She is here

It's been a month. I'm sitting here, four weeks postpartum with my baby girl beside me, sleeping sweetly. So here is how it went:

After the panic of another potential premature labour, I had essentially rendered myself useless after being put on bed rest, and I genuinely feel like that pregnancy lasted for 84 years. At 39 weeks I had gone into labour several times, only for it to stop again. My obs team wanted to induce me to reduce any further risks, such as placenta failure. I was so terrified (yet certain) of something going catastrophically wrong, that I happily agreed (despite having promised myself I'd never undergo another induction - my labour with Noah was the catalyst for that mindset).

Two failed stretch & sweeps later, I found myself in the same position I seemed to have spent an absurd amount of time in over the past 9 months - with my vagina on show for all and sundry as my lovely midwife ripped my membrane open with a giant crotchet hook. It really is the most revolting feeling, having your water broken. I felt like the entire contents of my stomach were being yanked on. Picture a crushed cane toad on the road with its guts completely protruding out of its mouth, except its mouth is actually a vagina... you get the gist.

My contractions began within half an hour, and they gathered their strength faster than anyone could have predicted. I was on my knees within minutes, and from then on, the most amazingly healing (yet excruciatingly agonising) thing happened to me.

The two births I previously experienced, Noah and Suri, had been traumatic in their own ways. Full of regret, sadness and completely life destroying heartbreak.

But not this one.

Everyone in the room seemed to disappear and only make themselves known in brief moments, as every contraction got stronger and more agonising. However, after finishing my doula qualifications, I felt nothing but confidence and power through that pain.

I held myself in that position, leaning on the bed on my knees, knowing it was the best position to allow baby to descend. In the brief moments between contractions, which seemed to be almost entirely on top of each other, I lay my head on the bed sheet and tried to focus on my breathing. I had tunnel vision as I pictured and felt her moving down. "I'm in transition!" I yelled and as that contraction ended, I said "it's time" and crawled up onto the bed, I had no strength left to hold myself up and knew instinctively that it was time to push.

My midwife was an angel with the name of Jodie. A beautiful woman who completely empowered me to birth this baby the way I wanted. I briefly realised there hadn't been even a moment to contemplate the massage oils, music playlist or shower steamers I had carefully selected for this "magical labour". It felt like I'd been contracting forever, but I had no concept of time. All I could do was focus on what my body and baby were doing and try to cope with the agony of it all.

The pushing began and my oh my... the ring of fire burned with the anger of a thousand suns. I needed time, I could tell I was going to tear if I didn't slow down, however all of a sudden, there were several doctors at the door.

What the fuck was going on? "Erin," said Jodie, "we have lost the trace on baby. I need you to get her out on the next push!"

The terror I felt in that moment. And a head swirling overwhelm of "of COURSE this is happening."

But I did it. I screamed with the effort and pain with that next push and I tore as her head came out. One more push and out came the rest of her.

There is nothing I can say right now that can explain the way I felt when that slippery, warm little body was thrust onto my chest. The sound of her first cry as I held her impossibly tiny bottom in my right hand was the most beautiful moment of my entire life. She had made it. She was in my arms. And she was alive.

Miley Grace Nicholson, born January 11th, 2025 at 3.35pm. All 3.5kg of her.

My brilliant birth team knew how afraid I was of the shot in the thigh I needed to deliver the placenta. In the past it has made me incredibly sick, with huge full body tremors. I didn't get to hold either of my other babies because of that shit. However, they dosed me up with Maxalon before administering it, so I held my sweet baby in my arms with only mild trembling as I delivered the placenta.

The hours after were a combination of pure bliss and what seemed to be never ending tampering with my fucking undercarriage as my poor North-South Bypass was sewn up, and my pain relief was delightfully administered rectally.

"Erin I need to do another internal check" were the words the poor surgeon uttered that made me snap "YES PLEASE! I CAN'T FUCKING WAIT FOR YOUR FINGERS TO BE BACK INSIDE MY ARSEHOLE!" Lucky for me she wasn't easily offended. Unlucky for me, it didn't spare me yet another internal fiddling.

As Jodie finished the enormous pile of paperwork that accompanies a new human entering the world, she stated "labour was one hour and 18 minutes!"

I pictured myself just slingshotting my baby out, and felt immensely proud of myself in that moment.

I had done it, and I had done it PERFECTLY. Aside from my snarky moment with the seamstress repairing my ruined bits.

I had opted to wait the minimum 6 hours after birth and just go straight home. The idea of setting one foot in the maternity ward made me feel sick to my stomach. I had spent the entire pregnancy terrified of that possibility, and my intrusive thoughts had taken me to a scenario of needing an emergency c-section on too many occasions, leaving me stranded in the very place that had damaged me beyond repair in 2021. I physically felt like fifty shades of shit, but I was happy to feel that way at home, in my own bed.

As the six hour mark approached, we walked to the neonatal ward (or shuffled, SLOWLY, in my case) for the paediatrician to check Miley and give us the all clear to leave. Everything was going perfectly until the doctor looked at some notes and said "wait... you tested positive to an infection". "Yes, they gave me a dose of antibiotics for it". Then came the words that froze my blood.

"We can't let you leave."

She began explaining that they needed to observe Miley for 24-48 hours to make sure she didn't have any signs of illness or whatever, I don't really know. All I heard was that I had to go back to the torture ward.

I began shaking uncontrollably and despite my best efforts, the tears came. We were standing in a goddamned corridor, with what suddenly felt like dozens of people around us, as my meltdown unfolded. There was nowhere for me to even sit, and I had to hold onto a table for strength. The poor doctor had no idea about my history. That I had had to lay in that godforsaken room, with my deceased daughter in her crib beside me. The silence that came from her being agonisingly highlighted by the baby I could hear crying in the room beside me. It all flashed back in my mind and I just couldn't stop it. I shuffled back into the delivery room where Jodie was still doing paperwork. She explained that I could choose to discharge myself and lave Miley, or discharge us both and "risk it".

Of course, my intrusive thoughts kicked back in and the worst scenarios entered my head. "Could we at least have a private room so Adam can stay with me?" I asked shakily. Jodie went off to see about what could be done, as Adam tried to reassure me. "Erin, you CAN do this!" he repeated, "You've come this far, you can do this, too!"

The thing is, entering that ward on Boxing Day 2021 was the moment when the whirlwind of my horrific labour and the death of Suri truly hit me. When the midwife left the room and we sat alone, the three of us, knowing only two of us would be leaving, it was like I had been sucked into a vortex of the most horrific mental anguish I could have possibly experienced. Returning to that space was my nightmare, come to life.

Jodie returned and broke the news that there was only space in a 4 bed room. I'd have to endure this mental torture in the same space as strangers.I wailed with the realisation and Jodie left to let me think about what I'd like to do.

"I have to, Adam," I said as I wiped the tears from my face."I can't risk anything happening to Miley." He stroked my hair and tried to comfort me as best he could. It was just another moment where I had to magically rise above my own trauma, and I had no idea how to do it. But I remembered that I had chosen the RBWH because they were the BEST team to help me carry my baby to term. To help me deliver her safely. To support me through my harrowing pregnancy. And they had done exactly that. Now it was time for me to endure another challenge for this baby I so desperately needed in my life. I swallowed hard, took a deep breath and looked at Adam.

"I can do this. I don't want to. But I can."

At that moment, Jodie returned and said gently, "Erin I've pulled some strings and have arranged a private room for you." I swear this woman was some sort of guardian angel. I have thought of her so fondly every day since Miley was born.

So with a parting hug, I left Jodie and was escorted to our room in the maternity ward.

As we stepped out of the lifts, it was as if I had been transported back in time. I was almost unaware of Miley in her crib, being pushed by Adam. All I could see was the quiet darkness of the night, with a midwife pushing the covered crib of my deceased daughter. Covered, so as not to upset any of the mothers on the ward. Being quietly ushered into a room that I swear I could describe down to the very cracks in the ceiling. The silence.

Every step I took alongside Miley felt like I wore concrete boots. I trembled and swallowed repeatedly, trying so hard not to lose it. It was almost tempting to give in, crack, and fall into a sobbing heap. I don't know how I didn't.

Soon we were ensconced in a room that thankfully resembled nothing of the room I shared with Suri, Adam was soon asleep in a recliner that the midwives had kindly found for him, and I sat there on my bed in the quiet of the evening. I could hear Miley stirring and my mind raced, despite the peaceful air around me. She began fussing so I fed her. She simply didn't want to be put down, which I was grateful for, however it meant I had to stay awake all night (she only wanted me, Adam couldn't give me a spell to nap), which in turn left my brain to torture me. The clock literally ticked backwards and I would occasionally cry in frustration.

It was the longest 24 hours of my life and I worried I would leave the ward even more mentally fucked up than I entered, but eventually we were discharged and we were able to do "the walk".

The walk from the ward to the car, to start your official journey as parents to a newborn. It's normally the most magical, surreal moment.

I was surprised that again, my mind chose that moment to attack me. I shuffled a few steps behind Adam, who carried Miley in her capsule. Suddenly, the pure weight of the stark difference of the situations hit me. There is no way to describe the pain of having to take the walk empty handed. The hallway walls closed on on me and I grew dizzy again, sick with the memory of us making our way to our car without our baby. In my peripheral, I was aware of someone complimenting us in the lifts, and Adam happily responding. But I could only cling to the handrail and concentrate on not having some sort of breakdown and landing myself in the psych ward.

I cried on and off on the drive home, blissful at the fact that I had the privacy to do so. I was physically exhausted and absolutely everything hurt. I was sitting on my poor, wounded undercarriage, every bump reminding me that I was held together with thread. The constant fear that Miley would just stop breathing because she wasn't in my direct sight was crippling and I swear that drive felt like it took 3 hours.

But then came the moment when we picked Noah up from my brother and sister in law. The wholesome, heartwarming delight he showed as he ran to the car to meet his sister. His innocent curiosity about my tummy being (mostly) gone.

In that moment, my exhaustion and precarious mental health was forgotten and I suddenly felt whole again.

Something I've not felt since Christmas of 2021.

Fast forward to today. We are a month in, and I am waiting for this incredible bubble to burst. My beautiful, sweet angelic baby girl is AMAZING! There isn't an ounce of fussiness about her. She smiles regularly ALREADY! When she wakes, you wouldn't know until you look at her, because she is just quietly and contentedly looking around. Perhaps smiling at her mobile or the soft little star shaped lights beside her crib. She rarely cries. The sheer sweetness of this little girl is beyond my ability to put into words.

Noah has slipped into his big brother role like a seasoned professional. His behaviour as an almost 4 year old has become impeccable. He rises to the challenge of needing to do many things without our help now and loves his newfound empowering independence. He hasn't shown an ounce of resentment or jealousy and I am so fiercely proud of him. There isn't a moment that I'm not aware that he played a major role in saving my life. Without him and Adam, I simply would not have survived losing Suri. I owe them so much.

And Adam. The most remarkable man I've ever known, and the love of my life. So many couples just don't survive the loss of a child. Somehow it bonded us to each other in a phenomenal way.

No one has ever had my back the way he does. And I have his. Whenever one of us has reached our limit with a situation, the other unfailingly takes the burden and carries us both through. He's a beautiful human and I am so incredibly blessed to have him. And he is the best father I've ever met. I am so grateful I was able to give him a family.

Where am I at right now? I'm in heaven. And it's right here on Earth. My children are wonderful, I have physically healed perfectly, I gratefully didn't even experience the baby blues, let alone any depression and my mental health and clarity are wonderful.

Oh Miley Grace... you didn't come to this earth to replace our beautiful Suri Rose. No one ever could. But my god, this makes up for so much.

SO MUCH. What a beautifully healing chapter to our story.

And now... onto the next chapter. x