Before the Jurassic era was the Devonian era. So let’s start there.

The Devonian era started with chatting and anticipating and planning for the birth. All those words that float around an empty space of anticipation.

Watch the videos, listen to the stories, hear the advice. When you are reading, you calmly take in the words and thoughts. The meditation coach / doula, speaks in calm, gentle tones in the middle of her lush msasa filled garden. The birth video is filled with calm faced people, moving from position to position, while a lovely, smiling lady calmly talks you through it all.

Nothing prepares you for the Devonian War.

Even during the final obstetrician visit, when in a split second the decision is made to induce, happens so calmly you are almost oblivious to it until the next day.

Then there is the night before. It is not fear only, it is not excitement at all, it is not confusion only, it is not lack of sleep only. It is best described as being in a state of war – alert, in a state of flight or flight, fighting to keep calm and focused, to be ready for what ever is coming.

One can prepare for a war. One can pack a picnic basket with biscuits and sandwiches like we are off to the 100 acres woods. One can in fact pack an entire cooler box with water, juice, fruit ice and everything nice. One can make a giant flask of coffee. One can even be so ‘extra’ to bring work to do to distract during the early times. One can charge the batteries of the speaker and the ipod and the phone. One can have yoga videos and hypno therapy ready. One can look like they are arriving for a weekend camping excursion to Nyanga when one arrives at the hospital.

Oh, and don’t forget one can bring a giant pink birth ball.

In a war there is the calm when all is ready and the anticipation is thick in the air. In that calm, I actually was sent to sleep to refresh the sleep deprived body and the doula swopped in. When I left it was calm. The lights were low, the hypno therapy playing, there was yoga and massage on the pink ball and lunch was on its way.

Suddenly awake. Over slept. Check phone “Chipo’s contractions have started, I am going, so maybe you should come now.” The first shots have been fired.

Stay Calm. Caroline had said to focus on something further along than the birth process to help. I have always seen myself with my baby as an older child. I dug up that truth and dusted it off.

Again, going into the centre of the action with a calm and focused mind is a help, a good launching point, a steady start. because, well it is coming.

In my mind, there really was only one story from Ginny’s midwife book that prepared me, kind of. It was a mother who described her child birth story basically as ‘hell. pain. endless. no relief. people telling her to continue. she demanding drugs, it to stop, anything. more, more, onslaught after onslaught. War. Then over. baby in arms.”

Well, once I returned to the ‘cocoon’ that is what I found.

Induction accelerates some processes. One side effect for Chipo was the timing of contractions. No gradual built up – we were suddenly in 5 mins between, 4 mins between, 2 mins 30 second in between! what? then six, then 2, then 2 thirty, then 4, then 2… good grief.

Now for the “what does Daddy do to help?” “Lay in a comfortable positions behind Mum and cuddle her breathing together and sharing this moment.” What the F? How? Not happening. Lunch was vomited out. Rub back, rub feet, rub anything. Kick the pink ball into the corner, it’s in the way. Camel walk. camel walk. get on bed. On all fours. sit on chair. Lie sideways. Tens machine? too high – it’s not the paddles after a heart attack. Ice pack – …k! timer, press the timer to know the timing. and of course stay calm!

Music supplied by The Mexicans Are Coming playlist. Ideal. Thank you.

Then Ginny returns. Right, Ginny, we must be ready to pop. Hmmmm. “lets see, okay you are 4 cms dialated.” 4 CENTIMETRES? iIt has been 5 hours. 8 more to go?

EIGHT MORE HOURS and this is only the beginning, it only gets more intense. How will we go Camel Walking through this?

Well, that is when my little Avocado stepped in I believe. In the wrinkle of a nose, a swish of a wand, we were in the a theatre, surrounded by the most amazing women all guiding him to us. It was beyond beyond. The best there is, and more were in the room. We even had Nono Graham waiting just in case. Everyone syncing to bring love into the world.

My chair was perfectly low enough to not see any details of the C section, but I clearly remember Ginny downing her tools and, together with the midwife, using all four hands to pull and stretch Chipo, like they were wringing sheets, a different war.

Then suddenly he was out.

“Aaaaargh” – it really sounded like – “What the …k?” – My first thought of my son was ‘that is the most Jackson thing to say in this moment.’ Then a cry. another thought- oh yes that is good. Then a blue avatar (sans tail) is placed on Chipo’s chest. There is a finger grab. There are smiles. In honesty, I think I am more bewildered than anything. This has been a war. of Jurassic levels. and here he is.

Latch, cord cutting and suddenly I am in a corner alone with my son in my hands. The arms are laid down. I have a blue hair net on my head, really how can there still be a war going on. My son is in my arms and seems content to snuggle next to me. I wonder several times if they have made a mistake and forgotten that I have him. Dr Azza comes to say, try skin to skin. The war restarts, but this time it is with a blanket, the one I was using to keep him warm. Try to maintain control of this Lesotho styled double sheep fleece, whilst at the same time getting undressed, holding a baby and well, staying calm. Ha. There are no winners. Actually, the blanket won.

My little Avo won.

Almost 10 years ago I began this. Now the dinosaurs are extinct, but my son is here in my arms.

Oh, this is the calm they were talking about.

Exhale.

If Beyonce and Jay-Z did it, why not me?

Watching the Bae and Jay gush on their tropical island, running through sugar cane, rubbing bellies, I thought, let’s also do this.

Ironically, I had been running (driving) through sugar cane myself in Mauritius. Leaving the heat to go to the world of Paddington Bear. Arriving at his station, he was to be the running star of the baby mooning period. Indeed, a trail of marmalade runs along the London walkway from Chipo’s door to the big bins downstairs. If there was any doubt of the origins of the squishy mess, the swirls around Chipo’s door where Papa Bear swung the bin bag over and over trying to get the keys out of pocket, inside jacket, wrong way round, get right key, in correct lock, turn and there – locked. Right off we go, swinging the bag gaily humming away.

I look forward to seeing it when we return.

However, Paddington was not the highlight. The highlight was the bump. The bump was real, loads of legs swirling left and right. Some alarm, well stillness when I touched. Really, he has been alone with mama for all these months, now was Mr Boom (or is it Mr Brush, Boom Boom.) Either way, time to talk about some of the things that have been theories for months. Time to say things out loud. The fear of even whispering, that the whisper could let this disappear again, that all would be lost again, held my tongue and my heart.

Well, there is nothing like a giant bump to open a conversation. Oh, happy day.

And treats – Guncles Damian and Shawn double visit. They will be perfect Guncles and keep him stylish and up on the latest theatre – Guncle Shawn’s catelogue is extensive. Christmas with Winna, Froeks, Immara and Marcus, where Immara created the top name so far – Zabado. Sounds great. A move off Avocado, which then met the Trini friends and become Zabaco (avocado in Trini).

Yes, treats, and rest and reality and a well of love. Baby Mooning is a dreamlike state, almost shocked out of by our four suitcases all way over the weight limit. Luckily Chipo still got it, as the handsome attendant caught her glint and let all the bags on, no charge.

Till arrival in Harare, where the baby cocoon will be built and prepared for the Avocado Zabado to arrive into.

And of course, Paddington Bear, who come to stay as well…

“Hello there. Come in. Sit down. Tell me why you want to do this. Start at the beginning.”

I have never had therapy. Here was a person asking me to touch my deepest emotions and be honest. So I did. Open flood gates. I started with Lexi. Moved through Xander. Threw in adoption and then surrogacy…

“Oh, I am so sorry to interrupt, but we only have a few minutes left and I have to write a report. I need to ask you some important questions. Are you mad? Have you had to go for a psychiatric evaluation? Has anyone ever declared you in need of psychological treatment?”

“ummm (I am going to go with)…No.”

“Great. Thanks see you next week.”

—-Next and final session —-

“Hello again, good to see you. Have you had a good week since we last met?”

Remain an introvert. Count to three before speaking. Do not fill the silence unless prompted. Do not spill your entire madness to expose yourself to this lady who could write a different report…

 “(one, two, three…) Great. Thank you, and you? Nice picture on the wall, I did not see it from this angle last time.”

Oh crap. Shut up.

“Alright, let’s begin.”

One hour in and all sounding good. Chipo doing all the talking. I appear silent, but sane. This is good.

“What would you think if Chipo met someone and their relationship became serious?”

“Oh, that would be just fine. I have known about most of her boyfriends. I would be so happy if she found love. In fact, I would encourage it. I wish for her to have many lovers, hundreds…”

“At the same time..?”

Crap. Shut up.

“Alright, all done. Thank you for coming in to see me. So next, I will send you a copy of the report that I will share with the Doctor and the clinic. Best of luck with your plans.”

It’s over. I did it, only one moment of madness. She doesn’t know, she doesn’t know!

“Thank you for your time. This has been very useful. How can we thank you? We will be those people and send your endless photographs. Ha ha ha. And we may even name the child after you.”

“Sophie? What if it is a boy?”

Oh triple Crap.

“Right then. Good bye.” Exit exit exit.

“Well, at least I don’t get those dreams anymore…”

“Dreams?”

Game over. Donkey Kong, Puk Man, Super Mario Bros all over.

Frozen eggs. Frozen sperm. Thaw. Let’s make a baby.

Perhaps in recognition of so many of my heroes dying this last year, including Muhammed Ali, I am back before the count is over, when we all thought I was knocked out for good.

Good friends are special.

Best friends are a blessing    

One made the last process happen and now one has opened a whole new door. Chipo has re offered her eggs for IVF, more particularly, for ICSI treatment.

So off we go to London.

New stage, same game. New hope.

And how do I feel?

It is an interesting place to be in where you try to feel nothing. The lesson learnt was not to live in the future. Not to give into the overwhelming emotional journey your mind and heart (and lets face it, your loins) can go on. So, I am neutral – zen – in the present, stopping any dreams and keeping a stoic approach to the entire process. (or at least trying to …).

The timing is great. The Year of the Monkey was when the idea came. With all Monkey Year plans, they seems absolutely wonderful, so incredible and possible. Of course, because you are high in the trees. The view is unhindered as far as you can see. However, you have to remember that…well, you are not a monkey. One false swing and down you will fall. Ideas are also as lofty and flimsy as the air you are breathing.

So I went about all the technical practicalities of the process, like visas, costs, bloods, rotten sperm count again, work commitments. And with careful swinging with monkey awareness, all fell into place.

So, as the year turned from Monkey to Rooster, we boarded the plane and set off to try one more time. Indeed, stranger things have happened. Let’s see if this Coq d’Or will crow. (pun intended, on all levels).

One year later. what has happened? It’s the question I have to ask myself. It’s like I have been in a fog for months and months, nights and nights, days that seemed like i was asleep or more like i was standing still – whilst everything else moved past me.

I was cross with the world for continuing. Didn’t it understand that things needed to stand still too?

“Breakdown. I was scared to death, I was losing my mind. Breakdown, I think I found the light at the end of the tunnel. Lonely inside, I gotta get out, light the fuse, lighter now. Freedom.”

One day it struck me, Do Something for Gavin. Do something for me. I felt so lost from myself – I used to perform, I used to live at no 2300, I used to put Xander to sleep, I used to be Devona, I used to, i used to… that person, where did you go?

Smoke and screens. Got them eating out my hand, TC. Well, any good performer, teacher, deceiver knows that when you loose control of the act, the show must go on, and you need a few tricks to distract the audience, whilst you try to remember your line.

What was my line? I thought it was ‘Here baby, let me love you.’ in the play called ‘Daddy’ – the rest of my life play. Foolish – i was so foolish, everyone warned me not to write the script, or even dream of the opening night. “Don’t live in the future.’ I can hear it now. Yet how could anyone not, how could you not go towards that love, the future, that life, that Act One, Act Two, intermission, oh my, the anticipation of the final Act, and the curtain call – oh nothing like anything experienced before. So I fell down the rabbit hole, swirling downwards towards that shocking, sudden “Off with her head!” – Yes, my rabbit hole turned out to be Pooh, stuck halfway and all the honey gone and no way to get any more. All gone.

“What seemed like a good idea, has turned into battlefield.”

As the smoke clears, as the screens are stored backstage and I have to step out into the light of the post afternoon matinee, what lies ahead? How do I find a new future? I put all of me into this one. And now, yes, I feel something has been lost and directionless, I shuffle, I move. I am moving. Step by step towards clarity and hope and excitement and – yes, next, the next Great Adventure and away from this tranquiliser of joy this year has been.

“Peace will come when both of us put down the gun.”

So Do it for Gavin, and let the smoke keep clearing so i can see forward again and be excited again. That Mary can come and find me, because it is not my time to be in the pasture yet. I have more to do, more to say, more more more – i miss the light on my face and my smile reflecting off peoples’ faces.

“I’ve got to get out to the world today, and fly, I’ll fly.”

Thanks TC and all the acts who keep the Front of stage busy – …something is coming, it’s time for me to make a Hat.

lyrics: Sia, Lea Michele

it has been a roller coaster. a summary:

Week 1 – implantation.

Week 2 – pregnancy test. one week early. waiting for results which come by email in the middle of my lesson. Negative. but yes one week early.

Week 3 – pregnancy test. right time – but negative again. received this time after a chat about the difficult day the nurse had and her weekend plans…

Week 4 – Go to Cape Town to record next episode of my Giraffe cartoon and … well of course, the one night I am not in Johannesburg, my surrogate starts to have massive pain. “please come take me to hospital.” hmmm, tricky. She gets admitted, Doc checks. I land back in Joburg, call surrogate. “You better call the Doctor.” “Well Mr Peter, I start by saying that it is most likely not good news, but I scanned your surrogate and there is something there.” Attachment. yes, Moet or Chamdon attached. well done boy! “But Mr Peter (you need a gentle Afrikaans lilt here) I ran five pregnancy tests, and even sent them all to different laboratories, and they are all negative.” so we have to wait … just in case.

Week 5 – Non-attachment begins. My surrogates starts bleeding. Moet and Chamdon slip away.

Week 6 – Sigh.

Week 7 – Trevor, Aparna, Anil, Anjali and Vimla come for Christmas. Attachment. Family love is truly an immeasurable gift. Together with holiday, it has allowed for a chance to start to rebuild and get clarity.

Week 8 – so here we are. we have to make the decision to either go forward again or open myself to other options or other journeys. I want to be as clear and sure as I was when I began this journey, or as clear and confident of my journey I was a few weeks ago. I will heal from this disappointing blow, I will just need some time and give myself the opportunity to listen to myself again.

“The struggle itself towards the heights is enough to fill a man’s heart. One must imagine Sisyphus happy.” Albert Camus

What a birthday present – five ova and the opportunity to make my baby. Nice.

There was some performance anxiety, a tight schedule (I had to go to work afterwards) and the overwhelming fear of not producing my best boys. I mean this is it, this all I do. The ladies do so much more, and are in more, many more, uncomfortable and complicated processes. I am required for all of ten minutes. Well, with all the tension and planning and fear in my head, it was 30 seconds. Leaping into car, with the time limit and beating joburg sun, I handed over my withdrawal like an embarrassed school boy. “hmmm, let’s see… yes these are useless.”

So I am shown to a little room with a couch (surely a living orgasm by now with all its use), a basin, a specimen jar and a couple of mags rolled up. Yup. All was going okay, until my embryologist in the next office got a phone call and had a chat about me…”Yes, he is here. It’s his birthday, he has five lovely presents waiting…”. Focus Gavin, get back on the horse, and ride like it’s My Fair Lady “Come on, Dover, move yer bloody arse!”

The day before had been a rising panic attack. My poor friends, Chemeli, Ryan, Jen, Sarah and Gorm were locked into a trap of forced company. What fears! This is it, the last moment to back out. Was I sure? Was I making a mistake? I mean am I doing the right thing, this poor child, my issues, my poor health, my age…was I too selfish? Was I going to be able to do this alone? Would I manage all the changes? Why not stay single and childless and roam the world with all my expendable income? As Joburg experienced one of its hottest days on record, with moans of “i feel sick.” “I want to go home.” I whisked them all to Monte Casino. When they finally got free. I found a movie to disappear into, who knows what it was about…but I finally got to the end of that day. and well, as you can guess, I was alright in the morning.

Now, today, two fertilized ova have been implanted into the surrogate. It’s Implanation Day. One ovum was already 8 cells, the other 4. They will support each other and in in eight days we will take blood and see if they ‘took’.

Come on, Moet and Chandon, move your bloody arses! ATTACH!

I have received many spectacular presents in my life. One of my mother’s precious silver bracelets, or a trip to Australia among them.

Last week when I was meditating on my upcoming birthday I put in my secret wish – please let that be the day I get an email saying “Dear Mr Peter, we can go ahead and begin.” Well, the stringing beetle did one better, 11 November, turned out to be the day I got to try and make my baby.

i am not sure I will make a big thing of it with my child – “hey, kid, I made you on my birthday, isnt that cool?’…but for me it really was special.

And complicated. First there is the planning. The ‘boys’ have to be kept at body temperature and be used within an hour of ‘withdrawal’. So schedule for the day has to include laying out of clothes, do i shower first, anything else to take to school, special birthday badge put next to keys, next to phones, next to wallet, next to pre made coffee, next to door. Plus the physical preparation, you want to be cleansed at that moment, just pure, shining like an Olympic athlete, having eaten so much omega 3 that you are practically a saumon. not a drop of alcohol coursing through my veins, a stick of broccoli, or a stack of fresh spinach – yes that’s what i will be by monday… I mused…

I mean, the donor has to halt her period, then restart, then take a stimulus to make her produce more ova than normal. Then be ‘aspirated’ – a process I am still too shy to get clarity on…

then the surrogate. well besides carrying a child inside you for 9 and 3/4 months and all that, there are the processes now, three months of pills, creams, drugs and fingers crossed they are gone – injections (one per day for three months).

I just have to shoot into a specimen jar…time taken…five minutes.

So this is now on my mind. the need for perfection drives me to rise like a lark and start exercising…it is really sleep exercise at that time of the morning, took me an hour an a half and much wandering around in the middle.

oh – let us flash back to the Dimanche Terrible – and here is a thank you shout out to my poor unsuspecting friends Sarah, Gorm, Ryan, Jen, Lucas and Chemeli, who were trapped into my ‘I am having second thoughts, I dont want to do this, get me out of here’ day. I mean, i had to be honest. was i sure. this was the last time, my last chance to change my mind. yes it might seem crazy, but, truly, I was in full blown panic on that sunday. When they thought they were going to escape home, I kept them together and herded them around Monte Casino, knowing that if I was alone I would have to think about this panic. So through the blazing heat, and then a thunder storm, they chatted and I let steam out of the volcano inside me, gently, puff by puff. When they finally escaped at sunset. I tried to plan a busy evening. The only solution was a movie for distraction. The result was a calm Gavin who went to sleep that night. Not unsure anymore of his choice or journey, but holding all the emotional reins tightly.

Awake – it is your birthday. the schedule goes well, the planning is executed. I even have time for a little Graham Norton to make me smile. Then it is time. Good luck. Ha – performance anxiety is the best version of what happens next. Five minutes…30 seconds later it is all over. And I leap into go go go. clothes, stuff, car. drive drive. get to clinic. It is all laughter and bells. “oh its your birthday” la dee da. “well, lets have a look at those.” hmmmm. ‘I am afraid these are useless. no good’. All i had collected was the…’opening act’- the curtain raiser, so looks like a show, has all the potential, but not the real deal.

So i go into the wee room now. ‘Lock that door behind you.” There is a couch. A basin. A couple of magazines rolled up. Right Gavin, you can do this. Emotional recall you at 16. You could do it without a second thought in every single imaginable place. Back I go in my mind. Somehow when i was planning, i thought that i would be channeling overwhelming feelings of love and hope or something at this point to mystically go into the sperm. Ah, I am full of love, ah I am blessed, this is amazing, the world just strings…suddenly, i hear a voice. it is my embryologist. Confident, Afrikaans-accented, loud and echoing through the wall from the next door office “Yes, I am glad you called. Yes he is here. Oh, it is his birthday. How exciting. We have a lovely present for him…” and so it continues.

But the 16 year old finds the override button and we succeed.

yes we succeeded. Today I feel a little at a loss after all this planning and preparing. That was it.

Last night I bought myself some champers and some chinese food. I ate in my car, but thought it wise not to drink in there…so i went to watch the staff play their weekly game of football, with the lights of Joburg in the distance and the only spectator, a moment to reflect and enjoy the memory of birth/conception day. I felt happy, content. I am lucky, I have such a tale to tell this kid!

We take a break from our regular programming to bring you a message from Kate and Eli:

“Last night I was helping Eli into his pyjamas and we were talking about how much he wanted to go back to Danma’s (Tadanwa’s) house to play. And then I told him that soon Danma would also have a little baby because Primrose was going to have a baby. The conversation went like this:

I stumbled into the garage looking for a container and found my baby store…cot, car seat, stroller, bath…is this my nursery? Shouldn’t I have a room, any be thinking of collages for the wall, or finding a comfy rocking chair?

My thoughts fly back to Harare and 2300 Jackson Street and actually more and more the realisation that that is all in the past. I have to build again. One day I will return to no 35 but it will not be for a long time and definitely not the night I bring baby home. So, where, oh where, will I bring my baby home to that wonderful day? It can’t be the garage at here. It can’t even be my one room. It can’t be this house. My poor roommates, ha, that is not what they are signing up for in a housemate.

I suppose I am like everything in this journey getting ahead of myself. I only have a few follicles at this point, not a baby in sight.

I will shut the garage door.