by Jessica Rowe
In the early eighties, part of the museum was transformed into the P1 club, which became the most chic club in Germany. Mick Jagger, Milli Vanilli and Boris Becker all spent some time on its dance floor. Rumour was that Princess Stephanie of Monaco had once been turned away from the red velvet rope. But the most famous person I saw was a German beauty queen who, I was told, starred on the German version of the Wheel of Fortune.
Drinks were absurdly expensive, so we’d stock up on schnapps and gluhwein before heading out around eleven o’clock at night. We would get the train to Odeonsplatz station before walking the couple of blocks to the club. My snow leopard-print coat went some way towards keeping out the subzero temperatures during our perilous walk along the slippery footpaths, a toy koala backpack slung over my shoulder. I was a long way from home but I had never been happier in my young life.
Most Friday and Saturday nights the bar staff gave us free drinks, Midori and lemonade and other lolly-flavoured rocket fuel like flaming Sambuca and cheekily named cocktails. Our teeth glowed white as we tossed our heads back and danced under the fluorescent lights on the dance floor, the acid house music of The KLF throbbing through our bodies as we marvelled at our sophistication and style.
Around four in the morning the club closed and we returned to our tiny three-room flat at the top of an eight-storey apartment block. There was no lift, so it took time to make our way up the seemingly endless flights of stairs. We loudly announced our homecoming with the sound of our boots clomping on the stairs and our drunken laughter bouncing off the plaster walls, counting how many stairs we had left until we reached our attic apartment.
At that time my crush was Gary, a very tall, buff, curly-haired Californian model. Unfortunately he couldn’t dance, but he was happy to watch me and my friends pretend to be the supermodels from George Michael’s ‘Freedom’ video. Gary bought me drinks, made me laugh and was such a sweet, sweet man. We would hang out together during the day in Munich’s central English Garden, sitting at long wooden benches under the Chinese Tower sipping steins of German beer. My favourite was the rich honey-coloured Weiss beer.
Gary and I shared stories about our families, our homes and our hopes for the future. Like many other male models, Gary really wanted to be an actor and was saving his modelling money for acting school and to keep himself solvent between jobs. I still dreamt of being a journalist but I wasn’t in a hurry to return to my mundane life in Australia; I was far too absorbed with reinventing myself and working out who and what I wanted to be.
Even though I wanted to keep travelling, I was forced to come home to Australia after twelve months away if I wanted to finish my degree. The university wasn’t going to keep my place any longer.
And the girl who returned home to finish her studies was very different to the weary-looking 38-year-old who now sat in a children’s playground wondering if all that excitement and wanderlust was long gone from her life. In her place was someone who was struggling to discover who she was now that she was a mother. Was that the sum of me? Did being a mum mean that I put my own needs behind everyone else’s? Would it always be like this? Should I be happy with that? All of my attention and focus was being channelled into my daughter. I had become one of those helicopter parents I had read about, my senses on high alert to hover in and remove any obstacles in Allegra’s way.
Peter and I made an effort to go out on dates again. Although I knew we needed to make special time together, most of our conversation over dinner centred around our daughter’s milestones and his work.
‘Allegra pulled herself up against the coffee table today—it won’t be long before she starts taking steps on her own,’ I said, juices from the san choy bow I was demolishing dripping down my hands.
‘Really? Oh, I’ve been talking to Nick about the trip he wants me to do to Green Island. Apparently there is an incredible turtle migration that happens. The vision of baby turtles hatching and scrambling down the sand into the tropical water should be pretty incredible.’
‘Uh-huh. Allegra also had fun playing with that farmyard set we got for her birthday.’
‘I think we’ll be leaving to do the story next week.’
‘Oh—how long will you be going for?’
My world seemed to shrink as Peter’s was ever-expanding, his work taking him to some of the most beautiful places on earth. And as my world got smaller, my ability to contribute meaningfully to any conversation outside of the world of babies was diminished. The few times we went out at night with other couples I found myself telling people about my husband’s work exploits. What had happened to my adventures, my own anecdotes about life? If our cocktail party companions weren’t parents it didn’t take long for their eyes to glaze over when I explained I had a toddler; already they were looking over my shoulder to find someone more interesting to talk to. When Peter and I drove home from such a gathering I would sit silently in the car, fearful that I was turning into one of those tedious types who go on and on about their children.
In those quiet moments I also worried about my career. I was doing the occasional news-reading shift at Channel Seven when someone went on holidays. It was a part of my Dancing with the Stars deal, which I had hoped would unfold into a more permanent role with the Seven Network. It was a treat to spend time in the world of grown-ups as well as an opportunity to have my hair and make-up done and get out of my food-stained harem pants.
Slipping on new patent leather heels for work gave my confidence a boost. Having a bit of time away from children’s playgrounds also gave me the energy to catch up with my girlfriend Georgia for nights out. Having first met at prenatal classes, the pair of us had been elbow-deep in purees and baby rusks for too long. One Thursday night I put on my black bodysuit with tight black Sass & Bide jeans and we tossed back glasses of pink champagne, laughing and sharing tales of our changed lives. When I got home later that evening I peeled off my shimmery jeans and felt sexy for the first time in ages. Peter lit up at the sight of my tipsy abandon. The pair of us laughed and kissed before we made love against the kitchen bench top.
Gradually a sense of equilibrium returned to me. I felt good marking down work shifts in my diary, having date nights with Peter and organising weekly pizza dinners with Georgia and our babies. Every Thursday afternoon Georgia and I would meet at the same park and compare notes about our week. Stretching out a picnic blanket, the pair of us would open the pizza box, greasy bags of hot chips and containers of deep-fried schnitzel. I could handle this park with Georgia; she was my mothers’ group of one.
Georgia laughed with me when we spotted Allegra and her son, Nico, on top of the wooden pirate ship, the pair of them spinning the ship’s plastic steering wheel wildly next to another little girl. It was no longer just me walking up to negotiate; Georgia was by my side as we managed to convince the kids to share the captain’s duties. She was my partner in crime, and her like-mindedness helped me to shrug off the glare of other mothers. At last I had found a friend who was like me.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
‘When will you be home?’
‘I’m in the Harbour Tunnel. If the traffic is okay, I should be there in about fifteen minutes,’ Peter said, driving home from work on a Friday afternoon.
‘Can you cancel our appointment?’
‘No, we can’t cancel Ross at the last minute. You’re always cancelling things! Where are you? It sounds very echo-ey.’
‘I’m in the toilet. I need to tell you something, and I’m not going to sit through an appointment with our accountant while I wait to talk to you.’
‘Well, you’re talking—talk to me now,’ Peter replied calmly.
‘Please cancel Ross,’ I begged. ‘We can do our tax return another time.’
‘No, I’m not cancelling. Anyway, he just rang and he’s parking outside our house now. What is it?’
‘I don’t want to do this over the phone,’ I insisted.
‘Just tell me!’ Peter shot back, clearly getting frustrated by my
evasiveness.
‘Oh, alright then—I’m pregnant!’ I shouted.
There was silence on the other end of the phone.
‘What? How can that be possible?’ Peter finally gasped.
‘Well, we had sex.’
‘I know that, Sherlock, but I thought we had to go through IVF again.’
‘So did I, but it has happened naturally. It really is a miracle.’
I was still staring at the test stick when I hung up the phone on a now elated Peter. It was the third test I had done, with the third lot of fresh wee, and the results were the same: two blue lines. I was pregnant, pregnant! The test kit had been thrown in the supermarket trolley that morning along with the Weetbix, Lite milk, Caramello koalas and nappies. Allegra was swinging her little legs through the gaps of the trolley child seat and trying to grab a chocolate Kit Kat bar at the check-out as I tried to bury the pregnancy kit under the other items. The pregnancy test was my secret; I didn’t really believe there was a new life growing inside of me. Anyway, I had drunk a little too much champagne the weekend before, and I wouldn’t do that if I was pregnant.
My period was a couple of weeks late, but I told myself that didn’t mean anything as I was used to having dodgy periods. Besides, it had been such a struggle to have Allegra that I didn’t believe my body was capable of naturally conceiving a baby. A late period for me just meant a delay, an inconvenience before I could get started on IVF treatment again. Peter and I were ready to start trying for a second child to complete our family. We both had close relationships with our siblings and knew the joy they brought to our lives, so we wanted Allegra to experience that too if she possibly could. If my period didn’t arrive naturally I could take some medication to bring one on, but Dr Tierney, the fertility specialist, wanted to wait until I got my period before we did the ultrasounds and blood tests to check everything was ready for a new round of treatment.
The appointment with our fast-talking accountant was a blur as he ran through balance sheets and interest rates. All I could hear were the two rainbow lorikeets squawking outside our front windows, their yellow-tipped beaks carefully gathering nectar from the red flowering eucalyptus tree. Their squawks became louder as a brave myna bird dared to get too close to their feast. As the technicolour pair flapped their vibrant green wings at the little bird, I felt the pinprick of potential that was starting to take hold inside my belly. I dared to hope that this tiny spot would flourish and blossom into my flesh and blood, saying a silent prayer to this babe to grow and be healthy. Hold on, my little one. What a life you shall have, how I’ll love you, my sunshine!
When Ross finally left I ran into the bathroom to get the pregnancy test, waving it in front of Peter’s face.
‘Look, look at the two beautiful blue lines. It means I’m pregnant!’
‘Pussycat, let me see—I can’t believe it!’ Peter said as he took me in his arms.
I got on the phone straight away to call Di, the fertility nurse from the IVF clinic, to share our surprising news. She explained that such scenarios had happened to other couples she had helped over the years, and said that while there was no scientific evidence, she believed some women’s bodies just relaxed once they had a baby and they then went on to conceive a child naturally. Di also reassured me that the home kits were fairly accurate, but a blood test with my GP would make sure of the results.
I had to wait until Monday to get an appointment with my GP, so the weekend dragged on as I counted down the hours until I could get a blood test to confirm that I was pregnant. It was another day after that before a phone call finally came with the test results: I was having a baby, huzzah!
It didn’t take long for Mum and my sisters to realise that something was going on. Secrets and me are not a good mix, my loud laugh and blinking eyes always giving me away. And there was nowhere to hide one bright sunny morning on the water’s edge at Nielsen Park, a harbour beach in Sydney’s eastern suburbs. Mum, my sister Harriet and I stood in the shallows after a swim, letting the small waves foam and crash onto our feet. The strong sunshine was drying me out, warming me up and leaving tight salty patches on my chest and arms. I winced, rubbing the stinging salt water from my eyes.
‘Jessica, are you pregnant?’ Mum asked out of the blue.
I said nothing, but a smile was starting to twitch at the sides of my big mouth.
‘I knew it, especially when I saw your stomach today,’ Harriet exclaimed. ‘You can’t hide anything in that leopard-print bikini of yours.’
‘So that’s what the two of you were whispering about when we got here!’ I laughed.
They hugged me while Allegra and her two cousins rolled around like puppies, the sticky yellow sand covering their bodies. There was no pane of glass, just a big blue sky and the tide tugging at my feet as the sound of our laughter echoed off the sandstone cliffs that bookended the beach.
I had been off my medication since Allegra was around eighteen months old but I was still seeing my psychiatrist, Dr Austin, once a month. As the pregnancy progressed I increased my appointments, sitting and talking with my doctor weekly about how I was feeling and how I wanted to future proof myself against having postnatal depression again. In the earlier appointments I had a sense that I would be okay this time, but the closer I got to my due date the more anxious I became about having PND again. It had been a year since the glass had slid away and I didn’t want those scary and obsessive thoughts to sneak back into my brain again.
Dr Austin was reassuring that although I had a slightly higher chance of having PND a second time because I had already experienced it with Allegra, it was important to remind myself that the situation was very different this time. I didn’t have the same stressful work conditions, plus the fact that I was already a mother meant the seismic shift that having a baby brings to one’s life would not be a shock to me. And I knew to ask for help sooner if I needed it. Finally being honest with my family about the PND meant I didn’t have to hide behind a mask again. They had become vigilant in checking that I was coping, something that only increased once my stomach expanded with this fresh, new chance that was growing inside of me. Rationally I knew all of this, but I was still afraid.
There was an option to go back on the medication while I was pregnant. But because I wasn’t depressed there didn’t seem much point in taking my trusty tablets ‘just in case’. I knew how much antidepressants had helped me last time, so I could start taking them way before the dead of night started to play tricks on my mind again.
My expanding belly popped out much sooner the second time around. Once again I loved having boobs and marvelled at how my body transformed over the ensuing months.
‘Mummy has a baby in there, Allegra.’
‘A baby?’
‘Yes, my beauty. A new little brother or sister for you.’
‘Incy wincy spider climbed up the waterspout,’ sang my daughter, oblivious to what having a new brother or sister might mean, and the impact it would have on her life.
Tucking Allegra into her brand new grown-up bed, she looked so small. I thought it would be a good idea to get her settled in her ‘big girl’ bed some time before the new baby arrived, not wanting her to feel like she had been kicked out of her cot. Peter and I made a big deal of her new room, with its brand new pale pink and blue wool rug on the floor, her vast collection of cuddly toys peeking out of four hot pink storage tubes which I had lined up opposite her bed. There was also a fluffy heart shaped pillow on her bed, resting on top of the pretty rainbow coloured sheets. Each night after I finished reading her ‘just one more story’, we would giggle as we lay together on her bed sharing butterfly kisses, my eyelashes fluttering on her soft cheek. When I heard her breathing deepen and slow I would lift my body as quietly as possible off her bed. Looking down at Allegra, my heart ached: she was still so small, a tiny jelly bean hidden under a doona with an explosion of pink fairies all over it. Watching while she slept, I worried how I could love another soul like I loved her. H
ow would Allegra cope with the change to her life? How would my heart cope?
Often we would meet Harriet and her boys at the beach. Allegra and her cousins would tear around the sand while my sister and I enjoyed the sun warming our backs. Licking the drips of banana paddle-pop from my wrist, we’d sit down on our towels and watch the kids scamper at the water’s edge. It was shallow and calm, so I knew I had five minutes to relax before I had to haul Allegra back onto the sand. And then another five minutes.
But there wasn’t much time to take it quietly this pregnancy. During the day I was busy with Allegra and at night I would crash into bed, exhausted. Peter was still travelling for work, but when he was home on the weekends he and Allegra would have special time together. Sometimes I would get to sleep in while the pair of them snuck out of the house for hot chocolates and toasted cheese and ham croissants.
Work also continued to fill my limited time, although somewhat sporadically. My contract had expired with Seven but I was still doing some freelance shifts. Adam Boland, the creator of Sunrise, was very good to me and offered me fill-in news-reading shifts on the show as well as on Weekend Sunrise. I am forever grateful for his friendship and support. He was my professional lifeline and continued to believe in me when no one else would give me a go. I wasn’t sure what would happen to my floundering career once I had my second baby. But I wasn’t worried as I was determined to have a stress free pregnancy and enjoy those early days, weeks and months with my brand new baby without any added pressure or anxiety. And I would not have postnatal depression again. It would be different; it had to be different.
