Showing posts from March, 2014

One day at a time

This is going to be quite a short one, as I've got to go out in ten minutes to pick up Fairy from after school club. I've been bottling up a bit lately though, and it's better if it just comes out...

To be perfectly honest, I still feel a bit sad. In particular, there is a friend of mine - not someone that I know well but someone I have worked with and like very much - who is pregnant, and who told me about it around the time I found out I was pregnant with Fergus. She was always a month or two ahead, but when someone is pregnant at the same time as you it's kind of special. You're both going through the same thing, and it creates a bit of a bond between you.

She's still going through it, of course. She's posting bump pictures on Facebook, looking gorgeous as always, and making plans about pushchairs, cots, and muslin squares. And I'm not. And that makes me quite a lot more sad than I have really admitted yet.

It's not devastating, stay-in-bed-all-d…

I'm feeling a bit better today, thanks for asking.

It's been so long since I did any sort of creative writing that I had completely forgotten the relief it brings when all my jumbled up feelings finally settle in to verses. I feel as though a weight has been lifted from my chest that I didn't even know was there. It's a strange metaphor, that one - used a lot but I don't know that I've ever experienced it as physically as I am today. It's a bit like flu - you think you've had it loads of times, and then you actually get it and realise that all those times you called it flu were merely bad colds.


Tomorrow I'll stand.
I'll be what is needed, do what must be done
I'll go where I'm going with conviction and courage
But let me have tonight
Just tonight
To remember that three children grew inside me
Yet I held only one.

Tomorrow I will sing, smile, and laugh
I'll love the child I have, open my heart to welcome more
Tomorrow I can think of the future.
But tonight is for me
Just me
To remember, to grieve for the dreams
That are scattered and gone.

Dreams of a child, in fact. Dreams of a young girl
Became the dreams of the woman
Who never imagined that of her three children
She would hold only one
Just one
A darling girl, loving and loved
Who longs for the siblings she doesn't know she's lost.

Tomorrow I'll be there. With smiles and cuddles
I'll wave off my daughter out in to the world.
Tomorrow I'll be strong.
But let me have tonight
Just tonight,
To cry for her brother, her sister,
For the two I never held.

Just when you think you're over it...

It's about a year since I unknowingly fell pregnant. It doesn't feel that long - I think because I didn't find out about it until I miscarried in June. It was traumatic at the time, but I have done a lot of coming to terms with it.. or so I thought.

I didn't really do the 'she would have been born around now' thing, as I was busy miscarrying her younger brother at the time. But it suddenly hit me today that she would have been about three months old now, if she had lived.

I'm saying 'she' and 'he' like I even knew the genders. We named them both after they went; wanted to acknowledge their existence I suppose. Some people don't find it helpful to think of a miscarriage as a lost child, but for us it was part of the acceptance. The first baby we called Hope - because no matter what the future held, that was the gift she had given us. The possibility that we might be able to have children of our own. We hadn't decided yet whether or no…