Happily Ever After_ - Benison Anne O'Reilly [24]
My GP was more reassuring. ‘Look, Ellie, you are really quite young to be trying to have a baby in this day and age and you have years ahead of you,’ she said. ‘You just need to be a bit patient [that bloody word again]. However, I think it’s reasonable to start some investigations if nothing has happened after twelve months. So, if you’re still not pregnant by then, come back and I’ll arrange a referral to a fertility specialist.’
Twelve months came and went, then thirteen. By this time my eyes had developed a maniacal gleam and I could think of little else. Every female at work except me seemed to be pregnant. Tony was also getting tense by this stage and we’d started getting snippy at one another. Our sex life had taken a big battering too: it had all become about conception, not enjoyment. The renovations on the ‘baby’s room’ were well and truly finished but I was beginning to wonder if we would ever produce an occupant. I’d returned to my GP, dumping on her desk a bulging folder containing all the latest IVF research, and we now had an appointment booked with the fertility specialist of our choice. Instead of anticipating a new babe in arms, my husband was looking forward to all the fun of a sperm count.
Melanie’s birthday came around and a few of us headed out to the pub for a girls’ night out. Having already given up on the idea of conceiving naturally, I got absolutely wasted on champagne and Bacardi Breezers. The girls poured me into a taxi to get home. Tony was away and I don’t remember how I got in the front door but I must have, as I woke up the next morning in my bed, fully clothed and very much the worse for wear. I called in sick, thankful I had an understanding boss. And of course, that was the month it happened - after thirteen months of common sense and relative sobriety, it was the month I got completely pickled.
Twenty-eight days, twenty-nine days, thirty days, thirty-one days ticked past. I really did feel different this time, faint and fluttery, but I waited till the next morning when I knew I could be absolutely sure, being much practised at the peeing in the bottle routine by this time. A pink line came up to indicate the test was positive and instead of the absolute elation I had expected, I felt a strange cocktail of emotions: numb, elated, relieved, sad and panicky all at the same time. Tony was away - again - so I placed that white stick in a box, wrapped it in coloured paper, tied it with a bow, and left it on his pillow for him to find when he got home that afternoon.
5
One sunny day in September
We waited until I’d reached the twelve weeks’ mark before telling anyone the news; after all the struggles I’d had to get pregnant I didn’t want to tempt fate.
My obstetrician was very reassuring after I confessed about my champagne/Bacardi Breezer bender at the time of conception.
‘Oh every second mum-to-be who comes in here has the same story. We do recommend you avoid alcohol during pregnancy but problems usually only occur when there’s repeated heavy drinking.’
Phew! I had of course stopped all alcohol and caffeine from the day the pregnancy was confirmed. Being well versed in my substance abuse problems it didn’t take Melanie too long to figure out what was up but she swore to keep my secret.
I was thrilled that I could keep everything under wraps at work because I didn’t put on much weight in those first few months. My brother David’s wife, Amrita, is an Indian girl so beautiful she could have danced straight off a Bollywood set into medical school. She has huge brown eyes and straight black hair, fine-boned limbs and narrow, elegant hands and feet. During her two pregnancies she had remained as lean as ever except for a compact baby bump, but through