If Freya ever asks me about our lives like this, in lockdown, I will have to tell her about the walking. I carry her on my chest in a wrap for hours a day, walking through the neighbourhood in ever-increasing circles. Then after the walks there are the afternoon naps, the next few hours slipping past with her warm body sleeping next to mine, her sweaty head leaning on the crook of my arm.

It’s a slow paced sort of life, full of little habits and quiet moments. It’s rough in how the need to do something else, just anything else, sneaks up on me at times. But I have to admit that part of me wants to keep this forever, the three of us safely locked into our home, together as the days flow by.

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This story starts in the sweet progression of days in November spanning between my due date and the date I actually gave birth, FIFTEEN days overdue.

I had always known – somehow, mysteriously – that this baby would not be early. I couldn’t have told you how late she would end up being, even in my wildest dreams I hadn’t quite thought that far, but I knew she wasn’t ready yet and I felt perfectly fine with that.

See, I never felt any hesitation about her from the moment I got pregnant. We tested early, expecting perhaps the faintest of positives, but there she was, strong and bright. We had a scan early, knowing we might not see her heart beat yet, but there she was, a rapid loud heartbeat. And so on, she was there, present within me from that very first moment two days after the frozen embryo transfer that my breasts suddenly grew and I knew it was her finding a home within me. So I had never doubted her and I wasn’t about to start now. She was happy in there, healthy, and strong, every test and scan and monitoring session said so.

As the days shifted on though, I was aware that my chances of delivering at home were starting to shrink. Legally the midwives could only help me until 42 weeks and I REALLY wanted to deliver at home, so eventually I tried to induce labour. I let the midwives ‘sweep’ (trying to widen the cervix to induce labour) me twice. On top of that we tried everything and anything under the sun at home. Teas and supplements, oils and massages and orgasms, anything! I also went to go see a cranial therapist, my yoga teacher, and a foot reflexologist.  

But no baby.

I knew the risks were increasing as well. Going that overdue is not medically recommended, and all medical staff made sure to tell me that. A lot. At 41 weeks and 5 days  the gynaecologist told me in gentle but no uncertain terms, that I was going against medical advice keeping this baby in and refusing an induction. I signed a form saying I was informed of the fact that my baby might die, which didn’t help my stress levels much! I went into the hospital for monitoring every other day as a compromise, but I did NOT want to be induced when baby was perfectly healthy and there was no reason to other than arbitrary dates.

 If I wouldn’t have gone into labour at all I would have eventually consented to an induction, but only later that week. It turns out I didn’t need to though…

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