An Ode to My Son

Claire Enders
2 days ago
3 min read

I was GREAT at being pregnant! Poster girl pregnancy type great - my bump and buns stayed compact, no morning sickness, still went to the gym twice a week, I was full of energy. After an early miscarriage and being 37, I was so happy and grateful to be pregnant. I was adamant I wanted a natural birth and had booked a natural birthing weekend that I was looking forward to. We had good jobs, my maternity leave was arranged, the sun was shining and life was great.

Best laid plans, hey?

I can still remember like yesterday waking up to go to work and seeing some dampness in my underwear. I don't know what compelled me to smell it, but it smelled sweet, and I instantly knew it was amniotic fluid. I was 27 weeks pregnant.

I was admitted to hospital that day and what followed was two weeks of pure fear, as I manifested, visualised, prayed and did all I could to hold my baby in. I had several days of contractions which were stayed by medication. Knowing every day counted, I held on to that baby with all my might. I didn't even really look pregnant by this point. I knew my baby was small, but he was alive.

I was under the care of two OBGYNs with differing opinions about whether it was best for my baby to stay where he was for as long as possible. Then a series of ultrasounds showed my baby starting to get smaller, not bigger. Any debate over the best strategy ended. He needed to come out.

Harvey's birth by C-section and the next 2 days were a blur; from the nurse milking my nipple to get my milk flowing, to that first touch through the incubator window, to the long drive home with my feet surrounded by flowers, but my baby nowhere to be seen. The hole I felt in my chest is palpable to this day.

3 hospitals, a million hours attached to a breast pump, many many tears and a whole lot of hoping and praying later, Harvey came home at 37 weeks gestation; 8 weeks corrected. Our ride to toddlerhood and beyond has been smooth but there were ripple effects from how Harvey’s birth played out.

It took a while before we were brave enough to try for a sibling for Harvey, and I struggled to become pregnant. I then had a miscarriage at 12 weeks. We ploughed on in fits and starts for baby number 2, finally giving up when I reached 45.

I think due to the traumatic way motherhood began for me and my lost chances for more children, I am more deeply attuned to the temporality of my life with Harvey.

He is the sweetest, kindest, most loving child and if we were only allowed one, boy did we get a good one.