When I found out I was pregnant, I was over the moon. I pictured myself glowing, taking cute bump photos, doing maternity shoots, and embracing the journey of growing life. I was young, fit, and healthy, and I assumed that meant pregnancy would be a breeze. But I couldn’t have been more wrong.
At just seven weeks, morning sickness hit me like a tidal wave, and it never left. I was horrendously sick the entire pregnancy. On top of that, I have a chronic kidney illness, and pregnancy pushed it to the limit. I had six kidney infections — two of them so severe that I was hospitalized and closely monitored. Because of all this, it was decided that I needed to be induced before 40 weeks. On top of that, my baby was measuring small, so I had to endure scan after scan to track her growth.
Pregnancy was not magical for me. It was stressful, draining, and frightening. There were no weekly bump updates, no dreamy maternity photos — just endless nausea, anxiety, and a constant fear that something would go wrong.
When induction day arrived, I was already in early labour at 2 cm dilated. All they had to do was break my waters. From there, things escalated quickly. My contractions slammed into my back with an intensity I didn’t think was possible. No one could explain why, because the baby wasn’t breech, but the pain was relentless. By 11:30 that night, I was being rushed into theatre for an emergency C-section.
So many things had gone wrong. My cervix wasn’t dilating properly, I was bleeding heavily, and my baby’s heart rate was spiking and crashing with every contraction. She was so low that each squeeze was crushing her. It was terrifying, and I knew I wasn’t going to deliver her safely in that room.
When they pulled her out, she took one big breath… and then went limp. My world stopped. They raced her to the resuscitation table, trying to clear her airways. She had swallowed so much mucus. I lay there frozen, waiting, begging for just one sound. The silence was unbearable. And then finally, I heard her cry. That cry both shattered and healed me.
My husband still cut the cord, but not in the beautiful, tender way we had imagined. When they placed her on my chest, my body gave out. I became violently ill, and she was taken away again while the doctors worked on me. I never got the golden hour I’d dreamed of, and our breastfeeding journey began on rocky ground.
She was so small and couldn’t latch properly. After three days of trying, I switched to bottle-feeding and exclusive pumping. But pumping drained me. It made me feel like a machine, not a mother. And when severe reflux set in, life became unbearable.
At three weeks, we switched to formula — desperate for relief — but little did we know, our daughter had CMPA (cow’s milk protein allergy). It took weeks of her failing to gain weight, constant crying, and endless trial and error before we finally got answers. At 14 weeks, she was placed on an allergy formula, started reflux medication, and at last, she began to thrive.
But those first four months? They were the darkest of my life. While my friends went out for beach walks and brunches with their babies, I was at home, covered in vomit, holding a screaming baby who never seemed comfortable. I cried just as much as she did. I felt alone. I felt unsupported. And I felt like I was failing at everything.
Now, at six months, life looks completely different. She’s off reflux medication, smiling, thriving, and finally able to just be a baby. I’m still healing, but I’ve found my footing in motherhood. If you had told me back in those dark early days that I’d be standing here now, I wouldn’t have believed you.
Amie