On the 9th Nov we got tattoos in your memory. You are a part of me forever, in my skin, in my heart, always with me.
Your name & little feet. And lyrics from the song that reminds me most of you, Rose of Sharyn by Killswitch Engage.
“It won’t be long, we’ll meet again. Your memory is never passing. It won’t be long, we’ll meet again. My love for you is everlasting.”
I was never going to dress you, breastfeed you, push you in the pram we got you, take you to see the ducks, take you on our first family holiday that we were planning, take you swimming, pick you up from school, take you out every year for your birthday. We had plans for you baby boy. Plans that were never going to be. But in my head I got to live out the fantasy of what could be, in my daydreams you lived a whole lifetime.
Like every day since we said goodbye, the thought “you should still be here” popped into my head. And I thought how I would get that every day until your due date. But that’s wrong. It won’t stop then. Every day for the rest of my life that passing thought will haunt me, that you should still be here.
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
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.
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 🦆