘Well, Emma, getting drunk and falling over are not the solution.’
‘I’m aware of that.’
‘Your uncle Eddie’s a drinker, so it’s in the family. You need to be careful of that. These things can be hereditary, you know.’
‘I’m not an alcoholic.’
‘It creeps up on you and before you know it you’re hooked. It’s a slippery slope, Emma. It’s especially easy to get addicted when you’re down in the dumps. That’s the worst time of all to be drinking. You’re far better off out in the fresh air going for a nice walk.’
‘I’m not an alcoholic.’
‘Mark my words, young women your age are very susceptible to alcoholism. It’s a dangerous age you’re at. The best thing to do is keep away from it altogether.’
‘I’m not an alcoholic. I had a few drinks last night that went straight to my head because I’m an emotional wreck. I’m sitting here with a throbbing head, feeling really bad about everything, and I don’t need you to rub it in.’
‘Snapping at people and aggressive behaviour in general are some of the first symptoms of a drinker.’
‘Mum!’
‘I’m not saying you are one, I’m just saying be careful. Anyway, how’s James after last night?’
‘He’s fine. He’s not the one who split his head open. In case you hadn’t noticed that was me, your daughter, the person sitting opposite you right now.’
‘There’s no need to be smart. The poor boy is worried sick about you. He’s finding it hard too, Emma. Remember that.’
‘I know. I’m sorry for shouting at you. I just need some time to figure out what I’m going to do next, and having you telling me I’m on the cusp of being a wino isn’t helping.’
‘I’m just worried about you. I think you need to stop taking all these hormones and get back to a normal life. Let nature take its course.’
Over the next few days, I kept a low profile and thought long and hard about the future. What were we going to do? What was I going to do? I wanted to enjoy life again, not spend every hour of every day wondering where I was in my cycle, or silently praying that this time I’d be pregnant, and constantly feeling let-down and depressed when I wasn’t. It was time for change. I had to move on to the next stage in my life.
The more I thought about adoption, the more it seemed like the perfect solution. I wouldn’t have to take any more drugs, go for any more tests or endure any more horrible procedures. We’d just put our names down on a list, fill out a few forms and in a couple of months have a baby. I wouldn’t have to go through pregnancy or labour. It was perfect.
Why on earth hadn’t I thought of this earlier? Not only would we have a baby, but I wouldn’t have to spend nine months going to the loo every five minutes, swelling up like a balloon, and then spend thirty-six hours huffing and puffing in a labour ward. My vagina would remain a normal size and I wouldn’t have to hang out with other mothers from my antenatal classes and lie about having sex with my husband.
And, speaking of sex, James and I would be able to get back to having a normal sex life! Oh, my God, this was perfect. And on top of that we could adopt a baby from a war-torn country and save its life. The more I thought about it the better it got. Adoption was the solution to everything. Fantastic.
When James arrived home that night, I met him at the door with a bottle of wine. ‘Welcome home, darling. I’ve got great news. We’re going to adopt a poor baby from an orphanage in Syria or Russia and give it a wonderful life. It’s all going to be OK. Everything’s going to be perfect. We’re going to be great parents.’
James sat down. He spoke slowly and deliberately. ‘It’s certainly an option, but not as straightforward as you may think. There are lots of things to consider with adoption.’
‘Like what?’ I asked, fully confident that I would be able to allay his every concern.
‘What if the baby has Aids or some hereditary disease we know nothing about? These orphanages don’t give you a proper medical history. We could be biting off more than we can chew. You don’t know anything about their families. The mother could have been a heroin addict and the baby might be too. It could be autistic . . . There are so many things that can go wrong. It’s a very big leap of faith.’
‘Of course it is, but so is having a baby of your own. I’m sure Charles Manson’s parents didn’t think he’d turn into a savage killer but he did. If we have a baby of our own it could get Aids from a blood transfusion or become a drug addict when it’s a teenager. You can never know what’s going to happen. Adopting a child is a risk – a really scary risk – but if we love the child and give it a happy home, well, then, chances are they’ll turn out all right. Your environment is what forms the person you turn into, not genetics.’
‘Not necessarily. You can inherit some pretty bad genes.’
‘Well, look at your mad uncle Harry, his kids all turned out to be totally normal – humiliated by their father, but normal.’ I had an answer for everything. James’s uncle Harry, his father’s elder brother, was a certifiable loon, who walked around his local village flashing at people. Mr Hamilton had constantly to bail him out of the local police station. But Harry had three sons who were all totally normal and well balanced.
‘True,’ said James, softening.
‘Look, James, I know it’s scary, but we’ll just have to deal with problems as they arise. And we could go back to having a normal sex life. No more handstands. No more coming down to your office and sexually assaulting you in front of your boss. No more green tea. And you can masturbate as often and for as long as you like. Come on, James, it’ll be great. I’ll be me again.’
He looked down at his hands. ‘It’s not a decision to be taken lightly. We need to look into it properly before making up our minds. It’s a big commitment. Let’s just sleep on it.’
‘Fine, sleep on it all you like, but my mind is made up. This is the right thing for us. I have never been so sure of anything before in my life,’ I said, smiling at him.
Nothing was going to ruin my buzz. I hadn’t felt this alive in months. I knew James would come round. I just needed to do some research and dazzle him with facts and figures. I’d do a power-point presentation if I had to. I went upstairs to log on to the Internet and gather my evidence.
While I was bouncing from adoption website to adoption website, I heard James on the phone.
‘Hi, are you free for a pint? I need to pick your brain . . . Yes, there’s a first time for everything . . . Say half an hour in Hogan’s? . . . See you, then.’
James came up and told me he was going to meet Donal for a drink. While he was in the shower, I called Lucy. ‘Hi, it’s me,’ I whispered.
‘Why are you whispering? Are you OK?’
‘Fine, thanks. Look, James is meeting Donal for a pint to talk to him about adoption.’
‘Really?’
‘Yeah. I want to adopt and James is a bit reticent so I think he’s going to ask Donal about Annie and what it’s like bringing up a child that isn’t yours, blah-blah-blah. So you have to make sure he says all the right things. It’s the perfect solution for us, Lucy. If we adopt we can get back to having a normal life again. But I want James to be as enthusiastic as I am.’
‘OK, what do you want Donal to say? I’ll have him word-perfect for you.’
‘He has to say that it’s great, and that although bringing up someone else’s child is difficult, so is bringing up your own child. That things can go just as wrong for biological children as they can for adopted children. That after a while you forget the child is adopted and think of it as your own. That it’s a great idea because it means I won’t have to have any more horrible operations and tests and will be back to myself again. That James would be an amazing father and the adopted child would be blessed to come into our home. That it’s a no-brainer and he has to go for it.’
‘No problem, I’ve jotted them all down.’
‘Gotta go, James is coming. Thanks, Lucy.’
‘Don’t worry about a thing.’
Two hours later James came in from the pub and pulled the bottle of wine we hadn’t drunk earlier, out of the fridge.
‘Darling, I’ve just been talking to Donal about adoption. He said it’s great, that although bringing up someone else’s child is tough, so is bringing up your own child. He said things can go wrong for biological children as well as adopted children. That after a while you forget the child is adopted and think of it as your own. That it’s a great idea because it means you won’t have to go through any more nasty operations and tests and will be back to your jolly old self again. That I will be a great father and the adopted child would be lucky to come into our home . . . and what was the other thing Donal said Lucy wrote down for him to say?’
He fished a crumpled piece of paper out of his coat pocket. ‘Oh, yes, that it’s basically a no-brainer and we should go for it,’ he said, winking at me.
‘Well, was he persuasive at least?’ I asked sheepishly.
‘Yes, very.’
‘You see?’ I said, beaming at him. ‘I told you it was the right thing to do. I knew you just needed a little extra persuasion. And wait till I tell you about the fantastic website I found called ‘Famous and Remarkable Adoptees’, which lists all the amazing people who’ve been adopted. Ella Fitzgerald and Richard Burton and Marilyn Monroe – and, oh, yeah, Moses. He was adopted by the Princess of Egypt and look how well he turned out. And other people like, uhm . . .’
James came over and kissed me. He was smiling. ‘Well, if it was good enough for the Princess of Egypt, it’s good enough for me.’
THE END
About the Author
Hello readers, I live in Dublin where it rains lot and people have the best sense of humour (possibly a reaction to all the rain!)
The Baby Trail was inspired by my own struggles with infertility. I have since been blessed with three children.
I’ve written fourteen novels and won the Irish Book Award for Popular Fiction, 2015, for The Way We Were.
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The Baby Trail Series - A Perfect Match (Book 2) LINK From Here to Maternity (Book 3) LINK and Mad About You (Book 4) LINK
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Also by Sinead Moriarty
The Baby trail Series:
Book 1 - The Baby Trail
Book 2 - A Perfect Match
Book 3 - From Here to Maternity
Book 4 - Mad About you
In My Sister’s Shoes
Whose Life is it Anyway?
Pieces of My Heart
This Child of Mine
Me and My Sisters (book 1)
The secrets Sisters Keep (book 2)
The Way We Were
The Good Mother/Never Let You Go
Our Secrets and Lies
Seven Letters
The Baby Trail: How far would you go to have a baby? (The Baby Trail Series (USA) Book 1) Page 24