‘We’ve done it,’ Aiden says.
I turn to him. ‘Don’t say that. She’s not out yet.’ Inside me, the baby wriggles, showing her defiance. Despite everything I’m saying to Aiden, I believe she is determined to be here, that nothing will stop her coming into the world.
‘Well, they’re taking us down in a few minutes and the C-section won’t take too long, so I reckon we could be meeting her in less than an hour.’ His mouth spreads into a grin. He’s so excited, and I desperately want his enthusiasm to infect me, to seep into my body and fill me up, but all I feel is numb.
This baby is overdue; they’ve tried everything to encourage her out, including inducing me, and nothing has worked. So now they’re going to slice me open and pull her out. I shudder at the thought, even though I know I won’t feel anything, and that in some ways this is the better option. Right now, I feel as though I’d never be able to push her out, that my whole body would shut down and refuse to do anything – and then what would happen to both of us?
‘I know you’re worried,’ Aiden continues. ‘And you will be until you’re holding her in your arms, but I promise you, everything will be okay.’
He can’t promise me this, though, can he? This is not something he can control. And now his words are making me feel even worse. Devoid. As if there is nothing left of me. It’s hormones, it must be. That’s what’s making me feel this way. Soon she will be here and everything will be okay. Nothing else will matter once I’m holding her in my arms.
‘Did I tell you that your mum’s on her way?’ Aiden says. ‘I thought I’d better warn her that she wouldn’t be allowed in yet. I told her to take her time and wait for visiting hours.’
I’d forgotten about that. All morning I’ve been looking forward to Mum being here, to see her holding her granddaughter. Like a young child I’m praying that my mum being here will make everything okay. ‘Was she all right with that? I know how desperate she is to meet this baby.’
‘Yeah. Actually, she said she had some things to do first so it could be early evening before she gets here.’
She won’t have told Aiden what it is she needs to do, so I don’t bother asking. Mum seems to have become increasingly more secretive over the last few months, and I have to force even the most trivial bits of information from her. ‘Oh, don’t worry about me,’ she insists. ‘You’re pregnant, you’ve got loads on your plate, just focus on you and Aiden.’ Whenever she’s said this, I’ve wanted to tell her that I need something else to focus on, more than anything.
The midwife comes to take us to the theatre. She’s cheerful and bubbly and just about everything I don’t need right now because her smiling and joking might just tip me over the edge. ‘Are you ready to meet your baby?’ She beams, and I force myself to appear happy, as if this is the most amazing day of my life.
Aiden clutches my hand, and I try to focus on the only thing that matters. We are about to become parents. Then everything will be okay. It has to be.
‘Here she is.’ The doctor holds her up over the blue curtain and, beside me, Aiden gasps. Her arms and legs are crossed, and she looks like a little Buddha, silently praying. It’s a few seconds before she cries, and in that time, I imagine that no sound will ever leave her tiny body, that she will remain silent forever.
Aiden strokes my arm and kisses me on the forehead. If I had the energy, I would push him away. ‘You did it, Eve, you did it!’
But what did I do? I only lay here while on the other side of the curtain two doctors cut me open and pulled her out, all the time talking to each other so casually as though what they were doing was akin to cooking a meal. They are the ones who did it.
A voice in the room calls out the time. It’s hard to know to whom it belongs because there are so many people in here. Twelve minutes past three. I think I’m supposed to always remember this time, to commit it to memory so that I can remind her on every birthday that this is the time she arrived in the world.
‘Isn’t she cute?’ Aiden says while they place her on the scales to check her weight. ‘I know I’m biased but she really is.’
‘Seven pounds seven.’ Another voice speaking, yet another thing I’m supposed to remember.
‘Yes,’ I tell Aiden. ‘So cute.’ Maybe I’m just saying this because I’m supposed to. The truth is, I don’t actually know what she is or how I feel.
The bouncy midwife places her on my chest, delivering a speech about the importance of skin-to-skin contact. ‘Does she have a name yet?’ she asks. If she smiles any harder her face might crack open.
‘Kayla,’ I manage to say, forcing myself to smile, too, making myself look at my baby. That’s it. That’s all I have to do. Acknowledge the correct behaviour and force myself to do it.
‘Kayla Rose Conway,’ Aiden adds, squeezing my hand.
While I’m still in the hospital, I am protected. All I need to focus on is trying to establish feeding. I haven’t even had to change a nappy yet; the midwives just float in and do it every hour or two – they don’t even ask if I’d like to have a go. I should ask if I can try myself, insist on it even. That’s what most mothers would do, and I need to prove that I’m okay. That I’m normal.
‘It’s not working,’ I tell the new midwife who’s taken over from the smiley one. She’s not nearly as friendly and seems tired, even though she’s only just come on shift.
‘Don’t worry, it takes time,’ she assures me.
I’ve been trying to pump breast milk for over twenty minutes and haven’t seen a single drop of anything, not even colostrum. They keep telling me how important it is to give this to the baby, and all that’s doing is making me feel like a failure. Like I’ve let Kayla down already when she’s only a few hours old. This is what it’s going to be like; me constantly letting her down.
‘We’ll try again in a little while,’ she says. ‘In the meantime, she can have another bottle.’ Without even asking me she opens the curtain and leaves to prepare some formula. Why are they doing everything for me? Don’t they realise that they’re just leaving me clueless?
I glance at the woman in the bed next to me and see her little baby snuggled into her chest, happily feeding. It’s just me then. I’m the only one who can’t get to grips with this.
‘Here we go,’ the midwife says as she returns. ‘Would you like to have a go?’ She’s already handing me the bottle and picking Kayla out of her bassinet.
I can’t. ‘Could you please do it?’
She doesn’t say anything but stares at me before finally picking up Kayla and effortlessly feeding her while standing up.
Aiden comes back from the coffee shop downstairs and hands me a large latte. Throughout this pregnancy I’ve avoided caffeine, done everything I’m supposed to do, but now I will enjoy it.
‘No luck yet then?’ Aiden asks.
‘It takes time,’ the midwife says before I can answer. Maybe she’s nicer than I thought. She finishes feeding Kayla and silently places her on my chest. I stare at my baby and wonder why she doesn’t feel like mine at all. How is that possible when I carried her for all this time, when I was so desperate to hold a baby in my arms? And now she’s here all I want to do is pass her to Aiden, or the midwife. To anyone who will have her.
‘I’ll have to get going in a minute,’ Aiden says when the midwife has left us to it. ‘I’ve only got an hour to get to the airport to pick up Mum and Dad.’
I listen to Aiden tell me about the people who have passed on their best wishes, my mind completely empty. I’m scared of him leaving me alone with Kayla, but also relieved when he kisses me goodbye promising to be back soon. At least now I don’t have to pretend.
When he’s gone, I turn on my side and try to rest. Kayla is asleep in the bassinet next to me, and I watch her, waiting to feel something.
On the table by my bed, my phone vibrates. I consider ignoring it but it could be Mum, or Aiden. Reaching across, I look at the screen and see it’s a text message from a number I don’t recognise.
Even before I click on it, I already know who it’s from, but still I check, just to be sure.
And then I press delete.