In those early weeks, I rarely left the house. The prematurely grey roots of my hair began to grow out, but I didn’t notice, because I no longer had time to fix it or even shower most days. Whenever we did venture out, it was usually just when we were desperate for groceries. Those outings were inevitably an exercise in humiliation and panic.
Sabina was most settled a few hours after a feed, just before the hunger started again. I timed it with military precision and I sprinted through the aisles, throwing groceries into my trolley with little care or attention to what I was purchasing. Inevitably she was screaming by the time we reached the checkout and people stared at us. I was sure they were wondering how someone so clueless managed to get a baby. I was sure they were concerned for her welfare, and maybe they should have been. I was too tired to be rational most of the time. My thoughts spiralled often and I struggled to control the trajectory.
Sometimes, darkness would settle over me and I would pace the hallway with her in my arms, thinking things that were too dark to even acknowledge. Each time those moments passed I found myself terrified that Lilly and James wouldn’t hasten enough and that I’d lose my mind completely before I could hand Sabina back.
Grae said it might have been easier if we’d had time to prepare; just a little time to read up about newborns. Or if we lived somewhere warmer, or if my mother was here to help, or even if I had a friend that I could turn to just to give me advice.
I could snap myself out of the darkest moments only by reminding myself that things would get better . . . because Sabina would soon be with her real mother, instead of me. I felt there would be an instant change in her, and she’d go from an unsettled baby to a happy one in a single instant, if someone could just provide her with the right care.
I’d hear Sabina cry in the middle of the night and feel a furious resentment that my sleep was so constantly being broken. I hated that if I ignored her, Grae would swing his legs over the edge of the bed and tiptoe to her room, and I’d hear him whispering cheerily to her as he prepared her bottle. It was only guilt that kept me from ignoring her every single time she cried at night – after all, he still had forty hours of work to do each week, he needed his sleep.
I was torn between wanting to let him help, and feeling like it was my job to handle all of her care on my own, besides which I was increasingly concerned that Grae was enjoying this temporary arrangement rather too much. The spare room had once contained only a borrowed bassinet, but was rapidly morphing into a little girl’s room. Grae was loading it gradually with toys and items that Sabina wouldn’t need for years, and whenever I protested, he’d shrug and remind me that it was nice to send her off to her family with a few special items to remember us by.
Our life had become a fragile chaos; with me counting down the hours until we could pass Sabina back to her real family, and Grae clearly dreading that day more and more. Some days, he greeted me at both lunch time and after work with a hesitant, did Lilly call today? And I’d watch him visibly relax when I mumbled my disappointed no in response.
During those long days at home alone, I planned to sit him down once Sabina was gone and to tell him once and for all that I just could not adopt. This experiment had been a miserable failure. I had warmed to her somewhat, but not nearly enough given the time and effort I’d put in, besides which – it was just too hard. This entire experience was an ominous precursor to our own inevitably failed adoption down the track.
I had decided that we would simply have to find a way to have a baby of our own. Maybe we could seek out a new specialist, maybe a younger doctor with some fresh ideas, maybe we could visit a university clinic and see a professor.
There had to be a way.