My husband always said I planned my pregnancy like a military operation. We got married in May 2014, got pregnant a couple of months later and our baby was due in April.
We knew what were going to call our baby from before I even fell pregnant. I did everything right, watched my diet, got my husband to give up smoking, took his and hers vitamins and joined the gym. When I got pregnant I convinced my husband and we moved from our flat into a house. I have 14 baby apps on my phone and joined numerous baby and pregnancy groups on Facebook!
I draw up a timeline and planned what to buy and when. My husband and mother were going to be my birthing partners and we were going to attend parent craft classes. I was proactive in planning my maternity leave. I’d set deadlines to wrap up projects and had the date set for my mother to arrive from Nigeria to help.
I’d planned my maternity leave based on what we could manage financially. I was the main earner and luckily through my work would receive 6 months full pay as statutory maternity pay alone wouldn’t cover the bills. The plan was to go back once my 6 months full pay was exhausted and my husband, who was on a zero hour contract, would have more flexibility to work part time to look after the baby and save on childcare costs.
My pregnancy was not stress free. I had nausea throughout and felt very tired; but despite that I revelled in the fact I was going to be a mother, loved the cravings and enjoyed the weird and wonderful things that came with being pregnant. It was tough, but I wanted to feel pregnant.
I was 24 weeks and everything was going well, I just felt tired. I saw my GP who signed me off work to “catch my breath”. Apparently the stress of moving house and the Christmas hype had got to me.
On the Thursday and Friday night (1st and 2nd of January), I’d woken up feeling more nauseous than usual and with a bad headache. My husband insisted I saw my nurse. I dismissed it, but he’d been reading his “Pregnancy for Dummies” book and this is the post I put up in one of my pregnancy Facebook groups:
“My husband, who is definitely not a doctor has diagnosed me with pre eclampsia. I’m literally being dragged to the walk-in centre now. I’ve had a bit of a fever and sickness and diarrhoea for a couple of days. I’ve told him it could be something I’ve eaten and not baby related. But noooo! ! He is checking that we have enough stuff in the delivery bag, pads, comfy clothes etc. If I wasn’t so cold and felt so ill I’d be laughing – 27 weeks pregnant. Talk about over reacting!”
Two hours later, this was my post to the same group:
“Hubby was right. Baby will be here early apparently. They say I have pre eclampsia. I’m in shock obviously, done all the crying. The only way to cure pre eclampsia is to deliver the baby. Please pray for me.”
So that was it, my baby was born at 27 weeks gestation.
That was not in my plan.
It was not on my spreadsheet.
Chizara Maya was born on the 5th of January weighing just 1lb 13oz.
A lot of what happened after that is still a blur. I went into auto-pilot and I’m not sure I have come to terms with it yet. I still cannot believe what happened. We spent 9 weeks in hospital and before I knew it my mother had abandoned her job and arrived in the UK, but my husband had no choice, he had to keep working because of his zero-hour contract.
We finally bought our daughter home after 9 weeks in hospital. I’d barely lived in this house and now I had a baby at home with me. We weren’t prepared. I wasn’t ready. We somehow managed to sort out a cot, the pram, the car seat, and all the other baby things you need before coming home. It was not how I’d planned.
Zara came home on oxygen. We had nurses coming to the house twice a week at first, as well as the health visitor and Physiotherapist. I made sure she was fully breastfed by the time we came home, but there was a lot to grapple with. I was suddenly very anxious. Zara was now home and not in hospital where she was solely in their care. I couldn’t sleep. What if she stopped breathing? What if something went wrong? The fear was palpable. I had no idea what I was doing. We didn’t get a chance to go to parent craft classes. I had no idea what to expect. I didn’t even know how old to tell people she was. Surely by 10 weeks of age she should be able to hold her head without support, she should be able to roll over by 12 weeks of age… but at this time, my child was not even meant to be born. I felt conflicted and confused. I was grateful that she was well enough to come home, but I couldn’t help feeling cheated out of time and then felt guilty for feeling that way.
I finally learned to relate to my daughter based on her corrected age. I had to recondition my mind entirely. Only then did I begin to relax and allow myself to watch her grow and almost enjoy the stage we were at. She had smiled at us, she was holding her head up and things were getting better in my head. I could actually see that my child was thriving.
Imagine my shock then when she was about 11 – 12 weeks and I started to hear from work about returning! I had made my original plans thinking my baby would 6 months old, not a tiny 12 week old. It dawned on me that even though my child was medically and developmentally 12 weeks old, she was born 6 months ago. I was torn. How could I leave my 12 week old baby? I was in no state mentally to go back to work. But we have bills to pay. I wasn’t sure what to do. I didn’t want to miss those small but mighty milestones in my baby’s life and I was only just beginning to sleep again. She is a breastfed baby and if I go back to work now would I have to start weaning her off breast milk? Would she take a bottle? She is still on oxygen at home…she still needs me.
Here come all the feelings of being cheated again and that old friend anxiety. What do I do?
I have decided to stay off work until Zara and I are ready.
How will we pay the bills? I don’t know.
My husband has been working non-stop since Zara was born, but I was the main earner and we need my income.
We will have to come up with something. I’m not ready, Zara’s not ready. It’s too soon.
With thanks to Ije McDougall for sharing her story
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