Chapter Text

CHAPTER ONE.

Clara, 

“I uh- I feel like I shouldn’t be letting you do this.” 

I groan at the sound of my doting husband’s awkward concern but the sound is muffled by the ground my face is smushed against. The fresh smell of recent rain and grass and then the earthy, cool moisture of the condensation still plump on each blade was the only thing keeping me tethered to reality. I sucked in a deep breath of soil stained air and waited for a break in the nausea big enough to form a response. 

There wasn’t one, or at least whenever the nausea eased I thought it too risky to respond. Lying face down in your backyard with your face pillowed by soft, fertile dirt was one thing- lying face down in your backyard with your face pillowed by soft, fertile dirt and your own vomit was another. 

And so instead of saying anything, I continued to lay there, motionless and doing my best to absorb the soothing cool of the ground below me. My eyes fell closed, what a predicament to be in… Most days I was accompanied by a dull queasiness that followed me like a nagging dog. Other days, like today, I was so nauseous I could only confide in the earth herself. I laid flat in our backyard, asking her to reabsorb me, to feel what she and I and Andrew had so delicately created, pressed against her giving, grassy flesh. 

The first trimester, for lack of a better phrase, was kicking the shit out of me, and yet I was fuelled by too much biological fulfilment to even care. What was some nausea in the face of creation? Andrew and I had been happy before this pregnancy and not some bullshit almost happiness but a real joy. It was the kind I never saw myself actually reaching, now though- we were happy in a completely new way. 

“Butterfly… it’s raining.” 

My eyes strained to open at the smooth sound of Andrew’s voice. It had grown deeper and slightly raspier with the years that had passed since we met. I liked to think that now it was the perfect cadence for fatherhood- comforting, smooth but with the ability to be stern. Upon opening my eyes, I couldn’t help but smile. Andrew, my Andy, who had seconds ago been standing above me like a redwood was now lying flat on his stomach beside me. The side of his face was pressed into the grass as I looked at him, he was smiling sweetly and in the reflection of his eyes I could see every breath of his adoration. 

He was right of course, it was raining and small droplets of water were staining the bare patches of skin I dared show, the nape of my neck, the backs of my hands, my ankles… The earth that cradled me so stably would soon turn mushy and soft and I would be filthier than I already was.  

“Then why are you lying on the ground?” I whispered, as though a voice would awaken the nausea again but a whisper I could get away with. His closed lip smile cracked to show a spill of his milky teeth as he chuckled, those tiger eyes rolling. 

“Because my wife is- but I would loyally follow her inside to our warm, dry home if that’s what she wanted.” The whisper rolled off his tongue as he smiled at me, his cheek smushed into the earth. I sighed loudly and nodded, carefully manoeuvring myself onto all fours before I looked up to see my disheveled husband already towering over me. His hair was messy, pieces floated around his head in the breeze the same way bees hover around ripe blooms. He was smiling, his face slightly stained with dirt and pressure marks from the grass- I was certain I was in worse shape. I wanted to pull myself up, but when his large, marble-like hand offered itself to me, I obliged and let him pull me toward the sky. 

“Sorry. You didn’t have to come out here. Don’t you have work to be doing?” I asked as he began brushing dirt from my clothes with swift but careful movements. I hadn’t even noticed the dirt and chunks of grass I’d been covered in but he did and he was ridding me of them very sweetly. His brows twitched at my question and he shrugged, tilting his head from one side to the other before meeting my eyes with his. 

“Well call me romantic but when my pregnant wife legs it outside to starfish face down in the grass, I take an interest- and as for work well you know me… I’ll take any excuse to procrastinate.” He responded with a soft cheekiness that made my eyes roll. He was right, he did love to procrastinate, as did I- we were terrible for each other that way. I scoffed a little and just let myself wrap an arm around his waist and squeeze as he walked us inside. 

“Seriously though, are you okay? Can I get you anything?” He asked in that soft Irish hush. I sighed, shaking my head and kicking my shoes off by the door. I smiled at the sound of Freddie’s nails clicking against our wooden floors as he approached us. 

“No, I’ll be alright. The earth has done her thing. I uh- I just need a bit of a rest.” I murmured, feeling fatigue start to fall on me like a blanket of snow, thick and unavoidable. He sighed and kissed the side of my head, his hands wrapping around my middle. It wasn’t lost on me the way the palm of his hand cradled my stomach, there was a small pouch there that hadn’t been there before but it was likely just bloat and the fact I was largely uninterested in maintaining any kind of diet while my body was growing someone else’s. 

“Yeah of course. I’ll wake you up for dinner?” He queried. It was probably around 2pm now and he’d probably have dinner ready at 7:30, which left room for quite a substantial nap. I nodded and allowed him to let me go only to take his hand in mine and lead him toward our bedroom. My eyes caught the afternoon light filtering into the spare bedroom beside ours, for the moment it was empty but soon it would be a nursery…

“You know if you lull me into an afternoon nap now that I won’t be able to sleep later, right?” He asked, his words floating forward as he trailed behind me. I hummed in acknowledgement but still pulled him into our room. The rain had grown heavier and drizzled down our glass doors miserably. I was quite fond of the rain, the way it washed everything away (including the mud from my car) and also the way it made the outside seem so cold and damp that it made the inside feel all the cozier. 

I sat on our bed, looking up at him with a tired smile. 

“You don’t have to partake in the afternoon nap, I just want to talk about some stuff. I think I’ve come to a decision about the amnio…” I told him. The amniocentesis, a test that involved taking a sample of my amniotic fluid for the sake of screening for abnormalities, had been posed to Andrew and I at my first obstetric appointment. It was optional but suggested by my OB in order to rule out chromosomal abnormalities that were more common in elderly primagravidas (a term I was still not fond of at a mere 36.) His brows softened and he gave me a small nod, moving fluidly to sit beside me. 

It didn’t take long for us to be tangled into some strange cuddling position, him lying on his side, me on my back, my thighs slung over his hip. He looked at me with those big, glistening eyes as though there was nothing else on this planet he’d rather look at. 

“I know the needle is comically large and there is a small risk of,” The word suddenly got caught in my throat. Andrew’s face papered into one of concern, his hand squeezing reassuringly at my thigh before I continued. 

“Miscarriage, but I want to do it. I don’t think I can go through this without the peace of mind.” I explained quietly, unsure how he would feel about this. My obstetrician had laid out the pros and cons, we’d promised to discuss it before our 12 week appointment where (If we were agreeable) we’d book the test for the following fortnight. 

“I agree- I just… I then have to ask: What would be your reaction if any of the results came back positive?” He asked, letting one his large, soft hands run over the smooth rise of my leg. A sigh escaped from my nose and I shrugged. The hope always is that you have a healthy baby, it was as though my brain refused to even entertain the possibility of anything else. 

“I would… I would be relieved, I think, that if the baby had something like Downs Syndrome, we would be able to learn and prepare to love and care for a kid with some extra needs- and if…” The next part was the bit I didn’t want to say out loud. 

“If it was something worse, something incompatible with… ehm life, I guess… Then I would prefer a termination sooner than later, you know?” I croaked, the mere thought had brought tears rushing to the surface of my eyes- though these days most thoughts had tears rushing to be felt. Andrew pursed his lips sympathetically, his fingers tracing soothing, circular patterns onto the skin of my thigh. 

“I agree, it’s just scary to t’ink about. I don’t want to put you at any heightened risk but this feels like something we should do, if the baby has extra care needs, I want to be prepared enough to make sure we have everything they need and I’d also just like to know that they’re okay in there.” He mumbled, gazing at my midsection. There was really nothing to see, but I understood the appeal, no matter how small- our baby was in there and if we were lucky, in 29 weeks, they would be here, with us, happy and healthy. 

I scooched forward so I could rest my forehead on his and smell the soft musk of his skin and the residual scent of soil that followed us both. 

“Okay, so we agree, grand. That’s good. Uh next port of call, telling people…” I sighed, thinking about how much I wanted this to stay our soft little secret forever and how much I wanted to share it with anyone who’d listen. Andy’s eyes were suddenly like a deer’s, sparkly and so fucking hard to ever say no to. 

“I’m comfortable with telling people as soon as you are.” He told me, making me snort out a little laugh that only served to break a grin across his cheeks, half hidden by his nest of chestnut curls made a crown by his pillow. 

“I know, I’m happy to start telling people as soon as we’re in the second trimester, so 3 days- fuck. I’ve only known I’m pregnant for like a week and a half and we’re already so close to the second trimester.” I mumbled in disbelief, there was a certain dread that came with the idea that this pregnancy would likely fly by and 29 weeks wasn’t actually all that much time to prepare to raise and care for an entirely new person. Andrew nodded, squeezing my thigh again, although this time it felt more like an attempt to channel his excitement than comfort me. 

“Hey, that just means you’re hopefully a little closer to less morning sickness.” He responded, smiling with such utter sweetness and excitement that I couldn’t help but also smile back. I nodded, reflecting momentarily on the weeks of nausea that had come with this pregnancy. I wasn’t sure if I had it in me to do again, I wasn’t sure if I wanted to do it again…

“Do- Do you want another one?” I asked him, the question somewhat disjointed from the conversation. He tilted his head and inhaled slightly, pondering the question. I took the time to admire the way the afternoon light danced across his lashes and the soft plains of his pale cheekbones. 

“I don’t know… We didn’t plan this one. I think I would like to see how things go but we never have to do anything you don’t want to.” He replied after a few considered moments of silence. I chuckled a little, remembering the early days of our relationship where most of our serious conversations ended in screaming fights and subsequent steamy make up sex. The former I hated, the latter didn’t sound too bad. 

“That’s a good answer.” I chuckled, reaching my hand forward to cup his cheek. He smiled into the touch, his eyes darting to mine as he bit his lip.

“You know I would do anything for you Mrs Clara Marie Donovan Byrne.” He breathed with words that sounded the way just the right amount of champagne felt. I smiled drunkenly despite the fact I hadn’t had a drop of alcohol since before I knew I was pregnant and nodded. 

“Ditto Mr Andrew John Hozier Donovan Byrne.” 

– 

At 4:17 AM the next morning, I was trapped somewhere between the land of the living and the land of the sleeping. I was exhausted enough to feel pinned to the mattress, as though even turning over would prove impossible, but I was awake enough to be plagued by racing thoughts and general discomfort. Pregnancy was a sick joke in a plethora of ways. That night I was particularly upset by its ability to serve up both immense, sluggish, inescapable fatigue and restless insomnia. 

I was lying on my back, trying to be still. I’d tossed and turned since I’d woken up around 2:45 but I didn’t want to wake Andrew who was lying beside me and sighing softly with each of his sleepy breaths.  He was so good to me,  he had been so good to me throughout this pregnancy (though we’d known of it for just a week.) that I had no doubts about his capability to be a father. 

Andrew would be someone’s Dad. 

I’d be someone’s Mother…

The concept was giddying. We hadn’t told a soul yet, instead just choosing to keep this our sweet little secret until the security of the second trimester.  Realistically, I hadn’t thought all that much about parenthood. It was something Andrew and I had discussed before we got married but we were both so nonchalant toward the concept that I didn’t think it would end up happening for us. But it had. 

I was pregnant and I could feel it, even though our baby was only the size of a pingpong ball (a fun tidbit Andy had shared with me over dinner that evening) I knew they were in there. The nausea, heartburn, exhaustion, insomnia, mood swings, and constant headaches were a bit of a giveaway now but more importantly, despite all of these inconvenient and often painful symptoms: I was excited and the thought of raising a tiny person in the image of him and I never seemed to go away. 

 Still, that evening I was frustrated by the sleeplessness that blanched me raw. I was bored, restless, staring at the ceiling and breathing deeply in hopes of being lulled back to sleep. It took me approximately 10 minutes to give up on that plan, slide carefully out of bed and tip toe into the hallway. 

The house was dark and warm, a pink glow emanated from the end of the hall, its light peaking through the crack beneath the door to the studio. Andrew had been writing an awful lot now that he found himself in a break, he’d been in his studio for hours this week but I’d also been writing with the same ease of trickling water. This baby was a new beginning that would forever change our lives as such, we both had a lot to say on the matter. I’d always found metaphors of rebirth and purity and the cyclical nature of loss and love to be cliche- now I felt like a part of them. 

I padded quietly to the door before slowly pushing it open. His lamp (which was actually an old pink stained glass lamp I’d bought in college- that in the fluidity of marriage had seeped into his space) was still on, allowing a warm sunrise to bloom even in the middle of the night. I had planned on only going in to turn off the light but as I swivelled towards the lamp, I noticed a book lying open but face down on his desk. Its glossy cover shone in the dim light, A Guide to Keeping your Partner Happy During Pregnancy. 

I knew I should have just finished what I came in for, turned off the light and gone back to bed but instead the book pulled me towards it. I was practically forced to sit down in his leather office chair and have a read myself. I started on the page the book was open to, laid flat like a butterfly across the desk. In the dim lamplight my eyes had to work to get an idea of the other mess that was strewn across the top of the lacquered oak. He had starchy pages of random scrawlings piled on the desk, songs I assumed, and while I itched to read them, we’d long ago decided that we needed our creative privacy. That being said, I didn’t think a book about a pregnancy fell under that jurisdiction and so, I began to read the page that upon opening, was revealed to be littered with his commentary:

— — —

Despite the common name “Morning Sickness” you have likely already noticed this nausea isn’t restricted to the morning and can affect your partner at any hour. In times like these, it’s normal to feel a little helpless. What control over the hormonal cluster-fuck of the first trimester do you have? None, of course. 

But here’s what you do have control over: 

• Encouraging your partner to be as hydrated as possible, water, tea, broth, whatever it is, staying hydrated will keep your partner less nauseated.     Buy new water bottle for butterfly. Frank Green- the Olive one- pick up some different teas too (ginger?) 

• Cook her dinner. I sure hope your partner isn’t waiting on you hand and foot while also growing a baby but when the smell of a prepared meal can make her vomit, best believe the smell of an actively cooking one will too. Take over the meal prep for a while and let her veto whatever she likes.  Need to get groceries, yesterday the eggs set her off- need to find alternative breakfast, maybe smoothies? 

• Educate. Yourself. ASAP. In all fairness, I’m sure that’s what you were trying to do when purchasing this book. Good Job (no medals though I’m afraid.) Understanding what your partner’s body is doing each week to grow each different part of your baby will A) give you even more respect for her and B) get you an abundance of brownie points. Buy the books on amazon wishlist.

• Hunger fuels morning sickness, try waking her up with some plain toast or crackers to manage the sickness before it starts. Set an alarm for 7 so you wake up before her, could put crackers in bedside table?” 

When hot tears began to expand across my eyes, I set the book back onto his desk in just the position I’d found it in. I knew logically that my hormones were making me more emotional, not unreasonably so but enough to make me cry over his wobbly handwriting and sweet memos. For so long my problem had been this inherent belief that happiness, true and soft and reliable happiness, was not something I was destined for. And yet it was here anyway in the shape of a 6’7 gangly musician and our baby, who I had always envisioned having his eyes. I had not once asked him to help, I hadn’t once mentioned needing anything from him- purely because most of what I could need, he had preemptively given. 

The reading, even though it was barely a page, had given me something to focus on and had in turn made me sleepy enough to return to bed. On my way, carefully padding into the kitchen to pet Freddie, my eyes glazed over the fridge, I was considering heating up some left overs to tackle some of the ungodly hunger that followed me around but I was instead distracted by our magnets. I’d arranged a poem with them a few days ago, but I was now noticing a different one had replaced it. 

my          girl 

is        confusing 

she            lives      life 

like 

it                 has 

         no                 rules 

but        who           can         judge 

how             a        life    

    is            lived

when         it                  

      is                 ripe 

with        joy 

and 

vomit  ? 

when           offered   

   medicinal       relief 

she          basks       in 

the                 natural         remedy 

        the               earth      and       her                 grass ! 

the          soil             is             our       forever       home 

And it will come back.