"We must always remember, we are the lucky ones."

A mum shares why she’s thankful for being a parent.

Recently, Ada Nicodemou devastatingly gave birth to a still born baby. In this modern age filled with so many technological advancements it is difficult to fathom the fragility of life and how our happiness rests upon it. I imagine her returning home, empty handed to the waiting nursery and a deep uncontrollable sadness heaving from her chest.

It’s hard to anticipate the way parenthood makes us so vulnerable. It’s easy to see how a baby could need us, how it relies on it’s mum and dad solely for comfort, nourishment and care, but no-one tells you before becoming a parent that it’s us who relies on our child – to stay safe and healthy – as though our own life depends on it.

When I fell pregnant my jubilation was shattered by a doctor who clinically informed me one in four pregnancies end in early miscarriage. Even before the birth I felt the risk of loving a child so wholly with the possibility of loss.

After the 12 week mark I was introduced to another realm of potential heartache – genetic, physical or mental abnormalities. The appropriate screening and blood tests were done while I waited… and waited for the results. By the time our baby was finally due I felt like I’d reached an invisible finish line, before the race had even begun. I learnt the seemingly natural process of having a baby was indeed precarious.

My foray into parenthood felt like an immersion into the world of vulnerability. At the moment of my daughter’s birth she emerged into the world with the umbilical chord wrapped tightly around her neck. My obstetrician, a calm and softly spoken man looked at me desperately, his face turning pale and implored, “Vanessa, we need to get this baby out!”. It was 4am and I was comatose with exhaustion as they extracted my precious baby with surgical forceps, stamping her tiny face with bruises.

At four years of age my daughter is healthy, spirited and robust. We have somehow navigated our way through the baby and toddler years avoiding any serious mishaps. I admit I held my breath for her entire first year. There was SIDS to consider and I spent many wakeful nights trekking to her bassinet, checking her for reassurance.

Now, as a pre-schooler I coach her about road rules and all the other lessons she needs to stay safe. Recently during a trip to Centennial Park our leisurely afternoon was disturbed by the relentless drone of helicopters hovering overhead. Next to us there was a family with two young boys who had decided to cycle around the bike track. Their youngest, a six year old turned a corner and vanished out of sight. Their afternoon took a sinister turn when he didn't reappear, the victim of two kidnappers working in unison to capture their prey. Thankfully, by sunset the boy was discovered unharmed, the men releasing him for fear of capture. That one innocuous afternoon left chills in my heart... it could have been my child gone.

I am a woman who has traveled the world; I am secure, confident and strong but the responsibility of protecting my children can almost bring me undone. As parents we know the unnerving feeling of watching the news and seeing tragedy unfurling in all parts of the world, thanking God that at least for today, we are okay.

Parenthood is the epitome of sacrifice where we devote eons of time to a tiny being who will test us in every possible way. I recall a night during dinner where I looked at my disheveled husband and asked "Did you know it's been two years since we've slept?".

As the baby years merge into toddler-hood we find ourselves stretched in ways we can't articulate. My daughter who I cradle with the utmost care is the same child who whittled my best Chanel lipstick to a pulp while decorating the bathroom vanity. She's the girl who talks so incessantly in the car my head hurts. Last week she regaled me with a long list of why she loves her daddy: "He is so wonderful and teaches me so many things... he teaches me to swim, and to be strong, and how to draw, and all about cooking, and dancing, and singing, and...". Apparently the primary reason she loves me is because "You teach me not to pick up glass".

My daughter now has a comrade, her two-year-old brother who similarly likes to give my sanity a run for it's money. Together they conspire to have the greatest fun while systematically plotting my mental demise. For an entire afternoon last week they decided to be meowing cats, the kind of cats who sound like they're being murdered in the night. They refused to speak in words and gave only loud meows for answers, crawling on the ground and brushing against my leg, sending me off balance when I tried to walk.

Lately the toilet brush gets a good work out (painting the bathroom), as does any drawing paraphernalia left around the house. The fact we've just had all our walls repainted is testament to the zeal of the dedicated artists. The "I" on my keyboard no longer works due to some heavy handed typing that wasn't mine.

My husband and I get on average five hours of sleep per night, punctuated with requests for water, cuddles, milk and trips to the loo. I now leave the house on any given day with the remnants of someone's breakfast adorning my dress and I regularly eye my husband's red wine despite the fact I don't really drink. I read Jennifer Anniston begins each day with 30 minutes of meditation. By contrast my day begins asking the big questions: "Who drew on the walls?" "Why are you growling?", "Why is everyone naked?"

Before I had a child I pledged I'd do motherhood in style. I'd be a Yummy Mummy, not a Slummy Mummy. I'd be Jessica Alba, not Britney. I envisioned me, cute kids and my sexy husband gazing on adoringly. The reality is I'm wearing yesterdays outfit, running 10 minutes late for pre-school and so acutely depleted by the end of each day my hubby takes over the minute he walks through the door.

I've had nights devoid of sleep and vomit filled bras. I've been to shops and crammed my complaining kids into the dressing room while I squeeze on outfits, no longer concerned by the effect of fluro lights or the size of my bottom in the three way mirror, but consumed by the thought of "Will it be like this forever?"

My grandma reminds me, "These are the best days," and she's right. She's lived enough to know these are the moments we remember when we're old and feeling alone. These are the days where we're flattened by fatigue and the anxiety of caring for our children can almost cripple us, the days where we topple into bed at night grappling for our partner's hand like we are war torn soldiers finding each other after days in the desert.

These are the days where we have our children with us to create all this mayhem. They're the days that are so grueling because we're blessed to be parents. We have homes filled with laughter and crying and sometimes meowing. We're the ones, who unlike the grieving actress, took our babies home and watched them grow.

We must always remember, we are the lucky ones.

As a parent, what are you grateful for?

If you need to talk to someone about your experience of still-birth or neo-natal death, can we suggest you contact SANDS AUSTRALIA (Sudden And Neo-Natal Death Support) in your state. There is a full list of contact numbers on their website here.

Want more? Try:

The 9 advantages of being an older mother.

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