Page 15 of Special Delivery
‘She woke quite a few times and I hardly slept at all, but I don’t think anything wentwrongwrong. Like, she fed okay and she seemed to fall asleep pretty well after I breastfed.’
‘Good,’ said James and made a note.
Poppy nodded, relieved her breasts had (literally) risen to the occasion. The thought of discussing her nipples with James was supremely discomforting.
‘And you’re getting wet nappies?’
‘Yes.’
‘Any poos?’
‘Yes, two.’ (Should she clarify they were Maeve’s?!)
‘Next question,’ continued James, making a show of reading from the clipboard. ‘Have you considered what you’ll be using as contraception going forward?’
Poppy’s breathing stopped halfway between an inhale and exhale and came out as a hacking cough. The What-to-Expect articles had not mentioned this. She felt her neck redden and prayed the blush wouldn’t reach her face. How on earth should she answer that? She’d been on the pill on and off during her years with Patrick, but she’d hated how it affected her mood and her skin. (God, that made her sound so vain.) Before she fell pregnant, they’d been using the pull-out method, but she was definitelynotmentioning that. ‘I haven’t really thought about it …’ She trailed off, looking at the floor. ‘But it’s not a huge priority for me as I’m kind of, um, closed for business.’
James cleared his throat. ‘It’s important to remember that breastfeeding is not the foolproof contraceptive method some people would have you believe. Contraception may be the last thing on your mind after having a baby, but the reality is that you could become fertile again much earlier than you expect, so you need to be prepared.’
James began to run through the various options for contraception—the pill (hard to remember to take it when you’re distracted by a baby), condoms (may be uncomfortable because of lower oestrogen levels), IUDs, the morning-after pill, and everything else—in excruciating detail.
‘Right,’ he said finally. ‘That’s all you need to know about that. Okay, last question: are you experiencing any anxiety?’
Poppy rolled her eyes. ‘No.’
‘I need a serious answer.’
‘That was serious.’
‘You’re telling me you’re completely fine?’
Ugh, he was a dick. Of course she wasn’t fine.
‘I’ll ask you again: are you okay?’
Avoiding his eyes, Poppy picked a loose thread from her t-shirt. It was a big question. The obvious answer was yes. Yes. Or was it no? Poppy couldn’t remember what new mothers were supposed to say. A level of uncertainty was surely normal, but you were supposed to say something along the lines of ‘tired but happy’, right? And your eyes were supposed to say it with you. They should have bags and lines around them but be filled with an incandescent maternal sparkle. But in the same way Poppy’s skin hadn’t acquired that indefinable glow, she suspected her eyes were lagging too.
‘I’m … tired?’
‘Just tired?’ asked James, his eyes probing.
‘Fatigued.’
‘I know what tired means, Poppy. I was asking whether you feel tired above all else. Or are you feeling anything else?’
What could she say? That she was tired, yes, but more than that she was scared. She was unsure. She was alone. Every time Maeve squeaked at night it was her ears that heard it, her eyelids that sprung open. She couldn’t poke someone across the mattress. She couldn’t have a day off; she couldn’t have a minute off. She couldn’t rely on herself to remember to buy cereal but she had to rely on herself to feed and clothe and raise this child. And yes, she had her parents in town, and yes, she had some great friends on speed dial, but was she really going to call them at 2 am? And 3 am? And 4 am? Every night?
‘I’m a bit … numb,’ she confessed quietly. It wasn’t the whole truth but it wasn’t a lie. She was running on tea and adrenaline, surviving by not overthinking, or hardly thinking at all. Feed, sleep, walk, repeat. Left foot, right foot.
‘That’s not unusual,’ said James. ‘It’s a big change, after all.’
That was the problem, though. It was a big change but it wasn’t the only one. It was like she was working her way through the encyclopaedia of life-changing moments. Fall pregnant: tick. Break up with partner of nine years: tick. Leave job: tick. Move towns: tick. Have baby: tick. Poppy’s world had turned on its axis so many times in the past twelve months she was practically spinning into another dimension.
‘If you want to lie down on the couch, I’ll check your uterus now.’
‘Do we have to?’ Having the nurses check her stomach in hospital had been fine, but having an annoyingly attractive man feel up her misshapen belly after an in-depth conversation about contraception was a completely different proposition.
‘Yes, we have to.’
