At the hospital they wheeled me through, and your daddy followed. There was a lovely nurse who cared for me in the cubicle in the emergency department. It was only 6.45am on a Monday morning by the time we got there. The nurse said “Would you like something to eat? Yoghurt? Or maybe you’re not eating that with the pregnancy?’ I thought, oh god, I’ve been eating yoghurt. I’m a terrible mother.
When I was briefly alone in the cubicle, I cried. You were so new, such a tiny little thought.
We couldn’t see any trace of you yet. I couldn’t feel you. I’d barely had any symptoms. But you were very much in our hearts.
We waited for a doctor to come assess me. I sat in a hospital gown and felt better, but worried. The doctor diagnosed me with a concussion and brought over a mobile sonography machine. He put gel on my belly, not even a hint of a bump yet, and brought up you. You – nothing more than a heartbeat- flickering quickly on the grainy black and white screen. Our little heartbeat.
I looked over and saw your daddy had tears in his eyes. He didn’t cry the day we married, he didn’t cry the day you were born, but the day we first saw you – he had tears of relief in his eyes. Our hearts beating as one, through you.
Freya lives in Auckland with her partner and young daughter. She writes about her life experiences, particularly her early parenting experiences, on her website. She enjoys getting out for walks and outdoor adventures with her family.
