A Garden, A Dog, A Baby on the Way
Delia on house-hunting mid-pregnancy, pandemic loneliness, and why she loves her belly.
Field notes
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5-8 mins
Delia’s story isn’t about fear or loss — it’s about joy. About finding strength in change, laughing at the chaos, and holding onto the simple beauty of becoming a parent.
We met in her garden, where orange lilies leaned over a low fence and Luna, her husky, ran circuits around the grass. The river glittered just beyond the hedge. Delia wore a black dress and a jacket embroidered with flowers from her native Romania, her red hair catching in the flat London light.
She was five weeks from her due date. Nails painted turquoise, one hand on her belly, she laughed as Luna barked at nothing in particular. “I really wanted a belly,” she said. “I was five months and still not sure. I wanted it to show.”
This entry is part of my Motherhood series, where I sit with mothers at different stages of the journey and listen — to how their lives shift, what they hold onto, and what they let go of.
From Whitechapel to the River
Delia tells the story of moving like a comedy of errors. “We never planned to leave. Our landlord sold the flat. Suddenly I was six months pregnant, visibly showing, with a dog, self-employed, an actress — and every agent saying no, no, no, no.”
She strokes Luna’s fur as the dog presses against her chair. “It was stressful. But we ended up here — a garden, a river. Coffee outside in the morning. This is where I want to raise her.”
The pandemic was worse. Friends left London for France, Spain, Brazil. Four cancelled flights back to Romania. “It was the loneliest I’ve ever felt. But for us as a couple? It made us stronger. We went through it together.” She glances at Luna. “And we finally got her. After two and a half years of trying to adopt, she came.”
Loving the Belly
Pregnancy itself has been kinder than she expected. “I don’t know what morning sickness feels like. At all.” She tilts her head as if still puzzled by her luck. But she believes the good stories matter as much as the difficult ones. “I love the belly. I love how my body is changing. I’m not in a rush to ‘get back’ anywhere.”
She takes a sip of coffee, eyes drawn toward the river beyond the garden. “I ask myself, is it worth my energy? And a lot of things aren’t. I’d rather be here painting, writing, with my dog.”
Her mother is never far from her thoughts. An emergency doctor in Romania, “she practically sacrificed her life to save others.” Delia’s admiration is clear, but so is her resistance. “She wasn’t with us as much as she wanted. Me and my brother were raised by grandparents. I want to be there.” She pauses, pulling her jacket tighter against the breeze, before adding: “I love her for it. But I’ll do it differently.”
Priorities, Penguins, and a Plan
Preparation, she says, is half comedy. “I had sixty-three things on an Amazon list. Terrifying. Like, okay, that’s three grand. Then friends gave us everything — clothes, cot, car seat. Now I have more baby clothes than I know what to do with.”
The pregnancy itself still surprises her. “Some mornings I wake up with hips hurting, turning side to side like a little elephant. I waddle like a penguin across the room. But I just laugh. I love it.”
Her plan is for a natural water birth, but she avoids rigidity. “We can’t control it. Whatever happens, happens. I just think of it as one of the best days of my life.”
When I ask what she’d tell her daughter, she laughs, then tears up. Luna paws at her knee. “I already love you. I hope you have an amazing life. Mommy can’t wait to hold you.”
She wipes her eyes and shakes her head. “I’ve never cried so much in my life. Pregnancy made me cry over dog videos. Who am I?”
Listening to Delia talk about her pregnancy — with such joy, humour, and calm acceptance — is a reminder that motherhood isn’t only about sacrifice or struggle. Sometimes it’s about presence, about finding a new rhythm, about learning to see yourself differently. A dance I saw my own perform many times. That’s what this project is about: piecing together the different shades of resilience, and letting mothers show us what that looks like.
Everyone’s story is different. If you’d like to share yours, my inbox is open.
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