Christmas Without Your Baby

Hands up if you're already sick of Christmas adverts rubbing it in your nose that you don't have your baby with you this Christmas (YES WE'RE LOOKING AT YOU BISTO, I WON'T BE BUYING GRAVY FROM YOU IN FUTURE). I'm pretty sure we're going to be forking out for a new TV soon because I am getting ever closer to throwing the remote through the screen. I think this is going to be the hardest Christmas I ever experience because it should be my first one with my son, Freddie. Instead, it's my first one without him...so bittersweet. I keep thinking about the Christmas bibs I bought for him tucked away in a box somewhere. I don't know why but they seem to be a haunting image for me which is probably silly as they're just some bibs but they symbolised so much. I got them because I knew Freddie would be starting to try food, he would be joining us at the table, making a mess out of his mashed veg, the star of the table.

When I was planning my labour (what a joke) I read that you should give yourself two or three things to focus on to get you through the pain. My first was that first walk in the park as parents, baby all snug in his pram, me with my starbucks and Mattie pushing the pram all proud. Our first proper outing as a family. My second was Christmas day. Watching Freddie's eyes widen as he tries to take in all the lights and sounds and people. Giving him lots of presents even though he would be too young to really get it and watching him make a mess at dinner time then tucking him into bed at night wondering how we got so lucky. Needless to say that all went out the window when the words "I'm so sorry" were whispered to me. The only thing that got me through labour was anger and determination. No happy memories, just a mother wanting to do one last thing for her baby.

So if you haven't already gathered, I'm somewhat of a Grinch this Christmas. We'll be spending Christmas day with my family, hopefully my sickness will have eased so I can comfort eat my way through the day. I'm looking forward to having them for support through the day but I know underneath the festivities I'll have a little black cloud surrounding me because I won't have my Freddie. However, we are doing a few bits and pieces to remember him which I thought I would share in case anyone else is looking for some inspiration on remembering their little angel's this Christmas.

Personalised Christmas Decoration: Having a special bauble to hang on the tree with your baby's name can actually be a really lovely tradition. We're going to do it every year and if we successfully have our rainbow baby, it's something I'd like them to be a part of in the future. I think it'll be a really good way of teaching them about their sibling and making sure that they're still a part of Christmas. There are LOADS to choose from but notonthehighstreet.com do some beautiful ones.

Reading Your Baby A Christmas Story: I'm going to read "The Night Before Christmas" to my picture of Freddie on Christmas Eve because it's something that my Mum used to do with us when we were little and I really wanted to do it with Freddie. Again, it's another thing that future siblings can be a part of.

Visiting A Special Place: I'm inviting family to join Mattie and I at Freddie's grave to lay flowers on Christmas day so that he isn't alone and so I can feel close to him. I won't feel right unless all my family are together. Hopefully the weather will be nice so it can be a happy memory for us all.

Do you have any Christmas traditions that you're including your baby in?

Love Letter (Capture Your Grief Project - Day 23)

Dear Freddie,

You are my only true love and you are my proudest creation. I know a mother is always biased but you were the most perfect baby I have ever had the privilege to lay eyes upon. 

I love the way your skin was so soft and smelt of that beautiful newborn smell. I love your hair, how the midwife said "it's strawberry blonde!" but really it's a light brown. A perfect blend of mine and Mattie's. I love the way it's tufty on the top but thicker and curly at the back. I love your face. I could write that sentence 1000 times over. Your little button nose, your furry little eyebrows and your chubby cheeks I would have never stopped kissing. Your mouth is my favourite thing about you, it is so perfect and pouty, again it was a gift from your Daddy. I love how grumpy you looked, it always made me laugh. I love your beautiful hands and how perfectly they fit into mine. I love your funny little, well actually not so little, feet and your squashed little toe, I love that it made you special.

I wish I could talk about your eyes, I bet they would be big like mine but blue like Mattie's.

I wish I could have heard your voice, that scream I waited 9 months for but it never came.

I love you so very much Freddie Richard Jenkins. I will never love another more than you and I will never stop loving you.

Do I Not Deserve To Have Another Baby?

It's been 4 months tomorrow since I've been trying for a second baby. Nothing. I know to many 4 months is a drop in the ocean in terms of trying to conceive but to me it's a lifetime. Freddie was conceived after one month (and I was on the pill) which makes this length of time even harder to accept.

I don't understand why my body won't allow it. I don't seem to understand much anymore actually. I don't understand why people that are unhealthy can have babies at the click of their fingers and I can't. I don't understand why people that don't even want children can have them with ease and I can't. I feel like a child recently. Constantly complaining that everything is "unfair" or asking Mattie "why am I not allowed?". I feel pathetic. I've become one of those miserable people that thinks the world is against them. I would just like to add at this point that telling someone who has lost a baby, "at least you know you can get pregnant" is quite honestly, stupid. I had one baby, and I lost him. I am not guaranteed to have another, it is not a given. And I find that so very painful. What if he was it? My one chance to have a baby? And my body failed him. I let my one chance at happiness die and leave me. I don't know that I can get pregnant whenever I want, and right now the evidence would suggest otherwise. What I do know is that I can lose a baby. And no matter how many children I have in the future (if I have anymore) I will still be waiting for them to die. I might cling onto the hope that they'll be OK and that I'll get to watch them live but there will always be that nasty, painful feeling that I'm going to lose them.

All I want right now is to be pregnant, to be given the opportunity to prove to myself that I can give birth to a live baby. To be given the chance to hear that cry when they're born.

I held a baby for the first time since Freddie was born yesterday. She was the sweetest little thing and she made my heart ache so much, for Freddie and for another baby. And she left me thinking that maybe I just don't deserve a baby. Maybe I would be a bad mother. I don't think I would be; I've always loved children and I love them so much. I always played with dolls as a child and people often commented how natural my maternal instincts were. I always believed I was born to be a mother. I never really wanted to go to University like my friends. I was tempted but all I really wanted to do was "settle down". I wanted to find someone who wanted a family and a house and a dog even from the age of 18. When I fell pregnant with Freddie my mum asked "did you want to get pregnant?" I said no but of course I did. Even though I was on the pill and I wasn't actively trying, I would have loved a baby.

I've done bad things in my life, I've made mistakes but I just can't think of something I've done that's so terrible, terrible enough to mean that I don't deserve a child, to be pregnant. People murder, abuse and mistreat other human beings and they can still have children? Why?

I'm in a strange place right now. I'm settled with Olive, with our new house, with how my relationship is now, with friends... I'm doing well. I'm getting through life, one day at a time. But at the same time there's an underlying level. A feeling of angst and frustration. Mostly aimed towards myself and partially aimed towards the world.

I'm not saying having a baby will make it all go away, it won't clean my slate so that it's shining and new, but it'll give me a feeling of peace, of acceptance. It'll dull the feelings that currently eat away at me.

I wish this was a more optimistic and cheerful post but I can't pretend my life is a picnic, I can't pretend that losing a baby isn't a big deal and I can't pretend that trying for a second is easy. It's hard. it's really fucking hard and it's even harder when your body won't co-operate.

Grief.

Is My Body Giving Up On Me?

Another moaning and miserable post, shock! I honestly don't know what is going wrong with my body currently. I feel as if slowly but surely it's just shutting itself down like an old computer. Bit by bit, I'm breaking and I feel eventually I'll just switch off altogether.

Initially, I was so surprised at how well my body was recovering from giving birth. I had no tears so no stitches were needed and the bleeding stopped after 5 weeks, right on track. My periods began again, with only a 5 day late window. So far so good. My body slowly shrank back to almost my pre-baby body size. I still needed to tone up but I could fit back into my size 10 jeans after a week. My boobs probably took the longest to settle. I was still producing milk after a month and had to wear breast pads all day and a sports-bra to bed. Eventually they settled and give or take a few stretch marks (I went from an A/B cup to almost an E) they're back to normal. We were given the green light to start trying again from both my doctor and consultant so we did. Everything seemed to return to normality, or as normal as life can be nowadays, and my body was doing just fine.

Then came the back pain. It started in the last month of pregnancy with Freddie. The place I work for are honestly nasty people when it comes to pregnant women. It's nothing against the people I work for, they're fantastic. But the company needs to seriously change how pregnant women are treated. I was heavily pregnant and on my feet for 8 hours, with a 45 minute break. I wasn't able to sit at the till and had to always be busy...tidying, cleaning, fixing displays etc. I was at breaking point by my last shift and my back has paid the price. For the first month or two when Freddie was born the pain went and I thought it had gone for good. But it has suddenly returned and it's worse than before. I've tried yoga, exercise, long walks, changing posture but it's still there. An acute ache. To top that off, I think my wisdom teeth are coming through. I've had really painful jaw ache and my glands are the size of golf balls. Luckily this pain isn't constant and only seems to flare up in the evening and is quickly solved with a paracetamol and a cup of hot tea (how stereo-typically British is that!).

My most worrying issue at the moment is my period. Or rather, lack of it. It is now 2 weeks late. The latest it normally arrives, as mentioned earlier, is 5 days. And yes, I've taken a pregnancy test *5 to be exact* and no, I'm not pregnant. I know stress can alter your cycle but I've actually had a relatively stress free month. I've taken pre-natal vitamins, I've started fertility meditation (thank you Olivia if you're reading!) and I'm exercising and eating better that before I was pregnant. So I'm at a total loss. I've never had a period this late before, well apart from when I was pregnant. It's not like I'm even willing it not to come. If anything I do want it to come so I can get on with trying again. This just isn't like me at all and now it's starting to bother me. I don't know whether to go to the Doctors or whether they'll just dismiss it (like they always do). I don't want to go back on the pill to regulate them either.

Has anyone else experienced something like this or can anyone recommend something?

Normalizing Grief (Capture Your Grief Project - Day 12)

The first thing to clear up is that there is no path of "normailty" with grief. There is no set steps of grief. Grief cannot be put into a category as grief is different for everyone. You can't compare someone grieving the loss of a parent to the loss of a baby or the grief of a pet to the loss of a friend. You just can't. Look around you, everyone is totally different so why should we be expected to grieve the same? I remember trawling the internet when Freddie first died. I didn't know how to grieve. I wanted to know how I should be behaving. All I found were "The Five Steps Of Grief". Aka the biggest load of shit ever. Chances are, at some point you will feel those emotions. But definitely not in that order and almost certainly not one at a time.

I couldn't find a picture that showed how grief is for me. So I wrote about what it feels like, for me anyway. It's not particularly well written but I just wanted to get it out in it's most raw form otherwise it wouldn't be true to my feelings. Anyway, here it is. My grief in a very small and in a no way totally exclusive nutshell.

The Island 

Grief is a really hard place to find yourself in. It's like you've been shipped to a totally foreign island. No one there speaks your language. Sometimes a passer by might try to understand you but eventually they give up and walk away because they just can't get it. They can't understand you because they don't come from the same place. You're trying to find your way around this island but you have no map so you're totally lost. You wander in a confused daze while everyone around you carries on their day. Even worse, you don't know your destination. Everyday you try and concentrate on "where am I going?". You never find the answer so you just carry on, aimless. And this island is noisy, so noisy. There are voices constantly ringing through your ears and you don't know if those voices are yours or someone else's. You can't ever turn them down or shut them off so you can't ever sleep, not properly. When you go back to continuing your pointless journey you're exhausted and you can't tell anyone because they can't understand you. Maybe sometimes you find a fragment of a map and you think you're going to be okay only for it to be blown away by the wind or for someone to snatch it from you. Your hope is constantly taken from you in one form or another. Maybe sometimes someone offers you a tissue once in a while to dry your tears but then they leave when the tears don't stop. You hope that one day a map will arrive for you and you'll know your destination. You hope that maybe one day someone will arrive and they'll be able to speak your language. At times that hope is so very strong and you try to hold onto it with all your might. But at other times the hope drifts away and you let it because you're tired and you're broken.

I'm not sure if grief will ever truly be normalized. We accept that people grieve and we try to help as best we can but there's only so much a person can do when they aren't feeling that same feeling. As a person that is grieving I think that's something we have to accept. Unfortunately, we aren't designed to take on another person's emotions and feelings. We can sympathize, we can try to help but we can't read minds. We can't absorb grief, even though we wish we could if it meant we could fully understand or half the pain of a loved one. That's one of the hardest lessons I've had to learn about the grieving process. You can't force someone to understand, nor can you expect them to. That's just how grief works. It's never going to change so I had to.

Trying To Conceive Again

Ugh. I wish I could just end the post there. I think that sums up nicely how I feel about this. Just ugh. I'm fed up of "trying" already and it's only been 3 months. A fellow bereaved mumma recently informed me that on average it takes a woman nine months of trying to get pregnant. I was honestly shocked. Freddie was a happy accident. He wasn't planned but so dearly loved and so very much wanted. I got pregnant so quickly AND whilst on the pill. So now that we are actively trying and waiting for that big fat positive, it feels like we've entered a time warp. It feels like all I do is wait to get pregnant. 

One thing I am sick of is being told to "stop trying". I don't get that, I really don't. As children we are constantly being told to "always try your hardest". Then when you're older and you try at something, you're told to stop. It's very easy for someone who has had a succession of happy pregnancies and no problem getting pregnant to say this, but it's not as easy for the person receiving the information to accept. 

It's honestly all I think about these days. I downloaded 3, yes you heard me THREE fertility apps on my iPhone. I diligently log my information with them daily and follow their advice religiously. I should go for a run whilst eating an avocado? Done. I should bathe in a pool of goats milk? OK, sure. *Please note none of these actually improve fertility...I don't think anyway*. I've recently ordered myself vitamins to help with conception and I've started gymnastics in order to get myself back to full health. I want this, so much.

I feel like I should just say that my desire for a baby is in no way me trying to replace Freddie. That's totally impossible and has never been my intention. He was my first son. I will never get that back, ever. But I do so desperately want to fill the emptiness in my arms and in my heart. I am a mother and I want to be able to mother. There's only so much love my dog will accept! It's what I'm here for, I know it and I feel it. Even when I was little, I spent hours playing with my dolls. Caring for them, dressing, washing and feeding. All of it. I have 3 younger siblings and I loved helping my mum look after the youngest two. I was shocked when I went to a pregnancy class and found out so many new mums-to-be hadn't ever changed a nappy in their lives! Motherhood is something that has always come so naturally to me and now I'm having to fight to have that opportunity. It is so very unfair.

Trying to conceive is also seriously testing my patience. I'm currently at a loss. I tested early and got a negative so waited patiently for my period to arrive. A week after it was due and it still isn't here. I tested again and got yet another negative. I feel like my body is mocking me. I just want my period to arrive so I can go again but it's just not happening. 

So that's where I am with trying to conceive again. Essentially, I am no where. I'm starting to lose hope. I know that having a bicornuate uterus can affect conecption and I'm starting to wonder if that was it. My one chance to have a baby and now it's gone. I'm trying to stay positive, I'm trying not to "try" too hard, I'm trying to not stress but it's so hard. It's almost impossible when the only thing you want in life seems out of reach.

Little Baby

I haven't written poetry since I was in Year 8 and I won a poetry competition at school. I had to get up in front of the whole school and shake some rugby player's hand. I was totally mortified and it's clearly scarred me as I haven't written anything since. I don't really know why I felt so inspired to write this tonight but whilst Mattie played Fifa 16 *yawn* it just spilled out of me. I can imagine my English teacher tutting over my shoulder; it's hardly written well but it's real. It's raw and it's from the heart which is really what poetry is all about. Feel free to take it, share it or use it...I know it applies to so many of us.

Baby Loss Awareness Month

How did I even get here? I think I find myself asking this nearly daily. All I know is that my baby died and that I'm still clinging on. My life prior to Freddie dying is an insignificant haze. It's like a cloudy dream that doesn't seem real and I struggle to remember it. Even the time that has passed since we buried Freddie up till now is a blur. How am I still here? How on Earth am I getting through this? Can I keep going? I honestly can't answer those questions. All I know is I'm taking everything day by day. I love going to sleep, it's an escape from this horrible nightmare that I've found myself in. I love going to adult gymnastics because my body is in so much physical pain it takes away the emotional pain. I love running around after our puppy, Olive because she stops me from just spending my day crying in bed. But do any of these things make me truly happy? No, of course they don't. But they help the day to pass by and for every day that passes I tell myself I'm another step closer to being healed from this pain. Not cured because it will always still be there but healed so that the scars remain but life carries on and maybe I can be happy again. So that's a very jumbled description of where I am, from June 23rd 2015 to October 1st 2015. If you're going through the same thing I'm hoping you'll be able to make sense of my ramble above because you all get it. You know all too well that life these days is merely about surviving, no longer about thriving. At least, not yet anyway.
So it's October, somehow. I can't actually believe how quickly time seems to be moving around me even though I feel as if I'm stuck still in time whilst everyone continues around me. It's the month where we are able to do two things.

1) Raise awareness of baby loss. It's real people, it happens. 1 in 4 people have lost a baby whether that be in early, middle or late pregnancy or even after the baby has been born. It's not a horror story people whisper about. It's real. Fucking. Life. There should be no stigma and no shame. No one should feel embarrassed to say that they have lost a child and yet we do. I've been left cringing over the fact I've blurted out "my baby was stillborn". But why? I'm proud that I had him and that he existed. Please never shy away from someone who has lost a baby. Ask them if they want to talk about it. Something we do and sometimes we don't but that's OK. It means so much that you asked. Ask what the baby's name was. Show them that you care and you know that baby is real. And above all never ever say the words "at least". It never leads to anything good and we don't want to hear "at least you can try again" etc.

2) Celebrate the lives of our babies. No matter how long they lived they still lived. Tell people, show them a picture, say their name. Let the world know how proud you are to have been a mother to your baby. Whether it be your first or fifth! I'm taking part in the Capture Your Grief project (read more here!) to celebrate Freddie's life and to explore my grief. I'm also hosting an intimate fundraiser for family and friends to raise money for Sands. It's just a small gathering that I have named the PJ's and Wine Party (it's pretty self explanatory what we'll be doing) but it's still raising money AND I'll be having fun whilst doing it. I think it's important that we remember that this month, it can be happy. Which is something I have to keep reminding myself, that is OK to enjoy life. If not for yourself, enjoy it for your child when you can.

I really hope that this is a gentle month for you all. I'd love to hear what you're up to through this month if you would like to share in the comments or you can always email me for a chat (just go to the Contact Me page).

Capture Your Grief - 2015

I am so excited to take part in the Capture Your Grief project this October. In some ways it is sad that I'm at a point in my life where I am grieving for my baby but I'm glad that I have the opportunity to focus the grief into something like this project. I know a lot of fellow grieving mums (and dads!) read this blog so I want to make everyone aware of this amazing event and encourage you all to take part!

What Is It?:
It's so simple, anyone can do it. You can choose to share it on social media or keep it in a private diary/scrapbook. Its a series of topics, one for everyday of the month of October and for each topic, you take a photo of what it means to you or what it represents to you. It's totally personal and subjective to you so you're totally in control. It has been created for us to explore our grief in order to help us on our journey of healing.

How Can I Take Part?:
Just have a camera! You don't need to be a photographer or have an amazing camera, it's not about getting professional photos, it's about capturing something that truly resonates with your grief and healing process. It only takes a few seconds to take a picture and upload it or to print it out and pop it in a diary.

Where Can I Get More Info?:
Right here! Or on the Facebook event here! Simple.

How Can I Follow Your Project?:
I'll be posting my pictures on Instagram (follow below) with the hashtag #CaptureYourGrief and #WhatHealsYou. I'll also be creating a photo diary/scrapbook which I will be doing a post on when the project is over!

Let me know how/where you'll be sharing your pictures in the comments!

Keeping Freddie In Our Lives

Freddie will always be in our hearts. That's a given, he will never, ever be forgotten. But for me, I need more than that.These days, it is very easy to be consumed with busy thoughts and stress (and a small devil dog named Olive) so it's crucial that I have a little area or reminder that lets me know he's still here with me.
We have little reminders of him dotted around our house. We have our star certificate that one of Mattie's friends bought for us. It is framed and sits proudly on our windowsill in the living room so that our star is often looking down on us. If you're ever unsure on what to give someone that has experienced a loss I highly recommend getting them a star in the name of their lost one. You can use the co-ordinates on the certificate to locate the star on google and as Mattie doesn't believe in God he finds it such a comfort to know Freddie is up there, twinkling as our little star.
Mattie's cousins gave us a poem that they wrote which is truly beautiful. I find it very hard to look at currently as it is quite emotional so I've left it wrapped carefully in a moving box. I want to put it in our rainbow baby's bedroom as I think that's the only time I'll be able to read it...even then I'm not sure I'll ever be able to read it comfortably. It stirs up so many raw emotions that I'm still trying to control.
Freddie's little slinky mouse is also a very important part of my life. When he was born it sat in his cot with him. I took it to the hospital with me as I wanted it to be the first toy he ever had and it still was. I was close to burying it with him but I couldn't let it go, mouse spent hours in his little hospital bed with him and I needed it. I clutched it like a child for a long time after he died. It came everywhere with me, like a comfort blanket. It smelt like him and I couldn't let it go, I still think it does smell of him but it's probably just my mind telling me that. I don't bring it with me every time we leave the house anymore but if ever we go away overnight it has to be with me. Mouse stays in our bed and if I ever struggle to sleep, cuddling mouse is a massive help. I've even woken in the night to find Mattie holding it. I defend that toy with my life, Olive has tried to run off with it a few times and normally I'm pretty relaxed with what she chews, Mouse is a big no-no. It represents our pain and it represents Freddie.
Those of you that know Mattie and I will know he is a BIG Arsenal fan, much to my dismay (I'm not a football or even sport fan). He has the Arsenal club logo tattooed *brings up sick in my throat* on his arm so that basically puts his love for them in a nutshell. Anyway, I digress... a week or maybe two before Freddie was born we went on a hunt to find a mini Arsenal football for Freddie. Mattie's theory was that if we introduced football from the second was born, we'd have a professional footballer for a son. Don't worry if your eyes just rolled in despair, mine did too (and still do daily). We kept the ball for baby number two, fingers crossed, so they can play with it and think of Freddie. It's pretty special to us as not only does it remind us of the dreams we lost when Freddie died but it gives us hope for another baby, it's a statement that we WILL try again.
My favourite way that I remember Freddie by is my little corner I have made for him in our room. I have a little white frame with my favourite picture of him from the day he was born. On my mirror is a little string of wooden hearts that were in his nursery, it killed me that we had to pack his nursery away so I've kept them out of the boxes of nursery items. There's a little poster with his birth information on it (his weight, where he was born, what time etc) that I purchased here. I've also added a little jar with a posy of flowers, I feel like it adds a more cheery touch to remind me to be happy and positive which isn't always possible but it gives me a good head-start to a happier day. It is so important that he is the last thing I see when I go to bed and the first thing I see when I wake up and with this little display it makes sure this is always guaranteed.

Why I Write My Blog

Initially I started this blog to update about my pregnancy, birth and to track Freddie's milestones as he passed through his childhood. Instead, it's transformed into a blog that documents my struggle through life without a baby, my baby, Freddie. I've lost the direction I'm taking this blog in, I'm not sure what it's going to be in a year from now. Maybe I'll be writing about a how I'm pregnant with a brother or sister for Freddie, maybe I'll have my rainbow baby already with me...I honestly don't know.

Right now, I'm writing this to stay sane. It gives me a purpose. When I lost Freddie I felt like I'd lost all meaning to my life, I drifted without direction. This blog gives me the focus that I'd been craving and that I so desperately needed. This blog gives me something to do...There's only so much dog walking and housework I can do! I'm definitely not ready to go back to work yet, sometimes I'm tempted to go back but then something hits me in the heart and I know it's just not going to happen yet. Some of my fellow angel mum's have gone back to work and I seriously salute them, but for me I'm just not ready yet.

I also like to share my experiences, situations and stories with other people that have experienced the loss of a baby. When I was in the earliest weeks of loss I had no idea if what I was feeling was normal, if how I was acting and reacting was OK. It took my a long time to accept that I was doing the best that I could be. It took a lot of trawling a lot of other blogs, the Sands forum and websites before I felt "normal". I want to be a part of that. If I help another Mum or Dad on their grief journey or if I reassure them they aren't crazy, if I bring people comfort then I'm happy. I've done something good, I've created a tiny legacy for Freddie that I am incredibly proud of. This might only be a little blog but behind it is so much love.

What I Lost.

You don't just lose a baby.

You lose the future you had planned for him. You lose the future you had planned for the both of you.

I've lost hearing that first wail when they're born that let's you know "I'm OK".
I've lost his first proper smile.
I've lost hearing his first baby sounds and words.
I've lost that moment when he takes his wobbly first steps towards my open arms.
I've lost the opportunity to cry as I wave goodbye to him on his first day of school.
I've lost out on tucking him into bed with a night time story and kissing him goodnight.
I've lost out on taking him on trips out to farms and zoos.
I've lost the chance to have Christmas day with him, seeing his face when Santa has been.
I've lost the chance to wipe away his tears when he falls over and comes to me for a magic plaster.
I've lost out on helping him with homework projects, worrying that it won't be done on time or that it won't be the best in the class.
I've lost holiday memories with us all together.
I've lost out on his birthdays, watching children run around my house and the joy on his face when he comes downstairs to all his presents.
I've lost out on telling him it'll be OK when he falls out with his best friend at school.
I've lost the chance to watch him play football or rugby, I've even lost the chance to see what sport he chooses.
I've lost out on him bringing home his first girlfriend.
I've lost the chance to see if he gets into university or college.
I've lost out on helping him move out.
I've lost his wedding day with me weeping into Mattie's shoulder.
I've lost the day he tells me that he's going to be a dad and I'm going to be a grandmother.

So never tell me that I "just lost a baby". I lost his whole life, not just the nine months he spent with me.

Guilt.

Since as long as I can remember, I've always felt guilt very strongly. I'm one of those people that do something and then think about it after. This is a very silly way to live as I often end up making mistakes and spend a long time after feeling guilty. Maybe it's the Catholic in me or maybe I just have an overactive conscience...either way, when I feel guilt I feel it hard. My first reaction when the midwife put her hand on my leg gently and told me that she was "so sorry" but there was "no heartbeat" was guilt. I remember very vividly wailing that I was "so so sorry" to Mattie. I felt guilt and I still do, very strongly.

It's not even just one solid type of guilt. I feel it in so many different ways and most days it consumes and overwhelms me entirely. Speaking to other mums that have lost their babies due to stillbirth in particular, it seems to be a very common feeling. I think a lot of "outsiders" to our grief really struggle to understand what we are feeling and why. So I'm going to try and explain it, as best I can. Obviously this is my personal experience and my feelings so they aren't necessarily transferable to everyone!

Failure - As awful as it sounds, I felt a failure the day I discovered I was pregnant with Freddie. If you know me personally, you'll know that Mattie and I had only been together for 3 months when I fell pregnant. It was a massive shock as I was using birth control and obviously we were in the very early stages of our relationship. I thought he would leave me, I mean you're lucky if you find someone that wants a relationship, let alone a relationship and a baby! As it turned out, when I told him he replied "oh thank god, I thought you'd cheated on me". And that, was that, I also felt like I was a failure to my parents. I didn't work at my A Levels, I didn't go to Uni (I did get in, I just preferred to work), I didn't do driving lessons... I wasn't the golden daughter I could have been in short and now I was pregnant to add to my list of failures. My parents were far from impressed initially. My conservative father refused to speak to me for a week and my mum was convinced Mattie and I would never last. However, towards the end of my pregnancy my dad had made us a crib and my mum was buying bits for Freddie left, right and centre. When I was told Freddie had died I felt a failure all over again. I'd taken their grandchild from them and I'd taken Mattie's son from him.

Blame - I blame myself, entirely. So many people have told me "It's not your fault, you can't blame yourself". But I do, I think I always will. To me, a mother should always protect and care for their child and I can't shake the feeling that I let him die. It was my body that should have protected him and it was my body he died in. I did everything I was supposed to, took my vitamins, stayed healthy, ate well (mostly), cut out alcohol, avoided no-no foods, attended all my appointments diligently...I did everything right. But, somewhere along the line I must have slipped up. Maybe I didn't notice something, maybe I should have asked more questions, pushed for better care? I don't know. The whole nine months drift through my mind as I desperately try to think of something, anything that I could have done. And I can't think of anything, which makes me feel worse. I must  have missed something fundamental and as a result my beautiful little boy died.

Anger and jealousy - I feel so, so guilty about the feelings of anger and jealousy that sometimes hit me. I look at pregnant mothers with a cigarette or drink in their hand and I have to restrain myself from slapping them across their face and shouting "WHAT ARE YOU DOING?" I spent my whole pregnancy protecting and shielding my unborn child from every possible danger and yet there are mothers who seem to not care about their baby, all they care about is themselves. I mean really, how hard is it to sacrifice getting drunk for nine months? I also see mothers whine and complain at every opportunity about their baby. I would do anything to have a wild toddler running circles around me, to change a dirty nappy, to spend all night without sleep nursing my child. I understand that looking after a baby is difficult and stressful, I really do. But when I see people that only complain, it kills me. Don't you know how lucky you are? Treasure every second. Because that's a second I never got and never will get with Freddie.

I had no idea that I would lose my baby and I had no idea how much it would hurt. Guilt is only one tiny part of losing your child, I feel so many other emotions daily. It's torture. But it is easing very slowly, especially the anger and jealousy.

What types of guilt have you experienced?

The New Normal Project

The new normal is a phrase widely used by those who have lost a baby. It's a completely different way of life, like nothing you'll have ever experienced before. You can break up with a partner and it hurts but, eventually, things just go back to normal. You lose a baby and the entire trajectory of your life is altered in one, swift and devastating blow. Everything you were certain about, everyone you were certain about are smashed into tiny pieces. The house you planned to raise your child in? Tainted. That friend you've known for years? Gone. That TV show (One Born Every Minute) you used to love? Ha. Forget it. Your whole world is turned upside down and you're left in an emotional, painful state and before long you realise, this is how it is now. This is my life, this is my "new normal". 

It's so very unfair. We have to rebuild our crushed world that we lovingly created and we have to rebuild it with key pieces missing. It's an impossible task and so we have to make a new world. It's not as good and we miss our old world but it does the job (just) nonetheless.

The New Normal Project is nothing fancy, nothing groundbreaking and it's not going to make the pain you're feeling go away. It's just a simple concept. It's a platform to tell your story and how your life has been altered. For example: I've moved house because our old one held to many painful memories, I've got a puppy instead of a baby now, I'm debating changing career as I don't know if I'll be able to return to childrenswear...

If you want to tell your story and how your life has been changed just go to the Contact Me page and send me an email containing:

- Your name

- Your baby's/babies' name(s)

- Your blog name/website address

- Your story (it can be as detailed or as brief as you like)

- What's changed in your life.

I'm really want gain a collection of stories to show parents that they aren't alone. If I could describe how I felt after the first initial few weeks it would be isolated and confused. I was constantly questioning if what I was feeling was normal and left wondering if anyone else had been through this and survived. I also want to use this as a legacy for our babies, so that their names are out there in black and white because they exist and their stories deserve to be told.

About Last Night

About last night. I feel like I've been in a car crash and I'm still trying to recover from it. I don't even know why it was so bad. I've been in a similar situation before and breezed through it but last night I just couldn't do it.

I couldn't listen to people's bullshit small talk. I don't care that your children are getting married (two days after the anniversary of Freddie's death. Not that anyone mentioned it. God forbid we actually speak about him), I don't care that your children are "doing it properly" (shame on me for having sex before marriage), I don't care that you're moving to Chelsea to live the fantastic life I'll never have. I don't fucking care.

Then the cherry on the cake came. Don't get me wrong, I still love children. I love being around them. It's one of the few things in life that still makes me happy. It's the conversation that follows that I hate. Every comment stabs me like a knife. It's like I'm starving to the point where I'm almost gone and people are tormenting me with food...waving it in my face to remind me what I don't have.

"Look at his hair, I can't believe he's so blonde!" No one is ever going to talk about Freddie's hair, no one would ever think to ask what it was like. For the record I remember it distinctly. We were shocked when he came out as when mixed with blood (yeah, yeah it's gross. I know) he looked ginger. Chloe, the midwife even commented "looks a bit strawberry blonde to me!". After he was cleaned up though it was apparent it was a very light, mousy brown. Still a shock as I was very dark and very hairy when I was born. So much so that my mum asked the doctor if there was something wrong with me. She was swiftly informed "no, she's just very hairy". I also remember visiting him in the chapel of rest. He had a thicker patch of hair to the back of his head in tiny, intricate curls. They were perfect. He is perfect. Anyway, I'm just angry that Freddie's hair will never be discussed. I could talk for hours about every inch of him but no one cares about the dead baby. An alive one is always better for a topic of conversation.

"Last time we saw him, he was just a baby!" Freddie should have been there. He should have been the baby this time. He should have been there, stealing all the attention but he's not. Just the awkwardness of his absence. A great big empty whole. Ironically there was an empty chair as someone got the numbers wrong but that cut me even deeper. To me it represented Freddie.

I just sat and watched Mattie's dad play and engage with his nephew and I couldn't take it anymore. Everywhere I looked I felt anger. How am I supposed to be happy and join in with meaningless and boring conversation? How am I supposed to just not talk about Freddie because I might make other people feel awkward?

I'm tired of pretending I'm OK. Pretending my son didn't exist. Pretending I didn't spend 15 hours in hospital in agony. Pretending I'm coping. Just pretending.

How does anyone live through this? It's honestly beyond me.

Meet Olive!

It has come to my attention that I have yet to officially introduce our puppy, Olive to everyone (how rude of me!) so here she is!

Mattie has been begging for a puppy ever since we moved out. Initially, I was against the idea. I couldn't think of anything worse than a screaming baby and a wild puppy! But since losing Freddie, I desperately needed something to care for and pour my love into and so along came Olive! She has one hell of a personality and we love her so much, even when she weed on me... So, here is everything you'll ever need to know about Olive!

Likes:

- Carrot sticks

- Cheese

- Rice/Spaghetti 

- Blocks of wood

- Rope toys

- Eating her lead

- Smelling EVERYTHING

- Playing with other dogs

- People (anyone and everyone)

- Following me around/Sitting next to me/Sitting on me

- Tummy rubs

- Sitting on the sofa

- Water

- Nap time

Dislikes:

- Being left alone

- Her bed

- Bathtime

- Actual dog food that's not mixed with another food

- Car journeys

- Her ears being touched when she sleeps

I honestly love her to the moon and back and I think she feels the same...I mean she does follow me to the loo so that's love right? 

What We Wish Others Would Understand

I was inspired to write this post after I saw this question posed on the facebook page of  Still Standing Magazine.

"What do you wish the world would understand about the reality of being a bereaved parent?"

I started reading some of the replies, shouting "YES" and nodding furiously in agreement with what I've read. Sometimes it's just so comforting to know that you aren't alone...other people feel the same way and no, you aren't going mad. So I've decided to summarise some of the most accurate and applicable to me.

"Living a new normal isn't comfortable and you're not the same" - Sometimes you just want to cancel plans and curl up in a ball. Some people, close family and close friends may understand but others just don't get it. It's only been months for me but I find people treating it as if it's been years and they don't understand why I'm not over it.

"It's OK to speak his name" - It's not a dirty word, it won't kill me. My son has a name, just SAY it. I wan't to always acknowledge his existence. He's a real person and I don't want to ever, ever forget him and by not saying his name you're letting his memory fade.

"It STILL hurts. Everyday" - I still cry at baby adverts, I still see the day vividly every time I close my eyes, I still feel the pain of giving birth to him, daily. I miss him and that fucking hurts. Just because you've seen me smile, or because I can put on make up and function, it doesn't mean I'm not hurting.

"We have never been prepped for having our child die" We are learning as we go. We don't know what we are doing or where we are going. We are lost with empty arms. I hate being pestered about when I'm going back to work or when am I having another etc. I don't know, I'm just making it up as I go.

"Having another baby makes loss easier but also harder at the same time" - This one really hits me. I'm desperate for another baby to fill my arms but it'll never fill the gaping, Freddie shaped hole in my heart. My next baby will be a constant reminder of what could of been and the life that was stolen from Freddie. It's going to be so healing but so hard.

What do you wish that others would understand?

Not Everything Happens For A Reason

You know what I'm sick of? Bullshit quotes and instagram posts that summarise in a number of different ways that "everything happens for a reason". Hands up, I used to be one of those people that saw a happy quote on a pretty background in some floaty writing with a positive little message and think "I'll post that and people will think I'm inspirational and such a positive thinker". But looking back I just want to slap my past, naive, self.

I'm not saying that we should all walk round being pessimists, hating life but it's time to realise posting a quirky and upbeat quote won't make you feel better in the long term. If something bad has happened to you, it hasn't happened for a reason. It. Just. Happened.

What possible reason is there for someone to lose a child?

Exactly. There isn't one.

If I woke up tomorrow and a stranger came up to me and offered me a million pounds but only if I didn't have a baby I wouldn't lie back in my bed later that evening, turn to Mattie and say "ah so that was the reason. It all makes sense now". The pain would still be there, I wouldn't be healed because I found a reason for my loss.

I get it, I get why people say it to me. We like to pretend that things don't hurt and when they do we like to know that there's a light at the end of the tunnel. I'm guilty of feeling that too, wanting to believe it's all part of a plan where I'll walk off merrily into the sunset like a film. But that's just not life.

IF I ever get my happy ending, it's because I made it happen...not the universe.

Baking Therapy

Since I was little, I have always loved baking. My mum was constantly producing freshly baked goodies and delicious home cooked meals. I also have find memories of making trifles and making rock cakes (still a firm favourite of mine) with my Gran. So it was pretty inevitable that baking would be a passion of mine. Whenever I'm anxious or upset or angry, I bake. There's nothing quite like taking your aggression out on a cake mix with a spoon!

Since Freddie died I've found it hard to get back into it. Maybe because I pictured him standing on a chair, helping me break eggs or stir the mixture like I did as a child. I even struggled to find the energy to make a meal, I just couldn't face it for a long time.

But this week I decided to put on an apron and get my bake on. The Great British Bake Off being back on TV definitely gave me the push back into the kitchen I so desperately needed! I decided to keep it simple and make some vanilla cupcakes with a vanilla buttercream filling. I really enjoyed making them and found it so therapeutic to focus on. It kept my mind distracted and it kept me busy (I tend to just sit around watching Netflix all day recently!). Even after I'd made them, I felt inspired to clean the house and I cracked on with a lot of overdue housework! Not that Mattie noticed and he rudely stomped his work boots all over my freshly cleaned floor *insert angry emoji here*. 

I would seriously recommend baking to anyone who is feeling down, stressed or even just pissed off with work! You don't have to be Mary Berry to make a few cupcakes and there's always someone willing to eat the produce...

Let me know any more ways you use to keep your mind busy or something that you find therapeutic!

Things To Be Proud Of

Since losing Freddie life has been far from easy. It's rare that I find myself truly experiencing a moment of happiness. I find myself constantly holding back from having a good time. I feel guilty for allowing myself to laugh or have fun, I feel like I'm betraying Freddie. But, since joining www.uk-sands.org (I highly recommend joining the sands forum if you have been affected by stillbirth or neo-natal death) I have learnt that it is so important "to be kind to yourself". One woman ended her message to me with that and I've treasured those words ever since.

Of course I'm going to be sad, I'm going to cry into his small, baby outfits, I'm going to spend days in bed, I'm going to ignore and avoid people. It's natural. And, more importantly, it's part of the healing process. That being said, I've recently made an effort to push myself to be happy, to have fun, to smile and to laugh. I know that Freddie wants our lives to continue, I know he wants me to be happy and I know he knows that we will never forget him.

I want to share some things I've done in the past few months that I am proud of. They aren't all massively significant or award winning things but to me they are gigantic steps I've taken in learning to survive with grief:

• I went to a job interview. For most, this isn't a big deal. It's a part of life. But since losing Freddie I'm scared of everything, talking on the phone, making appointments, seeing the dentist. Pretty much anything that involves people I don't know and being away from Mattie *wet flannel alert*. But I did it, I went to the job interview and I survived. I actually got the job too (by some miracle) but I turned it down as we felt the hours were too demanding as we want to try for another baby.
• Deciding to try for another baby. This both terrifies and excites me. There are so many fears that come with a new pregnancy but I need to push myself to do it. I don't in any way wish to replace Freddie but I need a baby. We've decided to relax and see what happens, there isn't any pressure for me to get pregnant, we're just going to let it be.
• Continuing this blog. This isn't a particularly big deal for me. I was writing this blog for Freddie and I'm still writing it for him. If it helps others along the way then that's an added bonus. It gives me a focus and distraction from everyday life and not much offers that currently.
• Visiting my friend and her baby. My best friend's baby girl was born a few days before Freddie, I've seen my friend since but not actually with her little girl. This was a MASSIVE step for me. Although I've passed babies on the street and been near them in church, I hadn't actually spent time with one. Surprisingly, I enjoyed myself and have fallen utterly in love with her baby, she is beautiful and incredibly well behaved! She did ask if I wanted to hold her but I declined, I figured I should learn to walk before I run (but mainly I was scared if I held her I wouldn't want to give her back, she's too cute!). 
• Planning Freddie's anniversary. I know it's a long way off but again, it gives me focus and direction. Thinking of ways to celebrate him brings me such joy and helps me find happiness in his brief existence that was ended so prematurely. I want to make as many lovely memories with him as possible.

 Feel free to comment anything you've done recently that you're proud of!

Day-To-Day Life Without A Baby

"How are you getting on?". The most irritating question I receive on a daily basis. So much so I actually avoid going out to somewhere that I'll encounter people I know. It's not so much the question I hate, it's the answer I give. "Oh you know, as well as can be expected". The answer they all want to hear. No one wants to hear the reality. The truth. That I'm drowning in an all consuming wave of misery, anger, jealousy and guilt. I am so very miserable and quite frankly, I'm sick of having to lie about being OK.

Initially, everyone is "here for you". But you begin to notice people gradually disappearing from your life. They want the old you. The you that wants to go out and have fun, the you that comes to soft play with your children, the you that can spend hours gossiping or complaining about trivial things. But that isn't you. Having your baby ripped away from your life changes you. Completely and utterly. Mattie is the opposite, he works hard to reassure people he's the same old happy person but I can't do that. Why should I? Why should I try and convince people that I'm the same fun loving 20 year old woman I was before? It's ME that's gone through the pain and agony of losing a child, why should I have to alter myself to make other people feel more comfortable?

I started out trying to be brave and strong, telling people that "these things happen" but I've started to realise I was just prolonging the inevitable breakdown. It happened. I lashed out. I mean I totally lost it and went bat-shit cray. To cut a long story short (and to save my dignity) it ended with Mattie literally dragging me kicking and screaming and him forcing me into bed where I cried myself to sleep, weeping into Freddie's toy mouse. My family genuinely thought I'd lost it. and, momentarily I had. I cannot emphasise enough how important it is to let it all out. Write it down, shout at inanimate objects (avoid shouting at your partner, family or friends but if you do, they'll get over it. They understand) just for the love of God, don't pretend it's just one of those things. It isn't and it never will be. It shouldn't have happened to me, or to you. But it has and it fucking hurts. A lot.

So how am I "getting on"? Well, since my *ahem* breakdown, a lot better. If people ask, I tell them straight up how I am. Some people are uncomfortable and try to shuffle away with the look of regret on their faces. I probably won't see them again, they'll avoid eye contact and speaking to me again at all costs. And that's OK. Other people might surprise you though. By being honest, I've received some amazing advice, comforting words and I've got the support I needed to keep my shit together. I still cry, almost daily. I hate other people for taking home babies when I couldn't and I still ache for my baby, Freddie but I'm getting there. I will get there.

Freddie Richard Jenkins - 23/06/15

"I'm so sorry". I still remember the midwife saying those words as she gently patted my leg. My little baby boy's heart had stopped. Mine and Mattie's world was destroyed. Everything we had planned, dreamed and hoped for our son was gone in a matter of seconds when the midwife said those three words. It was and is so unexpected and the cruelest thing imaginable. I truly believe there is no worse feeling than losing your child.

It's nearly four weeks since our angel was born sleeping and I feel I'm finally ready to share my experience. A lot of you won't want to read this, it doesn't make for cheery reading but I really hope some of you do read this. I don't want to scare or deter anyone, I just want to share that day. I don't ever want to forget it. So here goes...

I woke at 3 am on Tuesday the 23rd of June 2015 desperate for a wee (nothing new there) but when I stood up I felt a faint popping sensation in my left hip. I shuffled to the loo and when I sat down a gush of water came out. It took me a few moments to wake up and realise my water's had broken, I felt Freddie wriggle and I ran in to our bedroom (towel between my legs to soak up the waters) and tugged at Mattie's arm. I felt in total shock as we didn't expect him to come early, I was booked in for a c-section two days later due to him being breech and my heart shaped womb. I phoned the hospital and they advised us to bring my hospital bags in and head over. We were going to have our baby!

At the hospital we were shown to my bed on the ward and a midwife came to measure the heartbeat. She kept moving it around and I waited to hear that comforting thump of his heart but nothing. Silence. I knew instantly he was gone. Only a couple of hours I'd had my pre-op checks and I laughed with the midwife about food shopping whilst we listened to Freddie's heart beating away. I began to cry as the midwife went to get someone to scan me. "He's gone Mattie" I whispered but he was confident it would be fine. We were taken to a new, private room and I was scanned. I didn't even look at the screen, I didn't want to see my dead baby. Then the 3 words came, "I'm so sorry". I don't even remember what they said after that. Mattie and I held each other and wept. I remember shouting "I'm so sorry, I've let everyone down" I felt like a total failure, and I still do at times. My body let my baby die.

Four hours flew by and before I knew it I was introduced to Chloe, the midwife that would deliver my baby. She told me I could have as much pain relief as I wanted and they would make me as comfortable as possible. She looked so young and if I'm being honest, terrified. I feel sorry for doubting her now because she was incredible. She kept me positive and explained everything fully to me, always making sure I understood what was happening. 

Skip forward a few more hours my contractions were getting strong but I still remained quiet as I felt they were still manageable and they weren't regular. Chloe prepared for me to be induced to speed the process along but as she did she discovered she could feel Freddie's foot and that I was already 8cm dilated. Another midwife confirmed this and I remember them asking if I could feel any pressure but I was fine, it hurt but it wasn't as bad as I imagined contractions to be. They then inserted a drip to regulate my contractions and bring them closer together (and my god they did). All of a sudden I felt something coming out of me (TMI I know, I know but what else would you expect from a birth story!) and I screamed at Mattie's mum to get the midwife. I remember her asking "shall I take a look" and me screaming "JUST GET THE MIDWIFE". Chloe came in and said it was his umbilical cord which confirmed that he died due to a prolapse of the cord. Something which only happens to 1 in 300 babies, unfortunately as he was breech it allowed a gap for the cord to fall through. When his leg came out the cord was actually wrapped around it. 

The birth itself was agony. When the contractions were spaced out it was bearable, just. I had time in-between each one to recover. But now they were coming one after another (I actually started to pretend they weren't coming so I had a break from pushing). I had my Dad holding my hand and arm one side and Mattie doing the same on the other. I remember looking up at them halfway through and both had tears in their eyes. It crushed me having to see the two strongest people in my life crying. It gave me the strength to get through the pain and give birth to my son, it was the least I could do for them and the least I could do for him.

After 45 minutes he was born and lifted on to my chest. I was given the skin to skin I longed for and my beautiful little boy. Part of me hoped he would still cry out, it was some terrible mistake but it never came. Just silence. We were left to be alone with our baby but I felt so weak he spent a lot of time cuddled with his Dad.

I feel totally empty without my baby. A part of me was taken and whereas normally that emptiness is replaced with a child, I have nothing. Just empty arms. All I'm left with is memories, beautiful and sad memories. I wanted to tell his story so that I don't forget and so people know how special and loved he was.

I love you Freddie Richard Jenkins. 7lbs 3oz.