Iām laying in a sterile looking room, on my 21st birthday. The sonographer is joking with my partner about the twins that run in both of our families. She looks at my still flat belly, and says āI think you might just have one in there, but letās see.ā I watch as parts of a small person come up on the screen, feeling as detached as I have this entire pregnancy. She asks if we want to know what we are having, and when we say yes, she says a girl. I drive home, suddenly desperately in love. Instantly, my nausea, and giant breasts, and exhaustion MEAN something. A daughter.
Three nights of contractions, and I walk into the hospital at 6am. I lay in the bath, and then I am suddenly terrified. The midwife follows me down the hall to my room, and I tell her that I want to push. She says no, thereās still a long time to go, but I insist. So she checks me, and four pushes later, my daughter is born. She is placed on my chest, and her eyes are wide open, locked on mine. I feel the cord on my belly, still joining us together. I look at her Dad, and heās tearing up. I donāt know how to process what has just happened, and I donāt feel the rush of love everyone tells me I should get. I smile, and act like everything is fine, as my daughter nurses for the first time.
2am, and the lady in the bed next to me is throwing up. The baby in the bed across from me is screaming. My baby is quietly studying me. I walk out into the hall, and into the visitors room. I sit in the quiet darkness, and I fall in love with my daughter. In the morning, they take her away for her Vitamin K injection, and I feel like a part of me is missing. Some connection has formed between us, and now I cannot imagine my life without her by my side.
My daughter is 14 months, and I leave her Father. We rent a tiny unit, and we make a home. I scoop her up and bring her into my bed when I am lonely. She grows wispy blonde curls, and learns to talk. I push her in the swing in our yard on every sunny day. She dances to The Wiggles, and refuses to give up her pacifier. When her Dad has her, I feel more alone than I ever have in my life. When she is home, I feel like I can get through. My anxiety is terrible, and I am scared to leave the house, but she thrives regardless of my problems. She grows like a weed right before my eyes.
I am 24 when I meet the love of my life. I see him when she is asleep, or with her Dad. I donāt want to introduce her to someone unless I know for sure that they are sticking around. One night, she sneaks out of bed and pokes her head around the living room door. She is in red pyjamas, and beaming brightly at the stranger in our house. She does a cheeky laugh, and runs off back to her room, traces of toddler still showing in her. She loves him instantly, as I knew she would.
She is 4, and I learn to drive to the beach again. I cry when I see the ocean. I show her all of the places I loved as a kid, and she runs back and forth, chasing the waves. On the drive home, she falls asleep. I watch her through the rear vision mirror, and I feel happy.
I sit in a crowded audience between my Mother, and my sister. We watch all of the tiny people singing and dancing on stage. And then, there she is. My little human, doing her dance moves, remembering all the lyrics. My heart feels like it is so big in my chest that it canāt even be contained. I get tears in my eyes from the sheer joy of seeing her up there. I donāt know how to explain the physical ache in my chest that my pride for her gives me. We all feel like bursting with love for this girl.
I am sitting in my car, and anxiety is crushing me. I canāt breathe, I feel sick, I want to run. I tell her that I am nervous, and she saysĀ āItās okay Mum, just breathe. Just breathe.ā She is patient with me, kind, caring. She doesnāt rush me, or make me feel guilty. She accepts that this just happens, and that I will always move through it. And then I do, and we go into the party holding hands.
I am an empty shell. Depression tugs me further and further down into the greyness. I shut off from everyone completely. I donāt have the energy to get well again, there is nothing of me left. I canāt hear anything anyone is saying because none of it can get through the fog. But there is one tiny pinpoint of light. One nagging voice at the back of my mind. I canāt do this to her. I love her too much, I canāt leave her. I canāt make her sad, ever. And so, I do all the things. I take all the medications, and I see all the therapists, and I walk all the miles. And then I am okay again, because of her, and only her. Because she saved me.
She is almost 10. Almost a decade of her. I cannot fathom a life without her. She makes me laugh every single day without fail. She drives me crazy. She is thoughtful, and kind, and loving, and confident. She has no anxieties, no confidence issues. She thinks that she deserves the world, and she does. I get to lay in her bed next to her when I tuck her in, and talk to her about her day. I get to watch her learn new things, and devour novels. I get a hand to hold when I feel scared, and a reason to live when I feel sad. The way I love her is extraordinary, and I would fight a million demons every day to be better for HER. To give her everything in my power. I would go back and choose her every single time. She is the best thing I have ever done.
