A week ago today I finally lost my little baby. 
I've only just stopped bleeding today. I think anyway. 

I've been told to wait a week and to take a pregnancy test to make sure everything has gone. 

In the short time that I knew I had you, I loved you, my little Christmas baby. 

The talks and decisions about how we'd fit a 3rd child into our lives, all of the home/bedroom ideas, your name, the double buggy we were going to get.....I'm so sorry it didn't work out. 

You'll always always be in my heart. 

Waiting

4 days later and not much has happened. I've not bled properly. Just the a bit of brown discharge every day since Tuesday. 

I have the scan appointment on Thursday. It really couldn't come soon enough. I just want someone to take this ridiculous hope away, seen as my body seems to be tricking me into thinking there may be a chance, no matter how small. 

The last week and a bit has been just horrible. 1st I was just heartbroken. My brain shut down a bit. I couldn't concentrate, and the dead baby inside me was all consuming. Now I feel annoyed and short tempered. I have no patience and the days seem longer and longer. 

.

The last few days I'd let myself hope. 

Maybe I got my dates REALLY wrong. Maybe the baby IS only 4-5 weeks. Even though my sensible self knew that the odds were against me and I was just clutching at straws. (I wasn't even really feeling pregnant any more.)

I looked on forums for similar situations where the mums went in for their 2nd scan and baby was actually fine!

I hadn't had any cramping or bleeding. There was a chance. 

Then this morning happened. 

Lilly has had me up since 4.30am with chicken pox and half an hour ago I started to miscarry. The tummy cramps are very very faint, but there. 

Rosie has her developmental check this morning, Lilly's riddled with pox and Mark is working, then has a work do this evening. Today is rubbish. 

Our lost little bean

So I've been pretty awful at keeping a blog.

Always thought I would be. I'm not a writer and I don't really think I'm that important or have that much to say to warrant others interest.

This all started so I had a place that I could update old work mates on my final month of pregnancy after going on maternity leave, and to bore them with all of my new baby pics when she finally arrived. 

That was 4 years ago.

In those 4 short years my baby, Lilly has grown into a beautiful little girl. She's loving, imaginative, fearless and creative. She adores animals, loves being outdoors, watching the tv, baking and cooking. 

She's also (at times) feisty, sulky, rude, whiney, and spoilt (our fault obviously) So, all in all she's a typical (almost) 4 year old. 

She starts school full time in September. Craziness. Time really has flown. 

In those 4 short years we moved house, we got married and were lucky enough to fall pregnant again and give birth to another beautiful little girl, Rosie. 

She's already 10 months old and is happy, funny, loud and adventurous. 

We spoke about having a third and final baby. Something I'd never considered before giving birth to Rosie. 

When I gave birth to her I fell so madly in love and I felt that I'd be more than happy to have one last child. 

Mark however felt differently and definitely didn't want any more. We would only just be able to afford it if we had another and we didn't really have the room. 

I joked and teased for months about having another baby, but gradually came to terms with it not happening. I began exercising, changing my body slowly but surely. Getting stronger and fitter. Something I'd never been before. I was beginning to feel proud of myself and my body. I was enjoying being me and focusing on my beautiful family. I slowly changed my thinking. Yes. Maybe my husband was right. 2 beautiful girls WAS enough. It gave us time for ourselves and our family. It would mean that we could afford a few nice things and that we wouldn't have to worry so much about paying the bills. 

So much can happen in 8 weeks. 

I noticed my period hadn't arrived. I don't really pay attention to my monthly cycles, so I just assumed I'd got it wrong. 

I started to tire really easily whilst doing my exercises and finding everything a lot harder than I had done. The birthmark type patch in between my ribs that grew dark when I was pregnant with the girls and disappeared when they were born, was getting darker. 

Then I got a positive pregnancy test result. I told Mark and his reaction was "Ohhhhh shit." I explained that I was completely 50/50 about whether we should have it or not and we gave it a few days to let the idea sink in and time to make a better decision. 

We decided we'd go ahead and make it work. 

I went to the doctors with a very vague idea of when my last period was and she referred me for a dating scan. 

That was 2 days ago. 

I went to the appointment with Rosie. Mark couldn't get out of work. 

I laid down and explained that I thought that I should be about 8-10 weeks pregnant. 

I was expecting to see a tiny little alien/dinosaur looking baby bobbing around in my tummy. I'd seen 8 week scans. I'd done my homework. 

All I saw on mine was a black hole and a tiny tiny little bean huddled on one side. 

It should have been bigger. 

The sonographer asked when I'd had a positive pregnancy test. It was about 4-5 weeks ago. 

The baby should be bigger. 

She said it looked like the fetus stopped growing at around 4-5 weeks and that she couldn't get a heartbeat. I asked what happened now. I felt really matter-of-fact about it all, asking all of the proper grown up questions. I felt like I was speaking on someone else's behalf. 

She said she'd book me in for another scan in 2 weeks to see what's happening but said that she could see a little bleed on the scan and that I might start spotting and bleeding before the appointment. 

When she left to make the appointment I took a photo of the scan print outs of my little dead baby and I text Mark. 

Then I cried. 

I wasn't going to have a baby.

All the weeks of planning how we'd cope. All the hard decisions, letting ourselves get used to the idea and slowly falling in love with our little unborn baby, all for nothing. 

When the sonographer came back in to the room she was really supportive and kind. She said she may have been wrong, but I said that I knew she wasn't. 

I left the room and locked myself and Rosie in the hospital toilets.

I txt the people I'd told about the pregnancy and told them. 

I spoke to Mark. He said he'd come home from work. 

I cried more. 

When I left the toilet I was met with new babies and pregnant mums. 

2 days ago. Feels like it was this morning. I'm still carrying my tiny bean. No signs of it leaving yet. 

I feel hollow. And terribly sad. I just want to curl up and sleep.

This morning we had a chat about a third baby. Mark said he doesn't want another. That he feels like he's denying me my last baby but this one was an accident and we were going to make the most of the situation but that really we couldn't afford another and that we don't have room for another. 

I'm heartbroken. 

I'm not angry with him but I'm truly broken. He just can't understand what it's like to have that given to me when I'd given up, and then have it taken away again. Forever. I can't stop crying. I can't bear to look at newborn babies or pregnant women. I don't want to go back to the playgroup I've been taking Lilly to for 3 and a half years because a lady I know who goes there is as pregnant as I was. 

I just want everything to be ok. But it's not, so I just want my little baby to leave me and let me try to heal but I don't want to believe it.

I'm wracked with guilt that I messed up as I was on anti-depressants. 40mg Fluoxetine a day which I weaned off of as soon as I found out I was pregnant. (Women treated with it have a tendency for increased risk of miscarriage.)

That I helped unknowingly kill my last little bean. 

I feel cheated. 

I stopped exercising, I'm slipping back into depression. I can feel it gnawing at me. It has been for weeks since I reduced my medication and now....well.....I need to go to the doctors and go back on the tablets. 

Exchange my Folic Acid permanently for Prozac. 

And I know I'm blessed to have 2 beautiful healthy girls. That some people out there would give anything for even one baby, but that doesn't make my hurting any less. 

I look at my children and I just think I could have had another beautiful little boy or girl. And that that baby died. 

I'm sorry to anyone reading this for the long, intense blog post. I just really needed somewhere I could let it all out. 

I can only imagine it getting harder once I start bleeding. 

Maybe this is a good place for me to release some of my feelings. Maybe if anyone stumbles upon it it'll help them in some way. 

Eugh.

My beautiful brand new Kenwood food mixer broke this afternoon.
Shadow has a bad tummy.
Rosie won't lay still on the mat anymore, rolls all over the floor and is constantly complaining when she gets stuck against things.
Lilly will not stop saying mummy.
The house is a TIP.
I've ran out of bibs.
Oh, and I went out for a birthday meal and drinks last night. I'm shattered and Mark's working late.

Rosie's on the side in the kitchen in her bumbo, I'm trying to feed her while Lilly's dinner is cooking....
Shadow wants to go in the garden so I let him out.
Lilly "mummy"
Me "yes"
......
"Yes???"
Carry on feeding Rosie.
Check the potatoes. They're done.
"Mummy. Where's my hairbrush? I can't find it."
"It's right there!!!"
Look out of the window. Shadow just vomited.
Drain the potatoes.
Feed Rosie another spoonful.
"Mummy?"
"Yes?"
"I haven't been fed"
"I know. I'm cooking your dinner now"
"Mummy?"
"Yes?"
"I want my dinner"
Let Shadow in, wipe his paws. Rosie's shouting cause she wants more food.
Spoon more food into her, grab the colander which had the veg steaming in it and burn my hand.
Stick my fingers into a pot of honey to stop them blistering.
"Mummy?"
Rosie's shouting. I spoon slop into her face with my left hand (my right is still in a pot of honey.)
Shadow wants to go out.
"Mummy?"
"YES!!!!!"
Rosie grabs a dirty oven glove and puts it in her mouth.
"Shadow wants to go out"
.....
I wash my honeyed fingers. (Seems to have worked!! Meant to have tried that trick for years.)
Rosie vomits.
I let Shadow out.
"Mummy...."
I mash the potatoes and put the chicken nuggets under the grill.
I spoon more food into Rosie.
Shadow wants to come in. Let him in, wipe his paws.
"Mummy I broke my sheriff Cally hat"
"I'll fix it later, Lilly."
Pop the veg onto Lilly's plate, make a mash volcano...NUGGETS!!
Only a bit burnt.
"Mummy....I want an apple for my dinner"
Make gravy.
"Mummy...bogey" offered up on her finger.
Ok. Lilly's dinner's ready.
Rosie's screaming and covered in baby rice and sick.
Make her a bottle and put it in cold water to cool.
Shadow's asking to go out again.
"Mummy!!!! Need a poo poo!!"

I need a wee. And a holiday.

And a cleaner.

The stress of a newborn Lilly.

Lilly is 14 months old already.
After the birth I didn't have any time to update this blog. In fact I'd completely forgotten about it in the past few months, and just found it again in my bookmarks.
It's so weird reading back through everything that happened, and it reminded me how tough it all was.

I went into hospital on Tuesday 14th June. My waters broke on the 15th at 6am. Lilly wasn't born until the 17th at 9am.
The reason it took so long, was that another hospital close by had no staff on their maternity ward, so all of the labouring mums were sent to the hospital I was in.
All of the women in active labour were seen to first. Other than the fact my waters had gone, I was never really in any need to get up to the ward to start.
PLUS, as I was being induced, I'd need a nurse with me full time, and they just didn't have the staff.

Eventually I was taken up to a room and hooked up to the machine which would administer the drugs to start my contractions. I tried to give birth naturally, but she just wouldn't come out. The drugs they gave me to induce me only half worked. I got the contractions, but my cervix only ever opened up to 4cm. I was on the drip for 12 hours when they checked, and said that it wasn't happening, and that my cervix was actually hardening and closing, and that I'd need a C-Section.
At that point, I really didn't care.
I hadn't really slept since I went into hospital on the 14th, and I was beyond exhausted.

Lilly was born on the 17th June 2011, weighing 10lb 5oz.
She had suspected meningitis. They think this was because my waters had been broken for so long. As soon as she was born, they started to treat her as if she did have it. She was put on a 10 day course of antibiotics. This meant we had to stay in for this whole time, and that she had to have a tiny intravenous drip in the back of her hand. She also had to have lots of blood tests and was generally poked and prodded constantly. She was full of bruises and little holes.
I had a temperature and felt like shit too.
Everything was a bit of a blur. I don't remember things right.
At one point Lilly turned grey when my sister in law was holding her. I was petrified.

Those 2 weeks in hospital were the hardest times ever.
I was more tired than I've ever been in my life and at one point I was told that Lilly would have to have a sample of fluid taken from her spine (like an epidural) to test to see if she had a fever in her brain. Midwives were constantly waking her (and me) as soon as I'd got her to sleep, to check her temperature.

The 1st night I was on a ward with about 9 other mums and their newborns.
I was told a doctor would come at 10pm to take a sample of blood from Lilly's heel. He turned up at 2am (when all the other mums had just settled their babies) and stabbed and squeezed at Lilly's heel until she screamed and screamed. I cried too and we woke all of the other mums and babies up.
I wanted desperately to feed her and comfort her, but I couldn't get her to latch so I had to express colostrum into a syringe.
I sat up til around 4.30am trying, trying.
There was a woman who snored the whole night and this one baby who just wouldn't stop screaming and crying. It was just tearing through me. I had a terrible vision of throwing it out of the window.
I was a wreck. I broke down and the midwives moved me to a private room.

I cried every day. I missed Mark and the dogs. I was so scared that I wasn't doing it right. I wasn't being what Lilly needed me to be. I was sore and hot. I had trouble moving much. I was so lonely. Lilly was very drowsy from the start and wouldn't feed properly. I had a really hard time breastfeeding her, and ended up having to top up with formula. She had to be fed every 3 hours.
Nothing went how I wanted it to. I felt like I was in jail.

I wouldn't have made it with my sanity in tact without Mark.
He was amazing, (and still is.)
He set alarms for me so I knew when I had to do things. He dealt with the grown up stuff, like talking to the Doctors and Nurses. He went with Lilly to have her tiny intravenous drip changed when it came loose because I couldn't deal with seeing even more holes being put in her. He decided when people could visit, and told people no, when I wouldn't have been able to. He brought me food and made sure I was drinking enough. He just generally looked after me.
I am so lucky.

So 14 months on, I'm more in love with my family than ever. We have an intelligent, beautiful, firey little red head, and the memories are softening a little. I'm getting a bit broody, when after all of that I decided I just couldn't go through it all again. 

Zombie baby!

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