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CHAPTER 2

When a child is born

Jenna Jean Lowe came into the world after 36 long hours of labour on the 28th of October 1994. Exhausted, elated and totally overcome with emotion, I pulled her out of my womb and cradled her slippery body on my chest, staring down into her velvet brown eyes. She was utterly focused and calm, gazing intently at me with an inquisitiveness that felt uncanny. In that life-changing moment time was suspended. I knew instantly I would give anything to protect this little being in my arms. I stared at her in wonder and awe. I never tired of that exquisite face with its creamy skin and rosebud lips. Her delicate little features were framed by arched eyebrows. She had tiny hands, the softest baby skin and smelled delicious. Jenna Jean Lowe was absolutely and utterly perfect.

Unconditional love is such a magnificent and all-consuming emotion, but let’s face it, caring for an infant is demanding. As a driven, A-type personality, I expected myself to do everything “just right” and it came as a shock to discover that there is no such thing when it comes to parenting. Babies cry, they don’t read the manual and initially it’s hard to know what they need or want. To my own surprise I became anxious, and at the same time ashamed to feel that way. I found it impossible to leave Jenna’s side and I barely let anyone touch her. I exhausted myself trying to perfect the amounts of breast milk, the amounts of sleep, the amounts of stimulation and a consistent routine. Poor Stuart. I don’t think he knew what had hit him. At 4 am one morning, about three months in, he tip-toed through the darkness to find me in Jenna’s nursery, cradling her, both of us crying inconsolably. He took Jen gently from my arms and said firmly, “Babies cry, my love, that’s what they do. Now go back to bed, it’s okay, I’ve got her.” I slept and slept and slept, exhausted from trying to pre-empt my baby’s every need.

In the morning, Stuart brought Jenna to me for a feed. We were cuddled in bed together, all three of us, when he hesitantly suggested we seek some help. As first-time parents, we were clueless as to what “normal” should look like, but he told me he didn’t think it was “normal” for me to feel so exhausted and overwhelmed. I looked into his soft brown eyes and loving face and I knew it was a plea, not criticism. The only person judging me was me. I agreed.

I had post-natal depression. I felt vulnerable, I had trouble sleeping and I didn’t want to leave the house, or Jenna, for a single second. My mood was often flat or blue, and I lost interest in the wider world. Many women who suffer from PND lose interest in their babies, but I became obsessive about mine. For the first three months, I didn’t let anyone near Jen; even Stu had to fight to hold her.

On the recommendation of a close girlfriend, I started seeing a therapist, something that has become a regular and valuable practice in my life. My therapist has been a pillar of strength, guidance and wisdom during challenging phases, helping me to interrogate, integrate and make sense of my internal world.

Within a few months I found my feet as a much more confident mom. Jenna and I had a powerful connection, as if an invisible string joined us together. I learned to sense when she was tired, sore, hungry, sad or having a bad dream. For Stu and me, it was an adjustment having a third person in our relationship. We were no longer each other’s “exclusive everything”. But, like all new parents, we muddled our way through and along the way had many honest, brave conversations that brought us closer. Before long, Stuart and I were finding our groove as parents.

It was a pleasure to watch Stu step into his role as a father. Loving and playful, he was involved in every aspect of Jenna’s life. He consistently broke my self-imposed, somewhat rigid rules about bedtime, bathtime and all the other routines that could drive me nuts. Stu was fun and spontaneous, the perfect antidote to my intensity.

My maternity leave drew to a close and I managed to negotiate a half-day contract rather than working full-time. My mornings were spent as an executive and my afternoons were spent witnessing Jenna reach her milestones. She was an ordinary baby in many ways, except for her extreme love of words. Her language skills were remarkable, and it soon became clear she was as bright as a button. She was talking by the age of one and by 18 months had an impressive vocabulary, happily reciting intricate rhymes and songs in her gentle voice while she played.

Jenna never tired of stories. Whenever we had a visitor, she would toddle off to find a book and present it with great enthusiasm, climbing up onto the person’s lap before settling down to listen. Oh, and best you didn’t try to shorten the story … she knew every single word. We developed a nightly ritual of bedtime reading, which was a special bonding time for the three of us.

By the time Jenna was two years old, in 1996, Stu had moved away from his father’s business and into the magazine world. He was part of a young, energetic team at Touchline Media who were busy launching magazine titles like Men’s Health during the print industry’s heyday. He worked long hours helping to grow the business, but he loved it.

It was December 1996, holiday time, and I was in Plett with Jenna, both of us looking forward to Stu’s return from a business trip to New York. Sitting on a little balcony, we watched an unseasonal storm, thunder booming and lightning flashing across the skies. All of it, the wild stormy seas and seagulls swooping, had Jenna entranced. “Bunder, Mommy, bunder!” she said excitedly with wide eyes, enthralled with the world around her. “Big bunder!” she said at a particularly loud clap. With her silky smooth brunette locks with golden highlights framing her heart-shaped face, her big soft brown eyes and small but full little mouth, she was as cute as a cupcake. Cupping her little hand to her ear, she whispered conspiratorially, “Listen, Mommy, listen.”

Stu arrived upbeat and enthusiastic and my heart skipped a beat when I saw him. He knelt down so that a very excited little Jen could run into her daddy’s arms. She took him by the hand and pulled him towards the storm so that he, too, could enjoy it. We all sat on the balcony together, simultaneously soaking up the dramatic skies and his exciting stories from New York.

But I, too, had something exciting to share. Once Jen was asleep and we were alone, I pressed the small plastic tube I’d been hiding in the back pocket of my jeans into my husband’s palms: two undeniable blue stripes. It took a few seconds for the reality to sink in. When it finally did, Stu threw his arms around me in sheer delight. We were elated. Our second baby was on the way!