Some days it’s hard to associate the little face we saw on the scan, my growing bump, with the baby I gave birth to. The connection between the you I was connecting with on the inside vs you on the outside isn’t always there. It’s as if they’re two different things, and I grieve for both.
There’s the you that was 2D and black & white and made me nauseous and unable to walk fast or far. The you that was doubling in size week by week, that gave us so much hope and excitement. We had no idea who you were, girl or boy, we called you Lil Bub.
Then there’s the you that was too small and squishy, that never got to open your eyes or take a breath, that laid there silently and never moved or cried. Our dead baby boy, Castiel.
It’s hard to think you’re my Lil Bub, Cass, that you were all those happy memories and not just a dream I had long ago where I was pregnant but then I woke up and I actually wasn’t. I’ll try my best not to let our sadness strip away those amazing 20 weeks with you, to forget that that was you, just like I promised you when I said goodbye to your body.
It’s been 3 weeks and 3 days Cass. Time is a funny thing. Now there’s a before and after.
I realised earlier how grateful I was that your anomaly scan was pushed back, I’m so glad I got that extra time with you, we were together for just a bit longer and I needed that. I needed all the time I could get with you, because that was it.
Fragile – the only word I can think to describe myself at the moment. Everyone tells me how strong I am, but I don’t feel strong at all. It feels like if you poke me I’ll shatter into pieces. I’ve always been sensitive but now everything feels like a personal attack, the slightest bit of criticism and in my head I go right to ‘I can’t do anything right’ vs ‘please cut me even more slack than you already are because my baby died and I can’t handle negativity’. I feel like everything in my life has to go well right now, I deserve something to go right? But life doesn’t work like that.
I mourn the life you could have had
I mourn everything you missed out on
I mourn everything we missed out on
I mourn the me I could have been
It could all have been so different
In another life
Today it’s my husbands 28th birthday, so happy birthday to my favourite person, my person. Who has been there through everything with me; he’s cried with me, made sure I laughed every day, held me during labour and told me how great I was doing. I never thought I’d be loved the way he loves me. You grow up seeing the Disney, fairytale love, but this is the real life version – a partner who puts your needs before theirs, who you can rely on, and who overall makes your life brighter. I want to give him everything, but mostly a child. I’ve always known he’d be a great father, and seeing tiny little Cass in his arms confirmed it. I’ve often doubted my parenting abilities but never his. I can’t wait for the day when he falls asleep with our baby on his chest after singing them to sleep, taking annoying amounts of cute selfies with them, teaching them karate moves… I want all these moments for him, he deserves them, and so do our future little ones.
I found out at my scan at 13 weeks that I had an anterior placenta. I thought ‘bit of a bummer, means I won’t feel the baby as soon or as strongly’…
Little did I know then how much I needed to. Only now do I feel robbed. I thought I felt him moving when I later found out he was already dead at that point. And it’s made me question how much of his movements were actually him. I felt a fluttering for the first time on my birthday at 17 weeks. I thought I felt him roughly ever other day at night when I laid down. But now who knows, it could have just been my body doing its thing the whole time.
I miss my bump. I’ve never liked my body really, particularly my middle, and always wore baggy clothes to hide it. I didn’t want to hide my bump though, I wanted everyone to see it. I’ve never been happier with my body than when I was pregnant. Knowing what changes it was making and why. I’m still quite proud of it, it nourished and developed my son for 20 weeks, and still kept trying even after his heart stopped, it didn’t give up.
One week apart. Back to my pre-pregnancy squish.
I read you stories, just while you slept
I rocked you in a chair, just while you slept
I told you I love you, just while you slept
I got to be your mummy, just while you slept.
As much as I wished everything could have been different I’ve always believed in fate, strangely even more so now. I feel like this is how it was meant to be for me. They say you are only given what you can handle, and I honestly think that’s rubbish, I wouldn’t say I’m a strong, capable person at all, but this is my weight to carry around now, and I think I’m okay with that. If it was between this hell and never having him exist at all, I’d easily take this. And I’m sure Cass would agree, I’m sure he’d choose the brief life he had.
– He was a tiny little bean just a couple of weeks when we went to Turkey & Greece
– He went to Paris and the beach
– He met both my cats when they stepped on my tummy
– He heard daddy singing, a lot
– He went to Bat out of Hell the musical
– We went swimming once, I’m sure he liked that
– He was bounced around whenever I’d have a giggle fit
– He was there for my 24th birthday, and mummy & daddys first wedding anniversary
It was the three of us for all these things.
Went to the pond they recently put in up the road, that we often imagined coming to with a pram.
There’s still no ducks Cass, we’ll let you know when there are 🦆
The thing about rainbows is that they don’t only come when the rain is gone.
Sometimes they’re there during the storm.