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.

Introducing Hunter Edward Ray Jenkins & His Birth Story

We actually made it. We have him here and he is safe and he is healthy and he is all ours. Our beautiful rainbow baby. Hunter Edward Ray Jenkins, born at 7.07 pm on the 14th of June 2016, weighing 6lbs11oz at 37 weeks. I'm going to crack on straight away with his birth story...mainly because otherwise I'll be jabbering on about how amazing he is for years but also because he is currently napping and a newborn nap is more unpredictable than anything I've ever encountered before!

We received a phonecall at half past 8 on the 14th, inviting me in for my induction. After we showered and got all our bits together we finally left and made our way to the hospital, arriving at about 10.30. He kicked and wriggled the whole way, reassuring me he was fine. On arriving we were shown to a bed and met our first midwife. She was lovely (they all were) and she explained the induction process before listening to baby's heartbeat. That was the point that we discovered Freddie had gone so the midwife took her time and checked I was ready before setting it up. But there it was, loud and strong. After monitoring the heart rate for a while the midwife did an internal examination to see whether they were able to break my waters or whether a pessary should be inserted. It turned out that I was 1cm dilated but they weren't able to break my waters. I was secretly glad as everyone told me that it was really painful to have your waters broken and so in the pessary (or small teabag as the midwife called it) was popped in.

Within about half an hour, I could already begin to feel small and irregular contractions whilst I munched on my jacket potato (NHS food really ain't that bad you know!). They were still pretty tame at this point though and I was moved to another ward and met another midwife. I want to say her name was Jenny but I'm ashamed to admit I honestly can't remember. She told me she would be back at 6 to do another CTG and I was pretty much left to it apart from when I was given paracetamol at around 2. As the hours went past the contractions definitely stepped up a notch and I was writing in pain on my bed. I was also desperate for a wee but every time I went I was unable to go as it felt like something (I'm assuming the head) was blocking it. By the time it hit 6 I was frustrated and in agony and pretty much ready to scrap a natural birth and beg for an epidural. My midwife didn't show up till around 6.15 as it was so busy and I was nearly in tears. She could see I was in a lot of pain and said she would do an internal check after the CTG.

The CTG was set up and initially everything seemed dandy. But as soon as my next contraction hit, Mattie and I watched the heart rate drop...and not just a little bit. Initially we thought maybe the baby had moved position but it became pretty clear that wasn't the case. My midwife called for another midwife and told me to stay on my side. I remember the other midwife arriving and saying "oh". Before I knew it they told me I would have to go to delivery immediately and were talking about phoning various people. At this point I started balling and repeatedly saying "please don't let me lose this baby too". My midwife hugged me and told me it would be OK, she was going to make sure it would be. I realised then that I couldn't stress because baby was already struggling to I sucked it up and before I knew it I was being smashed through doors at an alarming speed to the delivery ward. I honestly felt like I was in an episode of Holby City or something!

From this point, things moved pretty quickly. I met another lovely midwife and she examined me and said I was already at 5cm...I was actually disappointed as I hoped he would be hanging out due to the sheer amount of pain I was in. She said she needed to break my waters and get our little man ASAP. I refused at first because I was so scared of the pain but she told me she really needed to so yet again I told myself to man up and gave her the go ahead. It actually didn't hurt at all, I have no idea why I made such a fuss. I was on the gas and air from this point so I was pretty out of it...I'm basically relying on what Mattie has told me.

The heart rate was still a bit of an issue...sometimes it was fine and then it would drop again. They inserted a drip to speed things up (Mattie said it was horrific and was a whopper needle). I just remember a lot of people appearing in the room and it felt like I had a small crowd all peering between my legs. They told me they needed to take blood from baby's head to check if he was getting oxygen. Again, I panicked and thought this meant he was going to be brain damaged. I heard someone shout out "he has lots of hair!" and Mattie was trying to cheer me up by saying "you hoped he would have hair didn't you" and I pretty much growled at him because my baby's hair was the least of my concerns at this time. The results came back that baby was fine but I was in so much pain and terrified something would go wrong. I think the midwives were stressing too...I imagine the pressure of delivering a healthy baby after a stillborn one would be pretty high and stressful. They were amazing though and constantly comforted and reassured me which was what I needed.

After about 20 minutes of my waters being broken I was pretty much done. I'd had been poked and prodded and I felt exhausted. When I heard someone say that I was going to be taken for a c-section, I felt total relief. Finally the pain would be over and I could have my baby. However, just as they were about to take me to be prepped for the c-section I heard myself annouce "you can't move me, he's coming now" and sure enough, in a shot his head was out and after another push I saw my baby. He didn't cry straight away but then he let out a little cry and he was lifted onto me. I was still wearing my topshop top I wore in, so much for my well planned birthing outfit! I remember saying "we did it Mattie, he's here" and he was. He was breathing he was alive and I got to look into his big, curious eyes with his long lashes.

By some miracle I needed no stitches and I was back on my feet instantly. Hunter was checked over by doctors due to him being early but he's absolutely fine, minus a tinge of jaundice. If anything, Mattie suffered the worst as he saw everything happen and has told me that I'm not allowed to have any more babies...HA!

I can't pretend it's been easy. I didn't sleep for the first 48 hours as I was terrified he would die in his sleep or when he was sleeping I would wake him because he looked just like Freddie. But it has gotten easier as we get to know each other. I am totally besotted and in love with him, he is totally gorgeous and such a good baby (so far anyway!). I can't imagine my life without him now. He will never replace Freddie but he has helped to heal us beyond belief. I finally feel like my life is complete again. Our beautiful rainbow baby, Hunter Jenkins.

*PS sorry about the poor written quality of this post...I've tried to rush it in between Hunter's naps which is no easy task, believe me*

The Dating Scan

Aaaand breathe. I made it, I survived a scan and I came out with the news we had only dreamed of 6 months ago. We are definitely having a baby, a baby that is so far healthy and has a strong, beating heart. Which at this point, is all we can ask for I suppose.

The pre-scan part was hard, I can't lie. We spent the day staying distracted...watching Lord Of The Flies, window shopping and having a meal before the oh-so-familiar drive to the hospital. I don't really remember the happy scans with Freddie there. I remember driving up there when we were seeing him for the last time before he was moved to the funeral home, closer to us. I tried not to think of that when we drove there this time but it still crept up on me like it always does.

In the waiting room I felt close to a panic attack. I felt angry too. I recognised one woman, she was a year or two above me at school...I could just about remember her name. She was irritating me, nattering away excitedly to her mum whilst her boyfriend sat bored on his phone. I wasn't angry at her as a person, just the fact that she could be so happy and carefree. I wanted that back. Instead I sat with a sick feeling, my heart racing and I whispered to Mattie that I wanted to leave. Luckily he didn't let me and reassured me, as always that it would be "fine".

Then before I knew it, there I was on the bed with that cold jelly on my stomach. All of a sudden a baby was on the screen. "Look, there's the little heartbeat" the sonographer announced before I even had a chance to worry. I noticed the baby looked far more developed than Freddie did at 12 weeks, in fact I thought it looked more like him at 20 weeks! I had to roll onto my side so we could check measurements and this baby was measuring at 15+2 weeks so a lot bigger than the 13 weeks they had written down. Mattie then asked "so is there any chance we can tell the sex then?". Luckily our sonographer was very accommodating and said she would have a cheeky look for us! I won't be saying what the result was until we've had it confirmed at the 20 week scan though...you know, just in case it changes!

After that was all done (our little peanut even waved goodbye!) we saw a midwife to go over the results. Everything was looking good so far and she booked me an appointment to see a consultant so we would be able to discuss the care plan for this baby and myself! I finally felt like a weight had been lifted from my shoulders. We looked at the scan photos and laughed at the little snub nose (different to Freddie's button nose) and full pouty lips (the same as Freddie).

I've made it past the first trimester and I'm one step closer to meeting this little bubba. I have a long, anxious and uncertain road ahead but one thing I am sure of it that my heart is utterly full of love already.

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?

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.

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.

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.

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.