Before
I don’t think anyone can prepare you for your first child. I didn’t realise it was possible to love so wholly. Conflicting emotions of utter enchantment yet absolute fear smothered me. Scared of not being able to protect and provide all this bundle of joy could ever need; terror of not being able to shield him from the life I was rapidly being submerged by. Sad with the understanding he would be short of all the precious subtleties of life I wanted him to have. A growing awareness over the previous months that I did not know who my husband was; I didn’t know what he was up to; for most of the time he was an unmitigated stranger.
My beautiful baby boy, Jack.
A newborn; into a world I no longer recognised or cared for. How was I in a position to guide and shelter? Alone; cut off and insecure. How had it all snowballed so quickly? In such a relatively brief period of time? The first time I held Jack, the old me walked out of the door, a new me seized control. My priorities changed, my wishes, wants and the focus of my drive and motivation aligned with them. Jack was so unbelievably perfect; I was terrified I would let him down or accidentally harm him in some way. I’d read all the books, attended all the classes, but even so nothing had prepared me. Uncertainty and self-doubt tore through my conscience, shredding my confidence further.
We sat together, I just grateful of her presence, Janet, my health visitor, oblivious to my thoughts. How could I tell her? She would have doubted my ability to be a fit mother. I’d heard the horror stories of social services taking children into care, asking questions later, realising they got it wrong. I couldn’t risk it, ever. She gently touched my hand and smiled with soft eyes as she spoke.
‘Don’t worry, Eve, it’s completely natural to feel this way.’ She didn’t know anything really. Perhaps I hadn’t kept it as covered up as I’d thought. ‘Many of the mums I speak with feel a little low in the beginning.’ She dipped her compassionate head.
My eyes welling at her kind words, I wanted nothing more than this show of humanity but I couldn’t cope with sympathetic words. They stung deep inside, forcing me to ache all the more. I yearned so many times for understanding and gentleness, but it only deepened the open wound. I was perhaps scared of compassion, realising it would then feel worse to be without it. It was easier not to be reminded of the loss.
I regarded her caring hand still on mine. ‘What do you mean?’
Slim lips turned upwards. ‘You look lost, Eve. A little overwhelmed. I hope you don’t mind me saying. I thought it might reassure you to hear lots of mums feel the same in the beginning. You’re not alone.’
But I was. I couldn’t have been more alone. ‘Thank you,’ I snuffled. ‘It’s okay. It does help a little, I suppose. It’s easy to presume I’m the only one.’ I pushed my head back to stop tears from falling. Urging the threatening globules to retreat.
‘Here.’ She offered me a tissue. ‘You don’t need to hide those from me. It doesn’t make you a bad person. To cry.’ I didn’t dare start though; I wasn’t sure how I would stop if I did. I desperately attempted to avert my mind to trivial housekeeping thoughts. I found concentrating on the practicalities, despite not being able to address even a fraction of the list, some form of comfort. Left-hemisphere distraction.
‘You know, you’re really being rather hard on yourself. You’ve only been home…’ She counted, nodding her head. ‘Wait. Just two days! This little fella’s only three days old.’ She pulled at his pure-white-cotton-enclosed leg, Jack gently kicking back at her touch.
I fixated on Jack’s minuscule creamy dimpled hand clamped firmly around my finger, his eyes closed tight. Unenlightened to his world; secure in my arms. I marvelled at the trust he held in me. I’d indulged so many of my hours, holding him, watching his tummy rise and fall with each reassuring breath as he slept. Hypnotised by his virtuousness. But then I would often fall asleep too, shattered.
You left us alone on our first day home from hospital, returning to discover us curled up asleep on our bed. ‘What are you doing? It’s the middle of the day! Why is there crap all over the kitchen worktops? A dirty nappy on the floor?’ Luckily, I’d been too dog-tired to make myself anything to eat; else that would have been on our bedside table too. I’d tried to reason with you. I was completely exhausted. I couldn’t seem to find the time; hours rolled away from me, despite my chase. ‘Pull yourself together, sooner rather than later. Pathetic excuses’, was your response. But my to-do list grew to ridiculous lengths. I couldn’t remember the half of it anyway. I was torn, dog-tired and anxious. Apparently, I was also ‘pitiable, lazy’ and ‘disorganised’. And worse, making you doubt my child-raising capability.
‘Eve, can I say? You look so very drained. You really ought to have stayed in hospital longer than you did. The nursing staff wanted you to, asked you to, I understand.’ She lowered her head to me; she wasn’t being critical, more concerned, given the long and difficult birth.
I wished I could divulge to Janet, my kind-hearted caller, but I was afraid she’d interpret it the wrong way. Was there a right way? On reflection, I was embarrassed. I too had wanted to remain in hospital, more than even I could understand. I’d originally anticipated I’d be desperate to get home. I felt safe in hospital, everyone was so kind to Jack and me. Allowing us to feel special, important even, with no need to worry or think about anything. The midwives and nurses allowed me to believe I’d achieved something amazing, something to be proud of. I didn’t wish for it to end.
The day you arrived to collect us, the day I’d played out in my imagination numerous times the previous six months, crushed all my hopes. Despite grasping, deep down, it wouldn’t have been any other way. I tensed at your voice approaching, charming its way past the nurses’ station before you pushed open my door. At your insistence, I was isolated in a private room, despite looking forward to the company of other mums. My appeals caused an argument; you stormed out of the house and returned blindly drunk. Despite my being nine months pregnant, us living in the midst of the countryside. You said I was hormonal, so particularly argumentative. I was simply expressing my opinion.
You then insisted I was to return home the day after Jack was born, regardless that he was born in the early hours of the morning; it was only a matter of hours. Against the advice of the clinicians. You refused to listen, arguing I should be at home; you offered assurance we’d be looked after. You appreciated it had been a difficult birth and I was appropriately weak. They didn’t mean weak in the way you understood it; it wasn’t expected to be a criticism.
I still picture you lingering at the foot of the bed, mobile in hand. ‘You two not ready yet?’ You frowned. ‘I did mention this morning I’d be returning at eleven. What have you been doing since then?’
‘You did…’ I pulled my tender body up from my supportive pillow ‘… but I had to wait for the consultant to speak to me, then he woke Jack up, and—’
‘Right, well, come along, then. I’ve only thirty minutes on the ticket,’ you said whilst picking Jack up clumsily from his sleeping state.
‘Careful, Gregg, he’ll be hungry again if you wake him.’
You glared at me, indignant. ‘He’s my child too. Don’t start.’ You began prodding at his tummy, as if to encourage a reaction.
‘I’m not, it’s just… well, you’re the one in such a hurry.’
‘Here we go again. You are always so… in the right, are you not?’ You continued to poke at Jack as if he were some kind of toy you pressed to release a sound. ‘Your mummy is becoming such a bore, isn’t she? You’ll learn, Jack. You’ll soon find out.’
I cursed myself, feeling my eyes well up. ‘Can you pass me my bag, please? It’s behind you.’
‘What for? Why do you need your bag? There’s no time to be fussing with hair and make-up. This morning was your time. We need to get going.’ You smiled to yourself. ‘Do you not think you may need a little more than a hairbrush and lipstick anyway? I take it you’ve not had sight of a mirror as yet?’ I bit hard on my lips to stop the tears from falling. I wanted to tell you how much you had changed; how spiteful and hurtful you had become. But I didn’t. You already knew, didn’t you?
I stood tentatively to gather my belongings from around you, each slight movement hurting. I imagined the discomfort akin to having been in a car accident. Battered and bruised. Although I had no lacerations. Then it dawned on me, despite your promises, reassurances to the clinicians, you were in your work suit.
‘Have you been into work already this morning?’
‘Not as yet. I will be, as soon as I’ve dropped you two off. Why?’
‘Do you have to? I really wanted to have you at home with us today. I thought it would be nice, with it being our first day,’ I pleaded; I’m still not sure why I did this. Was I still hopeful things could revert to how they used to be? Nonetheless, the idea of suddenly being all alone for the day frightened me.
‘No can do, I’m afraid. Far too much on. You need to learn to be on your own at some point. No time like the present.’ You shook your head impatiently. ‘I’m simply not able to drop everything on a whim. As you are aware, I’m working on the McKenzie case. It’s essential I go in.’ You clap your hands, making me wince. ‘Come on, let’s get to it.’ You reached for Jack’s pristine, all-singing-and-dancing car seat, slotting him in as if packing a parcel. My stomach smarted as I picked up my overnight bag. As a new family, we left my safe haven. I stopped briefly to thank the staff at the nurses’ station; they wished us good luck. Moments later we walked out into vulnerable skies to the car, in silence. Their wishes were never going to be enough.
The whole experience felt so far removed from who I am, the person rapidly becoming hidden deep inside me. I told myself not to be such a dreamer, such a romantic, but still I couldn’t fight the feeling of it all being so wrong, such a waste. The joy of this beautiful baby being smothered by the sterile atmosphere. Where had I gone wrong? Had I just become a whinger? Was I depressed?
‘You okay, Eve? You drifted off into your own world then.’ Janet squeezed my hand, eyes smiling at me.
I nodded. ‘I’m fine, just a little tired. Nothing some rest won’t fix.’ Who was I trying to kid?
She glanced at her watch, ‘I need to get going. Would you believe it’s gone six already? Will your husband be home soon? I think you’re going to need some TLC tonight.’
‘Yes, of course, you should. Thanks for coming, then staying for so long too. It’s very kind of you. I hope I haven’t made you too late.’
She must have mentioned about the TLC because it would be the normal thing for a partner to do. All the other new mums must have this kind of support. Was this what happened behind other closed doors? And those who didn’t have a partner at all, were they better off too? Because then at least people knew they were alone. I lived a lie.
As Janet stood pulling on her coat, she unwittingly dealt another blow. ‘Do you have any other visitors, Eve? You know, people who can help you, family or friends?’
I looked to her concerned face. Did she think I really wasn’t coping, then? Had she guessed the truth? I turned away, grasping for Jack’s blanket I’d carelessly dropped on the floor. What was the truth anyway? Mine? His? The truth was, I couldn’t ask my mum, the only person I’d want with me, because it wasn’t worth the heartache, the inevitable ensuing rows. I couldn’t ask for my friends because I no longer had any; contact with them had long ceased. I’d not seen Sam for months. Following her no-show at the golf club, we had another disagreement about you; I reacted defensively. Why did I do that? Defend your horribleness? To save my own face?
The truth, Janet, was no; I couldn’t and wouldn’t have visitors. But this was to be my secret, my lie. For the time being. Pushing myself up to meet Janet’s eyes, I fibbed, ‘Yes, yes, I do. I’m lucky, I have several people to call on. Please, don’t worry, I’ll be fine, really. Gregg will be home soon too.’ I pointed to the hall clock. ‘Any time now, in fact.’
‘Good, super,’ she said. ‘I’ll be off, then, love. See you next week. You know where I am if you need me, but I’m sure you’ll be absolutely fine!’
True to word, you came home early, just gone seven. I was in the bathroom, giving Jack his first home bath. A sentiment of dread gripped me as the crashing of the front door reverberated through the solid floors. Then silence. I’d made the decision after Janet left not to give up; perhaps I was being overly sensitive, reading into things I didn’t need to. Jumping to silly conclusions. ‘Gregg? Gregg, are you there?’ I called. ‘Come and look. Quick, come and see Jack. He’s having his first bath!’ I hollered. Nothing.
I could hear you downstairs. At first it sounded as if you were opening post, something you always did as soon as you walked through the door. Then, the familiar sound of you muttering away to yourself. Banging around. It wasn’t a good sign. I was about to call out again when I heard the trill of your mobile. Blasted phone; such an intruder of time. I could tell by your tone, whoever it was, whatever they were saying, was not something to please you. I half attempted to eavesdrop, but Jack was so blissfully distracting, kicking his legs around to the familiar feel of water. Until your voice began to rise.
‘Where are you? I told you not to discuss this in the office. Far too risky.’
I smiled at Jack as I dribbled warm water over his tummy.
‘What the…? How did he get involved?’ you continued. I strained further; what had happened? ‘Right, listen to me. You need to smooth this over. Call him now, tell him we need to meet tonight.’ The word ‘tonight’ crushed my intentions. ‘Then, book a flight for later this week. I can’t go, not a chance, far too dicey. You need to go.’ Who was he speaking to? ‘Not interested, change it. I’ll be there in an hour.’ Silence.
I continued to bath Jack, aware of my heart pumping against the bath panel. It was a good few minutes before you thundered up the stairs. Your twitchy body materialised in the doorway. ‘What the hell have you been doing all day?’ you snapped, in total ignorance of your son.
‘I’ve been here all day. Why? What d’you mean?’ Was I supposed to have done something?
‘The house is a pigsty. You were at home all day.’ You kicked the door with the side of your foot. ‘You might be okay living like this, but, I. Am. Not. I work really hard. Keeping the house is all you have to see to. What have you prepared for dinner?’
You knew I hadn’t, else you wouldn’t have asked. Jack flipped around in his new-found joy, splashing water into my eye, blurring your angry face.
‘Well, I—’
‘Perfect. I’ll eat out, then. You need to get a grip. Sort yourself out, Eve. It’s truly, truly embarrassing. The state of this place. What if someone had come back with me?’ You turned away, shaking your head, pulling the door behind you.
‘Gregg, please,’ I pointlessly implored as you stomped your hard-done-to way down the stairs to the sound of the jingling of your car keys. Moments later came the ricochet of the front door slamming.
‘Gregg, please,’ I whispered to Jack, ‘we really need you to be here tonight.’
Jack thrust at the water again, splattering my eyes; I wasn’t sure if it was runaway splish-splashes, or whether the tears had finally burst their banks.