It’s been so long since I’ve written, too long.

I’ve always said that I would rather not write at all than write dishonestly, and I guess that is what has kept me away. It seems every time I post there is something that someone out there can relate to (I guess that’s half the point of blogging, isn’t it?), but the flipside is that someone out there inevitably makes it all about them, and it’s not. Ultimately, ‘it’, this blog, is about me. I usually try and minimise the fall out by self editing, clarifying, apologising.. but right now I simply don’t have the energy. I apologise in advance, this is me, unedited. I’m writing because I need to, I don’t even particularly want to lay myself out bare on the interwebs open to ridicule & judgement, but I think right now I am heavy-duty high maintenance on those that love & support me and I need some other outlet.

Ironically, the last draft I have is entitled the ‘Infertility Chronicles’. I’ve wanted to blog about that for a while, but it seems in the meantime we’ve come full circle. Most people don’t know this, even those closest to us, but we first started trying for another child back in May 2008. We had our first miscarriage in February 2009. I’ve written about it before, but for me it was heartbreaking.

After my first birth in 2004, I swore that I would never go through it again. In fact, my father in law reminds me frequently that that is one of the first things I said to him the day after our daughter was born. Our precious baby was born grey & not breathing. Unbeknownst to us she had the cord tightly around her neck and she had inhaled Meconium. Unlike the exuberant excitement that usually fills a birth suite after a baby is born, our room was frantic, eerily quiet & filled with people trying to save our bubba. While I watched as a whole team of people worked on her tiny body all I could think was ‘please don’t make me leave here without my baby’. I couldn’t make eye contact with anyone. I didn’t want to see my own fear reflected in anyone elses face. Somehow as they resuscitated her tiny lungs in order to save her they injured them, and as soon as she was breathing on her own she was whisked away without me so much as getting a good look at her. I think I heard one gaspy little squawk and that is all I remember of meeting my baby for the first time. I didn’t get to see or touch her for hours after. I didn’t get to breastfeed her for even longer.

These experiences are the ones you look forward to your whole pregnancy, the ones you take for granted that you will get, the ones that were taken from me. Fortunately for us we were blessed and after a short stay in NICU then special care,  our baby was absolutely fine. Today she is one of the most healthy, intelligent, funny little girls that you would ever meet. But I’m not sure my heart has ever fully recovered from that experience. Not long after she was born I experienced crippling anxiety attacks. To the point where one day I called an ambulance because I was convinced I was dying. So ashamed of the way I was not coping I didn’t even tell anyone that I was in the hospital. When I was released later that day  with the simple diagnosis of ‘stress’ I simply took a taxi home, tidied up the little mess the ambulance officers had left when they attached the heart monitors to my chest, and climbed into bed without telling a soul. A week later I started seeing a psychologist. Not long after I first heard the term ‘birth trauma’.

So it took me years of processing my birthing experience before I could even contemplate trying again. And when I was finally ready you can imagine my surprise when baby number two was not immediately forthcoming. Our daughter was conceived completely by accident, in the most unlikely of circumstances (seriously) so I naively assumed that our next pregnancy would be the same. Boy was I wrong. In the interim I had started to experience a host of gynaecological issues that I ignored and hoped would go away. When we finally had our first positive test in 2009 I was ecstatic but cautious as I had already started experiencing symptoms that suggested all was not right with this pregnancy. And it wasn’t, I was already in the process of an early miscarriage.

For the woman who took 4 years to work up the courage to try for another baby and then another 10 months to conceive this was a devstating blow. What little remaining faith I had in my body was shattered. We tried again for a while after but I really wasn’t emotionally ready. I would be forced awake in the wee hours of the morning and lie in the dark crippled by fear. I became convinced that I wasn’t meant to have another child, convinced that I was incapable physically and ill equipped emotionally. I doubted my abilities as a woman and a mother. I became convinced that I didn’t even want another child after all, that I was happy with our family just the way we were. And as time went on I truly did start to believe it. I love our family and love our life. The dynamic of our little triad just works.

It’s only when my friends and family started to pop out babies at a rapid rate that I started to question myself. My reactions were ungracious & irrational. At times I was inconsolable, sometimes uncontrollably angry. I resented the ease with which everyone else around me seemed to be able to conceive. This somehow confirmed to me that my own body was faulty, broken. At any given time I knew at least 5 females that were expecting & every announcement, bump pic, scan etc, felt like a neon sign blinking “YOU ARE NOT PREGNANT!” I wanted so much to be able to share their joy, not only was I dealing with infertility but I was faced with the fact that I was a selfish bitch too. Good times!

I will always regret my reaction (s, oh yes, it was plural) when my own beloved sister shared with me her pregnancy news. I know she will read this, and I know that I can never take it back, so I want her to know that I will carry that burden for the rest of my life. I don’t have a lot of regrets, I live and love fully but this I regret with every fiber of my being. I even got a second chance, and I effed that up too. This is where unconditional love comes in, I know that she knows I love her, despite my bad behaviour and I know that she loves me in return, warts and all. But if I could, I would take it back. I would shower her with love, excitement, cupcakes and balloons because that is what she deserves. She is unquestionably the very best mother I know & her children bring me endless joy.

I guess in a roundabout way this brings me to the last 12 months. This quiet longing lingered until the sound of my biological clock (or perhaps just my heart?) became deafening. My gynaecological symptoms persisted & I started to worry about more than just my fertility. Still on shaky uncertain ground I toddled off to the Drs for all kinds of testing. I figured we could sort out my health and I would inquire about my fertility as kind of an afterthought. Fortunately for me all testing came out clear & my Dr gave me the green light on my baby making abilities. She could see no real reason why I couldn’t conceive and even suggested that conceiving would probably help my symptoms. To which I burst into embarrassing tears right there in her office. At that point she gently reminded me to take my time & if I wasn’t ready the pill might also help.

And that’s exactly what I did! I still needed time to prepare myself for the road ahead. I was cautiously optimistic, I started to allow the baby day dreams to creep in. After the positive test results I felt a little more at ease within my own body,and I started to develop trust that it wouldn’t let me down again. So I went off the pill and started popping preconception pills again. Within two cycles post pill, on the 25th of July 2012, I found out that I was pregnant! I believed it was a miracle! All of our dreams had come true and I was absolutely on cloud nine. I’m a pretty happy person generally, I really do enjoy my life but I can’t begin to describe the joy and utter contentment I had while I was pregnant. It was the first thing I thought of when I woke and the last thing I remembered before I drifted off to sleep.  All of the things that usually annoy me just drifted away into the inconsequential. After a lifetime of insomnia I enjoyed drifting off to sleep on the couch at 7pm. I relished the frequent loo breaks, I was thoroughly entertained by my swollen, sore boobs and I was comforted by the beginnings of morning sickness and gagging. It was all part of the premium pregnancy package and I could barely wait to unwrap each layer.

Sadly, on the 22nd of August I began to lose my precious little one at what would have been almost 8 weeks. Our scan showed that the pregnancy stopped progressing at almost 6 weeks. My hormones were high but not rising properly, my progesterone was too low to support a viable pregnancy. It’s been just over a week & the worst of it is over physically, my body feels like my own again, but my heart.. oh my heart. People ask me how I am going and I so want to give them the ‘right’ answer. I don’t want to disappoint them. I fear that empathy has a definite expiry date & I am terrified that my grief will outlast it & I will be left alone. I was tempted to say lonely but even surrounded by love I feel exceptionally lonely every day.

For a second I felt foolish having told people about our pregnancy before that magical 12 week mark. For having the audacity to hope and expect smooth sailing. I’m like the lady who cried ‘pregnant’! But the love & support that was offered to us during the short pregnancy and in the after has been amazing. The first time this happened I was too ashamed to talk about it for a long time. I felt like our loss only mattered to me & it broke my heart that no one else had any attachment to our little one. They were kind to me, but for the most part they suggested that it was for the best. Please don’t stand there when my heart is broken and tell me it is for the best. My husband and I created life, out of love, and we lost it. I can never reconcile that this was the best outcome, regardless of the logic or science you offer me.

But this time those closest to us knew and they were thrilled for us. My mother in law and father in law were in tears of joy. My dad told me that it was the best news he had heard in ages. My friends were like our own personal cheer squad. Our baby was wanted and loved beyond measure and that gives me immense comfort. That our loss is felt by others in small but significant ways, this means the world to me. It means that I do not have to face this on my own, it means I have strength to lean on when my own is lacking and a soft place to fall when it all gets too much. And it has done at times. It’s getting better but I am emotionally fragile and vulnerable. Look at me the wrong way and I will cry. Yesterday I did cry, over spilled  milk, literally. I am not yet able to do the things that I would normally do, I have a physical reaction when I walk into my studio and see the perfect little baby clothes hanging on the rack.  Somehow I can’t bring myself to create for other people’s precious babies when I am mourning the loss of my own.

So I have created myself a safe little bubble. I’ve lowered my expectations and allowed myself a break from work/the world. I’m only allowing into my bubble what I can manage, and I am hoping that those who need from me right now what I am unable to give, will allow me some grace. I am spring cleaning like a mofo! It makes me feel normal and productive. But every now and again I struggle to breathe. I took my daughter father’s day shopping on Thursday and I am ashamed to say for the first time in a long time I felt like I was going to have a panic attack. I hadn’t been ‘out’ in a while apart from blood tests, scans and Dr’s appointments and the pressure to appear normal felt overwhelming. People would smile and make small talk & I would feel hot and awkward. My daughter kept wandering away from me, I felt the tension and anxiety rise and I wanted to scream. But I pasted a fake smile on my face and got shit done, because that’s what a mother does.

My husband picked us up and saved the day with a donut. He has been my rock. This experience has both pushed us apart and yet pulled us back together. I have irrationally, unreasonably resented him for not grieving in exactly the same way I am. At one point I yelled at him and implied that he didn’t care enough, and in his hurt and anger he yelled back angry things at me that bruised my already tender heart. And the next morning we dusted ourselves off, each a little wounded by the other, yet still holding hands. He has the patience of a saint and his tenderness with me during this whole mess has made me somehow love him even more. I am severely high maintenance right now & yet he still strives to give me what I need even when his own needs are not being met. I could not have chosen a better man to face this with.

I’m not sure what lies ahead for us but I do know that we are committed to trying again. What I felt for the painfully short time that I was pregnant is worth chasing again. I guess we are in it for the long haul, no matter what happens & I guess by writing this I invite you to be with us as we face the journey.

For the record, I’m not writing as Little Lou Lou- handmade. So please do not judge me. This is probably wildly unprofessional, but luckily I’ve never claimed to be anything other than a mama who has an embarrassing passion for cupcakes, sewing and pretty.

I’m writing as a mama, who aches for her bubba.

xx