Welcoming her miracle baby

THE PARENT: Tanea Blake, 31, of North Philadelphia

THE CHILD: Robyn Nykem, born July 21, 2022

HIS NAME: The baby’s father’s middle name is “Robin,” his paternal grandmother also has that name. But Tanea kept the choice secret during her pregnancy; shower gifts were marked for “Baby R.”

Tanea figured she’d be fine as the permanent auntie. She and her younger sister had been living together, on their own, since they were 20 and 19, the year Tanea’s sister learned she was pregnant.

“My sister, she had the kids. I was like: Nah, I don’t want any kids. I thought: I’m good at taking care of other people’s kids, but I had doubts about being a mom.”

Meantime, Tanea happened into a job she loved, which grew from a high school internship at the University of Pennsylvania’s Van Pelt Library; eventually, it became a full-time position in events planning. Later, she transitioned to a job at Main Line Health, in scheduling.

Tanea’s family remains close, despite the 23-year age gap between her older brother and her younger one, who is just 17. Her aunt and grandmother also live in Philadelphia. “We do a lot of family gatherings and activities and get-togethers,” she says.

And when her sister became pregnant for the third time, about three years ago, Tanea suddenly had the impulse to do the same. “I thought, maybe me and her can go through the pregnancy journey together and our kids can be close in age.”

She didn’t know much about ovulation or how to track her cycles, let alone how to conceive as a single woman. So she schooled herself through YouTube videos and online research; she found a sperm bank and had the sperm shipped directly to her in tanks of liquid nitrogen.

“I did it at home, in my room, during my lunch break. The whole two-week wait was scary and crazy for me.” And then, she was pregnant … for almost 10 weeks, until an ultrasound that showed there was no heartbeat. “I didn’t take that one well at all. I had my best friends, my sister, and my mom to support me, and I became obsessed with the idea of trying to have a child.”

A few months later, Tanea met a man, a friend of her sister’s, who agreed to help her conceive. But that pregnancy also ended in a miscarriage. Then it happened a third time.

“At that point, I didn’t want to try again. I thought maybe I wasn’t meant to be a mom.”

But last November — she was involved with a man, but not tracking ovulation or attempting to conceive — she complained to a friend of feeling “weird.” The first test showed a faint line; two days later, the mark was unequivocal.

“It’s the first time I wasn’t really trying,” Tanea says. “I was nervous because it had happened three times and each time, I lost the baby. I didn’t have any faith that this pregnancy was going to go full-term.”

At a six-week ultrasound, she wept even before the fetal image appeared on the screen. Three weeks later, she got another glimpse. She heard the baby’s heartbeat and felt reassured by a perfect anatomy scan. “They said, ‘You’re in your safe zone.’ But I was still really scared.”

Those months included additional stresses: Tanea’s mother was injured in a car accident, and Tanea became her primary caretaker, shuttling her to doctors’ appointments and managing her wheelchair.

She said she didn’t want a baby shower. But her family surprised her with a June celebration, the weekend before her 31st birthday, at a Brazilian steak house. Both she and the baby’s father wore orange; the frosting on the cake was tinted to match.

Her due date was July 22, a Friday. On Wednesday evening, Tanea watched movies at her sister’s house. During the night, when she made several visits to the bathroom, her sister said, “You’re about to have that baby.”

“No, I’m not,” Tanea responded.

Eventually the whole family was awake — her mom, her younger brother, all asking what was wrong and insisting that birth must be imminent. Tanea refused to believe it until she stood up from the couch and felt a trickle, then a gush.

At the Hospital of the University of Pennsylvania, she labored with Pitocin, then an epidural. By 11 p.m., it was time to push. “I started shaking. I was so nervous: What am I about to feel? What is about to happen? My sister was holding my hands, holding my legs.”

Robyn was born at 11:30 p.m., half an hour shy of his due date.

“Once the epidural wore off and I could walk again, I felt perfectly fine. I was a little bit tired but didn’t need any medication,” Tanea says.

She and Robyn’s father are no longer in a romantic relationship, but he came to the hospital, held his son, and took pictures. At home, it’s just Tanea and the baby.

“Half of my room belongs to Robyn: His wall with his name on there, his bassinet, his own dresser with all of his clothes, another little organizer with his diapers and wet wipes and towel.”

He’s a cheerful baby who cries only when he’s hungry. “All day, he laughs and smiles. He likes for you to look at him and talk to him,” Tanea says.

And when she thinks about her circuitous journey toward parenthood — first ambivalence, then obsession, marred by three losses — she cherishes this child even more. “I’m still in disbelief that I have a baby,” she says. “It feels totally different from being an aunt. I carried him for months; I pushed him out. He’s here to stay with me forever.

“He’s my miracle baby. My rainbow baby. He came at a time in my life when I really needed him. I’ll never forget the experiences I had with the miscarriages, but I felt God knew that, at this particular time and moment, I was in a better mental state. I was happier. Robyn saved me. He is the person who makes me want to get up every morning and live.”