Thankfully she did, especially as the baby gifts were embarrassingly lavish. There were mountains of toys and clothes, as well as vouchers for Baby Yoga and certificates of trees planted in Yara’s name （done by some of the crunchier Brooklynites）。 Several of my glossy Manhattan friends had clubbed together to buy a Baby Jogger City Mini stroller – they insisted that no new mom would be caught dead with yesterday’s news, a MacLaren Globetrotter.
‘Erm, thank you,’ I said, ‘I had no idea.’
‘You should never have left the city, Boo.’
As we headed into the ninth month, I put on my Central Casting Pregnant Woman dungarees, tied my hair up in a red bandana, then Luke and I painted Yara’s room a pale yellow.
‘You’ve never been so beautiful,’ Luke said. ‘You’re a goddess.’
‘Ah, stop!’ Then, ‘Say it again!’
Yara would sleep in a Moses basket in our room for the first couple of months but we wanted to create a beautiful nursery for her.
We hung curtains patterned with giraffes and monkeys, we assembled a chest of drawers and filled the drawers with teeny-tiny clothes and diapers, then sheepishly Luke produced a white muslin princess canopy which he suspended from the ceiling above her crib.
‘I know it’s girly,’ he said. ‘We might be kicked out of Brooklyn for gender stereotyping, but look at it! I can’t not.’ He was so agonized that I laughed and kissed him.
By the time we’d finished, the nursery was absolutely beautiful.
‘I think she’ll approve,’ Luke said.
‘I’m so excited about meeting her,’ I said. Then, seized by fear, ‘What if I fail her?’
‘You won’t fail her, you big eejit! C’mon, let’s see if she’s in the mood for dancing.’
We’d discovered that if we put on music, particularly Luke’s beloved Led Zeppelin, she got really lively.
Our latest thing was to watch my stomach. ‘Was that an … elbow?’
‘Or maybe a knee?’
‘We could sell tickets to this.’
48
At the thirty-seven-week mark, I was winding down at work; two more weeks before I finished up. Five months’ maternity leave was the most I was entitled to – three months of which would be unpaid – but we’d saved money for it.
Hope House was a bit put out about the length of time I’d be away, but said they’d take me back.
When I woke on the Thursday morning of that week, something felt … off. I realized I hadn’t woken once since 2 a.m., and at this stage of my pregnancy Yara usually woke me with her antics several times a night. There had been no activity for hours.
‘Wake up, little girl.’ I stroked my stomach. ‘Come on, play with me.’
There was no response. I stared and stared, praying for a knee or an elbow to jut out at me, but nothing.
‘Luke!’
He emerged from the bathroom, half his face covered in shaving foam. ‘What’s up?’
‘She isn’t moving, she didn’t wake me during the night. Maybe I’m overreacting, but –’
He put his hand on my bump. In stillness, we looked at each other, both of us terrified, both of us searching for reassurance that the other couldn’t give.
‘Let’s go!’ Luke strode to the bathroom, grabbing a towel and roughly wiping away the shaving foam. ‘We’ll get a cab on the street.’
On the way to the hospital, Luke held my hand tight, while I began to bargain with God. It had been a long time since I believed in a higher power who listened carefully to my specific requests, then promptly actioned them, as if it were a genie which had escaped from a bottle. I knew – in my bones, my brain, my soul – that in any situation, the best outcome to hope for was acceptance. Trying to persuade God to pull off something particular never worked. This, though, was different: it mattered too much. Make her be okay, I pleaded. Just this once, I’ll never ask for anything ever again, but give me – us – this.
Isolated by our fear, we watched armies of other people on their way to work and envied them. I wanted to be anyone but me.
Now and then Luke and I muttered hopeful little phrases at each other, flip-flopping between disbelief and terror. Silently, I pleaded with Yara, ‘Give me a kick! Make your poor mommy feel stupid for panicking.’
First it was a relief, then it very much wasn’t, that the hospital took us seriously. Within a short time I was hooked up to a monitor and, oh, the surge of joy when the pitter-patter skip of a heartbeat sounded in the room!