whybother?

On this night, all those years ago, I was lying in the spare bedroom of the Evil Mother-In-Law’s (EMIL), 40 weeks pregnant and full of trepidation. All our goods and chattels had been packed up by Grace Removals, and were on their way to Western Australia. Except the pram, the car seat, the port-a-cot and the nappy bag. And the nappies. And the suitcase full of baby clothes. First thing in the morning, Daz would drive me to the hospital, where they would start the drip, which would induce the birth, which would result in the greatest miracle of all. My very own. My precious. (Gratuitously thieves lines from ‘Lord of the Rings’).

It was stinking hot, and I lay beside my husband with the ceiling fan barely stirring the heavy air. The baby was kicking and somersaulting. I knew that within 24 hours, I would hold my newborn. I would feel his or her tiny fingers grasping mine, I would look into his or her Blue? Brown? Green? eyes. I would feel his or her breath on my face as I smelled his or her glorious baby smell. Would s/he have hair? What colour would it be? How much was it going to hurt? This time tomorrow, I thought, I will be a mother. We will be a family. I will never be the same again.

I began to cry. Darren held me, soothing me, laughing gently at his ‘little wife’. Not so little at that point, I can assure you! ‘What is it?’ he asked. ‘I’m scared!’ I sobbed. ‘What if I can’t do it? What if something goes wrong? Look at this pram, this car seat, what if we never need them?’ He laughed again, but not in a mocking way. ‘You’ll be fine. I believe in you.’ 

I cried myself to sleep. I doubt if Darren slept at all, as he kept watch over us. Our last ever night of ‘coupledom’, the eve of discovering the joys and wonders of parenthood. I remember.