Her husband was a Strictly Come Dancing addict. You couldn\u0092t get his attention when the programme was on. But when she said, \u0091Malcolm, I think I\u0092m pregnant,\u0092 he turned the tv off immediately, and danced her around the room. They\u0092d been trying for ten years and now she\u0092d conceived.
When the first scan revealed a girl, Malcolm began drawing up a list of necessary purchases such as a cot and a baby car-seat. \u0091Do we buy pink clothes, or is that sexist stereotyping nowadays?\u0092 he asked solemnly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n
As Si\u00e2n got bigger, she became more aware of the baby moving inside her. Malcolm started a diary, a day by day account of the life within her. She was calmer than him about the wonderful news but very contented.
A few days before delivery, on the Monday, the infant stopped kicking. The small smile of the midwife turned to concern. She had another scan. Her baby had stopped breathing.
On the Friday the baby was delivered, and her labour pain was intense. The next thing she was aware of was being given her daughter to hold. Si\u00e2n had expected to be tearful but an all-embracing love possessed her. Her daughter was perfectly formed and normal size. Her tiny pink hands and feet were adorable, so too were her chubby limbs, her serene face, and her closed eyes. Her mother was exhausted but joyful.
A crying noise close by distracted her. Malcom was weeping. That was when her brain overrode her emotions, and hard fact kicked in. Her daughter would never cry lustily, wouldn\u0092t grow up, marry, present her with grandchildren. She was such a beautiful child, too gorgeous to have died in the womb. It was so hard to accept.
The midwives discreetly disappeared, leaving Si\u00e2n and Malcolm alone with Tracy, the name they\u0092d decided on during one of Malcolm\u0092s list-making moments. Si\u00e2n touched her infant\u0092s cheek, kissed her, before falling asleep with her in her arms.
The morning turned to afternoon and then dusk. It was time to go home. Malcolm turned back to the dead infant several times before he could make himself leave. Si\u00e2n noticed other mothers with their new-borns. Joy, pride, amazement was on their faces. She alone was leaving the hospital without a baby in her arms.
At home the house seemed empty, life seemed pointless, Malcolm brooded in between bursts of tears. Si\u00e2n would wake up in the night sometimes, feeling for her daughter. Milk was flowing from her breasts down her front, and she was still getting phantom kicks in her womb. Slowly though she was coming to terms.
One Sunday evening, sitting on the sofa, she said, \u0091Shall I put Strictly on?\u0092 During a slow dance Malcolm stood up, beckoned, and they waltzed around the sitting room. She imagined Tracy watching them dancing, giggling with pleasure. Her daughter was eternally at rest. It was a fact. But for the rest of her life Si\u00e2n would love Tracy. That was a fact too.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Her husband was a Strictly Come Dancing addict. You couldn\u0092t get his attention when the programme was on. But when she said, \u0091Malcolm, I think I\u0092m pregnant,\u0092 he turned the tv off immediately, and danced her around the room. They\u0092d been trying for ten years and now she\u0092d conceived.When the first scan revealed a girl, […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"rop_custom_images_group":[],"rop_custom_messages_group":[],"rop_publish_now":"initial","rop_publish_now_accounts":{"facebook_10158782359051062_103813597863211":"","twitter_1225722811282530305_1225722811282530305":""},"rop_publish_now_history":[],"rop_publish_now_status":"pending","jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":"","jetpack_publicize_message":"","jetpack_publicize_feature_enabled":true,"jetpack_social_post_already_shared":false,"jetpack_social_options":{"image_generator_settings":{"template":"highway","default_image_id":0,"font":"","enabled":false},"version":2}},"categories":[2,3],"tags":[7,14,11],"class_list":["post-50","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-2","category-november","tag-her","tag-she","tag-was"],"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/pbrNJE-O","jetpack_likes_enabled":true,"jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"post_mailing_queue_ids":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.swanseawriterscircle.co.uk\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/50","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.swanseawriterscircle.co.uk\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.swanseawriterscircle.co.uk\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.swanseawriterscircle.co.uk\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.swanseawriterscircle.co.uk\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=50"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/www.swanseawriterscircle.co.uk\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/50\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":108,"href":"https:\/\/www.swanseawriterscircle.co.uk\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/50\/revisions\/108"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.swanseawriterscircle.co.uk\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=50"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.swanseawriterscircle.co.uk\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=50"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.swanseawriterscircle.co.uk\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=50"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}