Chanelle Hayes - Baring My Heart

by Hayes, Chanelle

  This was a good question. Over the past few months, I’d spent at least £200 on baby-name books and had them scattered all over my living-room floor, like it was some massively important science experiment. I’d always really liked old English names but I knew I wanted one that was unusual. I definitely didn’t want a run-of-the-mill name, partly because I’d always loved being the only Chanelle in my peer group. At school there had been about 10 girls called Sarah in my year and everyone was forever mixing them up.

  One name I’d stumbled on was ‘Blakely’. I really liked it because it was unique but sounded very traditional and English. Other contenders I had up my sleeve were ‘Caesar’ and ‘Fabian’ – which, looking back, would have been absolutely horrendous choices! I even considered calling him ‘Winter’ but Zoe wisely stepped in at that point and said, ‘Over my dead body, Chanelle. You are not calling your child Winter Hayes!’

  Blakely seemed a good option because it definitely didn’t sound chavvy and I thought he could also shorten it to Blake when he’s grown up. But when I told Matt this was my preferred choice, he said, ‘It sounds stupid.’

  Like he really had a say in this. ‘I don’t care what you think,’ I said angrily. ‘I’ve bought all the baby’s stuff – his pram, the cot, a changing table, toys, murals and everything, while you’ve not contributed at all. You’ve made my pregnancy awful. And now you want to sit there and dictate what he’s going to be called? I don’t think so, Matt. I like the name Blakely and that’s final.’

  As I approached my due date that August, I was filled with anxiety about childbirth and was fairly certain that I’d die during it. So imagine how relieved I was when it was all done and dusted in two and a half hours! It all began in the early hours of 20 July 2010, when I woke up and was so uncomfortable I knew I wasn’t going to be able to get back to sleep. My TV was still on, so I plumped up my pillows a bit and started watching an episode of South Park.

  Then, as I wriggled around a bit, I suddenly felt that the sheets were all soggy underneath me.

  ‘Oh my God, I’ve wet the bed!’ I said out loud, even though I was completely alone in the house. Jack hadn’t been to see me for ages because he knew Matt was back in touch and he hated to even hear a mention of his name. We were very much going through one of our ‘off’ phases – he seemed more concerned with having a good time with his mates and getting lashed every night. Whatever – I had far more important things to think about.

  Losing control of my bladder was the final straw with the pregnancy. What a nightmare. I manoeuvred myself out of bed to go to the bathroom but, when I stood up, all this liquid came flooding out.

  ‘That’s not wee,’ I thought instinctively. I assumed my waters must have broken but I wasn’t sure if that meant I should be getting my stuff and heading to hospital just yet. I sat Googling it for half an hour and then called Mum and Dad.

  I figured they wouldn’t be best pleased if this was a false alarm, since they’d taken me to hospital only the day before. I hadn’t felt the baby move for 24 hours, so was panicking that something was badly wrong. The doctors had me hooked up to a monitor for hours but, thankfully, everything had been OK.

  When I called Mum and Dad this time, it took them ages to answer the phone – but then it was about 4am, so that was understandable. Mum eventually answered and I said, ‘Sorry, I know you only took me to hospital yesterday but I need to go again. Right now.’

  ‘Listen, sweetheart,’ she said. ‘I think you need to stop worrying. The baby is fine. You don’t need to go back.’

  ‘No, listen to me. My waters have broken, Mum.’

  ‘What? OK, why didn’t you say? Right. Wait there. We’ll be round in five minutes!’

  Unhelpfully, there was a terrible storm raging that night and Dad didn’t want to take the motorway to hospital, even though that was the quickest route.

  ‘Shall we go the long way round?’ he said once they’d picked me up.

  ‘No way!’ I yelled from the back seat of the car. ‘Who do you think we are? Mary and Joseph riding on a donkey? Just hurry up and get me there!’

  So we piled on to the motorway and Dad crawled along at about 20mph as the rain and gale-force winds lashed down at us. The journey usually takes 20 minutes but, because of the bad weather, it took double that. While poor Dad struggled to see out of the windscreen with the wipers on full pelt, I was having contractions in the back and writhing in agony and Mum was holding my hand, saying, ‘Calm down, dear.’ It was like Carry on Camping with a bit of childbirth thrown in.

  When we arrived, we charged into the maternity unit and the staff said, ‘Oh, Chanelle, you’re back.’

  ‘Yeah, sorry,’ I said. ‘But this time I think I’m in labour!’

  A nurse checked me over and said, ‘Yes, you’re four-centimetres dilated. That’s probably what yesterday was all about. The baby was probably having a big rest before he came out.’

  Despite that, she said I was still hours away from giving birth, so I sent Dad home to get me some clothes and make-up. Because the baby technically hadn’t been due for three more weeks, I hadn’t had a bag packed ready, so I was sitting there barefaced and in my pyjamas. I’d not yet had my roots or bikini line done either, so I couldn’t have looked worse if I’d tried!

  About an hour after we got to the hospital, my contractions started getting much stronger and much more painful. Surely this wasn’t supposed to happen if I was still ages away from the birth? The nurses had even assured me that nothing would happen until the next shift of staff clocked on a few hours later.

  Although the pain was like nothing I’d ever experienced before, I managed to stay really calm while all of this was going on. Mum even said, ‘I wish I’d videoed this – nobody will ever believe it!’

  She was the most fantastic birthing partner I could ever have wished for, handing me cold flannels, giving me little sips of water and rubbing my back. It was all new to her too – she’d never given birth herself, so God knows how it came so naturally to her. If she hadn’t been there, I really don’t know what I’d have done. It proved to me more than ever what an amazing woman she is.

  As the contractions intensified, the nurses gave me gas and air but that made me feel sick. So then they gave me an injection for the pain but it was too late because, literally a few minutes afterwards, the baby came! The drugs didn’t actually kick in until after the birth, so that was a bit pointless and I felt stoned all morning.

  Baby Blakely was born at 6.04am, weighing 6lbs 9oz. He was so small but the doctors told me that, if I had gone to full-term, he might have been 11lbs. I’d have never been able to walk again! When they placed this tiny bundle in my arms, I turned to Mum and said, ‘He looks like a cooked chicken!’

  Of course, I was filled with instant love and fascination for Blakely but I didn’t immediately think, ‘How gorgeous is he?’ I wanted to cuddle him because he was mine but, if I’m totally honest, I don’t think new-born babies are that cute. They have a hard time getting out into the world – it’s like running a marathon, so they’re not going to look their best!

  My other thought when he’d been born was how much he looked like his dad. He was like this tiny version of Matt staring up at me, which was more than a little disconcerting.

  Soon after, Dad arrived back with all my clothes and make-up. He was walking along the corridor in the maternity unit and heard these ear-splitting screams and thought to himself, ‘That’s Chanelle, showing herself up again.’ But it was actually the woman in the next room he could hear. I was sitting there all serene and spaced out with Blakely in my arms!

  When he walked in, he dropped my bag, took one look at us both and said, ‘It’s a real baby!’ Then he just dissolved into tears. It was so sweet, especially because he rarely shows any emotion. He and Mum had adopted me when I was a few months old and then David when he was nearly two, so they’d never really been around new-born babies. I was over the moon that he was so happy because, when I first tol
d him I was pregnant, let’s just say he wasn’t exactly delirious with joy. He thought that Matt and I should have been married if we were going to have a child together. But life doesn’t always work out like that, does it?

  Mum and Dad were besotted with their grandson from the word go and would endlessly squabble over who got to hold him, feed him or wash him. It was hilarious. Even now they spoil Blakely rotten and it gets on my nerves because, when he comes home to me, he really acts up. I’m constantly saying, ‘No!’ whereas he always gets his own way with his grandma and granddad. They tell me off for being a mini-Hitler at home but I don’t ever want him to turn into a little brat like I was.

  Although I was gutted that I’d not had time to change my clothes or do my hair and make-up in time for his grand entrance into the world, it was a very special and unique time to be in that little room with Mum, Dad and Blakely. The only thing missing was his father Matt.

  Half an hour after the birth, I’d texted Matt, who was away with his club in Germany. ‘I’ve had the baby,’ I wrote. ‘The labour was only a couple of hours, so you wouldn’t have made it back. But we’re both fine.’

  I didn’t expect it but he jumped on a flight back almost immediately and was still in his football kit when he turned up at the hospital. He genuinely seemed to be very excited, which hurts me even more now I know how things turned out.

  Holding Blakely in his arms, it was as if we were normal parents embarking on a miraculous journey as a new family. He didn’t want to put Blakely down and gazed at him with big puppy-dog eyes. In those first couple of days, he seemed full of love for his son and would insist on bathing and changing him. I had to stay in hospital for five days because Blakely had arrived three weeks early and Matt came to visit every day, bringing me snacks and supplies for the baby and generally acting the way any new dad would. He’d even give me cuddles and say to Blakely, ‘Isn’t she a good mummy?’

  When I was finally allowed to leave hospital, we took Blakely back to my place together. That was obviously quite emotional because it’s a really big deal for new parents to take their baby home for the first time. I found it all very confusing, simply because he had wanted nothing to do with either of us for so long.

  Matt took what seemed like hundreds of photos of Blakely and made me an album of his first week, with his tiny footprint in it. He really seemed keen to be part of his life at last and I was so pleased. Not because I wanted to be with Matt myself but because I truly didn’t want our son to have a dysfunctional family life.

  As he was spending so much time with us both, Matt asked if he could move back in for a few weeks, which I agreed to – though we stayed in separate bedrooms. There was no question of anything happening between us; I was just a new mum in need of all the help I could get and full of relief that he’d come back into the fold.

  We blindly navigated our way through those early days of parenthood and, despite our cluelessness and the inevitable sleepless nights, Matt loved doing the night feeds and went out of his way to do his bit around the house too.

  We’d surely weathered the worst storm possible: what could go wrong now?

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Money Talks

  Matt and I were getting on fine in the beginning. It was good to have him in the house sharing baby duties and, bit by bit, we were learning the ropes of being parents. Admittedly, it was awkward when his mum Lesley came to visit because I hadn’t seen her since that horrible day when we’d screamed at each other until we were blue in the face.

  She’d barely walked in the front door before she said, ‘This is a big house for just you, isn’t it?’

  I’d run out of patience with her biting remarks. ‘Well, I’ve paid for it all if that’s what you’re thinking,’ I snapped.

  ‘Oh, I didn’t mean anything by it. I was just saying.’

  She sat on one side of the sofa and my parents were on the other. You could have cut the atmosphere with a knife.

  Then she said, ‘I hope Blakely grows up to look like Matt – although I can tell he already looks like you.’

  I just smiled and gritted my teeth. I didn’t want a scene this time. But in spite of my intentions to stay on good terms with her, she was at the heart of a bitter row which blew up between Matt and I about a month after Blakely was born.

  Things had been working OK. We didn’t talk about the future, mainly because nursing a baby during those first few weeks is all-consuming and exhausting. Matt was also commuting to Middlesbrough at the same time, so we were both constantly shattered. It wasn’t any great surprise then when we started bickering again. One day, we were arguing about something really trivial – like whose turn it was to tidy up – and I lost my temper with him for no real reason.

  ‘I’m sorry but you buggered off for nine months and didn’t want to know and now you’ve jumped in like you’re bloody “Superdad”.’

  ‘You’re such a moody cow,’ he said. ‘And you’re not even trying to lose your baby weight.’

  This was a truly low blow. ‘I’m sorry but Blakely is only a few weeks old! If I want to sit here and eat a Big Mac, I’ll eat ten of them, thanks very much. Who are you to criticise me? We’re not even together, are we?’ He looked at me blankly. ‘Or are you telling me you do want to be together?’ I asked. ‘You just don’t make it clear.’

  ‘For fuck’s sake,’ he said. ‘It’s always got to be about you, hasn’t it?’

  I’d had enough then. ‘Right, Matt, I think it’s time for you to move out. You’re not staying here any more. If you want to see Blakely, you can drive down every day. Normally, people wouldn’t be this accommodating after what you did.’

  This really upset him. ‘But I won’t see Blakely as much. You can’t do that. It’s not fair.’ I couldn’t believe it but he was almost crying.

  ‘People who break up don’t just live together again because they’ve had a baby. That’s not how the world works,’ I said. ‘We need a schedule and we need to stick to it.’

  He stood up then and left and we didn’t speak for a couple of days. After he’d cooled off, he called me and said, ‘If you won’t let me stay at yours, I’ll buy an apartment down there. Then I can have Blakely for half of the week.’

  He had to be joking, right? Trying to contain myself, I said, ‘That’s a really nice gesture, Matt, but you can’t have him for half the week. That was never the plan.’

  ‘But that’s my right as his dad,’ he argued.

  Getting angry now, I said, ‘But you were not even around during the pregnancy. You can’t have joint custody. That’s not on. Besides, what will happen to him when you have to go off training every day?’

  ‘My mum will look after him,’ he said.

  ‘Your mother? No way. She was so mean to me if you remember. She’s not bringing him up four mornings a week when I, his own mum, am available to do it. Do you really think I’d sit at home twiddling my thumbs while Blakely goes to your mum’s? I don’t think so. I want to spend every second with him.’

  ‘Well, so do I,’ he said.

  We went round and round in circles but, eventually, he dropped the whole issue and decided not to buy a place near me after all. Peace was restored. Over the next few months, he carried on visiting Blakely several days a week – usually in the evenings, as he liked bathing him and putting him to bed. We settled into this routine and it was strange because he seemed to like spending time with me too. Even after Blakely was asleep, he’d sit on the sofa with me and watch TV for an hour or two. It was weirdly comfortable.

  By the time Christmas 2010 came around and Blakely was a bit older, the three of us often went on little days out together. We’d go shopping and Matt would buy me a new outfit or book me in for a massage while he looked after Blakely. We even took him to see Santa, which was such a family thing to do. Matt really did seem to adore his son and spoiled him rotten for his first Christmas, showering him with expensive presents. I’d spent a small fortune on him too, so my whole livi
ng room was filled with gifts, which, of course, he didn’t really need at six months old!

  I know I’ve painted a harmonious picture but it was difficult to carry on as we were, because Jack was still vaguely on the scene too. I say vaguely, because, although he’d been up to see me and Blakely a few times, he was still going out partying down in Essex. He smoked a lot of weed with his mates too, which I always found revolting, and I wanted nothing to do with his ‘other’ life. He could morph into a different person when he got drunk and it led to us having some vicious fights on Twitter. One time, he even posted up a photo of a girl’s boobs and then of some nasty tart giving me the finger. I found it so disgusting that a girl would go along with it that I had a massive go at her. She tweeted me back, ‘Fuck off, you fat c**t, you’re not even together.’ Jack even publicly taunted me about my weight or called me ugly once or twice.

  Still, he’d always be full of remorse after such occasions and, like I’ve said before, I was definitely no angel either. My temper could be appalling. Despite how it might seem, Jack didn’t behave like this often; it was quite rare, in reality. And I couldn’t very well accuse him of cheating on me because we were far more ‘off’ than ‘on’. Sometimes we had no contact for weeks on end and, of course, Matt was often at my place. It would have been massively hypocritical of me to be too unforgiving of Jack when I was spending time with this other man in my own home, wouldn’t it?

  In addition to all of that aggro, I can’t deny that I still had affection for Matt. He was the father of my child and a part of me was desperately clinging to that.

  I remember Mum saying to me, ‘What’s going on with you two then?’

  ‘I honestly don’t know,’ I said. ‘Sometimes I think that he wants to get back with me. He loves doing stuff as a family.’

  ‘Well, that’s good, isn’t it?’ Mum reasoned. ‘Perhaps you should just make a go of it.’