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.
