Mama, You Got This.

Spoiler alert: Being a Mum is hard work. Being a Mum after loss is even harder. But you know what, I got this.

The first night we took Hunter home I think I genuinely believed it would be a breeze. It wasn't. It was horrible and I felt horrible for thinking it was horrible. They literally send you home and you know pretty much fuck all. You're responsible for keeping this tiny being alive and they're 300% totally reliant on you. No pressure though.

It got to 3am on our first night and I was already done. This little bean wouldn't settle in his crib and when he did for a second, I was convinced he was dead. (The thing is, once you've seen a dead baby...it's all you see for a long time. And when your child looks near identical to the one you've lost, it drives you insane.) So there I was. Exhausted from giving birth with a small, restless and hungry baby in my arms and I just didn't know what I was supposed to do. I ended up throwing a bottle at Mattie's head because I was angry he was sleeping whilst I had a mental breakdown. (HOW DO MEN SLEEP THROUGH EVERYTHING?!) But I somehow made it through that night and the next and the next and we're both still alive (one of us hasn't washed her hair in 3 days and smells of baby milk and sick but ya know, my eyebrows look alright)
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What I want you to know is that no matter how hard it seems, you got this.
No matter how many times you find yourself back at the hospital because they think there might be yet another issue with your baby, you got this.
No matter how many times you find yourself crying because your baby won't stop crying, you got this.
No matter how many times you feel guilty for being a "bad mum" (YES I use a dummy and give him formula), you got this.
No matter how close you come to murdering your partner because he's an idiot and can't use a washing machine or cook a meal, you got this.

As long as your baby is loved, fed and clean you're doing just fine. Sometimes that's all you need to hear, that you ARE a good mum. Trust me when I say, all the screaming for no reason, explosive poo nappies, late nights and worrying is SO worth it. And when they're all scrunched up on your chest, smelling of that wonderful baby smell it suddenly hits you how lucky you are and how amazing you are because you made that baby.

Mama, you got this.

Surviving Easter and Our First Scare

I meant to write a post about our first Easter without Freddie a while ago but just never got round to it, I feel like life is going at 300 mph recently! So I thought I would combine it with our first little scare, that felt like a big scare, that happened today. Just so you know, everything is fine now *touches wood* thankfully.

Easter was actually pretty lovely. I imagined it being a lot worse than it actually, like most of Freddie's milestones. My parents made him a beautiful floral basket to go on his grave. My mum picked the flowers, basket and rabbit and my dad arranged them. They also did one for my Grandad which was sweet as it was like they matched.

We actually took his basket up on Good Friday as the weather was so lovely and it just felt right. Knowing it was on there for Easter really helped me, I knew he would know we were thinking of him. I wish we could have him with us, trying his first ever Easter egg and making a mess everywhere...just like everyone else. But, like so many things, it's just something else we will never get to experience with him.

Mattie and I spent the day together and even ventured out through the rain (our car conveniently broke) for a pub Sunday lunch. I may or may not have treated myself to an apple and pear crumble with custard for pudding too! It really helped me to focus on the happier points instead of reflecting too deeply on what I was missing out on with Freddie.

On a not so positive note, today gave us our first (or rather my) first "scare". I woke up at 8 and led back, expecting to receive my early morning kicks but there was nothing. I still stayed positive and went to make Mattie and I breakfast, washed down with a hot mug of sweet tea to get baby H moving. I sat down and waited...all I got was a few tiny flutters that could easily have been confused with digestion movements. I still tried to remain calm and positive and went back to bed to encourage movement whilst Mattie went off to play football. I led there and waited and waited for a kick or punch to reassure me but there was nothing. Nothing would budge him, I gently rubbed my belly, played him music, lay on my left and right, drank ice cold water but he was totally still. I began to cry and the negativity was quick to creep in and I started to prepare myself for the fact I was about to lose another baby. Luckily I have super supportive and organised friends that encouraged me to phone the hospital so I could be assessed, which I did. I couldn't get hold of Mattie to let him know what was happening which was pretty scary and isolating but luckily he did come home before my appointment and was able to come with me.

By the time my appointment came around I had began to get little kicks but not as hard or as frequently as before so I knew I was right to be getting checked over. The midwife that saw me was unaware of Freddie but once I told her, she was lovely and reassuring. She really put me at ease and actually spent time with me, thoroughly checking everything to put my mind at rest. When it came to listening to his heartbeat with the doppler (no CTG as I'm not 28 weeks yet) I nearly stopped breathing myself. It always brings back memories of the silence that fell when Freddie's couldn't be heard. But it was there, loud and strong for a whole minute (as well as some hefty kicks which made me look like I'd made up the whole reduced movement saga! Ha!).

So here we are, as fine as we can be at this stage. Baby H is kicking away loud and clear whilst I type and I love every minute of it. Hopefully he won't give me any more scares between now and his birth but I definitely won't hesitate to get it checked if I feel it necessary. Something which I would advise all mothers to do.

Pregnancy Announcement/ 20 Week Update

We finally did it. We told the world we are having baby; Freddie will be a big brother and we will be parents to two boys (and one small dog) that we love very much. We had already told family members and close friends but we finally felt that after waiting 18 l-o-o-o-o-n-g weeks, we were good to go. We had the 20 week scan and have been told that as far as they can see, so far, he's a healthy little man. And he is definitely a little man, his legs were wide apart and he clearly had no inhibitions when it came to showing off his bits!

I'd had this announcement ready the day we got back from our dating scan. Perhaps is was slightly premature of me but I wanted to tell the world, I didn't want it to be a dirty secret. But, Mattie and I discussed it and decided we wanted to get the all clear from the 20 week scan before we told people. It was the right decision of course, I wouldn't have been able to cope with having to explain that, yet again, something wasn't going our way.

Obviously I'm not naive, I am more than aware that something could show up at our 28 week scan or even our 32 week scan. I'm well aware he may not make it to the 24 week viability milestone. Basically, I'm aware of all the things that could go wrong. But, if I focused all my thoughts and time on negativity, I'd have a very miserable few months. I'm actually enjoying this stage of pregnancy. I'm as positive as is possible given everything that has happened and right now, things are going OK. I'm taking it as it comes and that's all I can do. It's something that is totally out of my hands. However, I know this little man has the best possible brother watching over him and trying his best to keep us both safe, I'm trusting in him.

Physically, my body is quickly changing. My bump is ever growing as are my boobs. I shouldn't complain but as a previous member of the itty bitty titty committee jumping from a B to a D is a slightly painful experience! Last week I had a lot of "ligament pain" in my lower abdomen but nothing major and it's stopped this week so I think he was just on a growing spree. I'm feeling lots of kicks when I sit down in the evening or when I wake in the morning. He also enjoys it when I eat (typical boy) or when I drink a hot chocolate...only hot chocolate though! I cant wait to have more regular movements but I'm thankful to feel what I do as I have an anterior placenta. Cravings are non existent but I am enjoying food a lot more than I did in the early weeks and my love of healthy food is sadly fading fast! I'm trying to drink water and add lots of veggies to my meals to compensate for the chocolate ice cream. I'll probably regret all the munching when I have a flabby post partum tum but right now, I just don't care!

20 weeks down, 20 more to go. DHJ we cannot wait to meet you. 

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.